I was on call all weekend, including being the doc on duty at the Wranglers’ game on Sunday. I arrived at the stadium on game day, stepping out of my vehicle into the sweltering, humid heat. Jeez, Texas. It’s September. Guess you didn’t get the memo, I thought as a trickle of boob sweat made its way down my abdomen.

I was determined to avoid Axel at all costs, but the jackass had other plans. He was waiting near the entrance to the locker area and tried to corner me in the hallway as soon as I walked in. “Hey, Blaire. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Fuck off, asshole,” I muttered so that he was the only one that could hear. When he stepped in front of me, I elbowed him in the ribs as I walked past and heard him grunt.

He came after me, gasping and holding his side. Oh, jeez! Dramatic much? I didn’t poke him that damn hard. “Blaire, I’m sorry. I lost the card with your number on it, and—”

“Don’t. Talk. To. Me,” I hissed, whirling on him and pointing my finger in his face. “I can’t believe I. . .”

Can’t believe what, Blaire? That you started falling for him when you saw the tears in his eyes when he found out Carrie was his? That you wanted to kiss him really fucking hard when he called her smart? That your ovaries melted like a chocolate bar left in the sun when you caught him holding her little hand? I held up both hands in a defensive “stay away” gesture as I backed away from him. “Please don’t, okay?” I cursed the traitorous tears that were welling up in my eyes as I turned and left him standing there.

After I’d checked one of the defensive backs who had been suffering from turf toe and the x-rays of a tailback’s broken ulna, I moved into the training room.

“Hey, Jenkins,” I said to the trainer who was wrapping leg and foot joints, the white tape a blur as he efficiently covered Tyrone Orwood’s left ankle. “What do you need me to do?” I really liked Jenkins. He was a hard-working third-year physical therapy student.

“Hey, Blaire. I’m almost done here, but can you wrap Broxton for me and then check him and see if he can play today? He’s in cryo right now.”

Fuck no. That was the absolute last thing I wanted to do, but Christ, it was my job. And Jenkins had his hands full, with three other players patiently waiting for their turns on the training tables.

“Okay. Sure thing,” I said, faking a smile and veering off in the opposite direction. Just be professional. This is your job. Don’t look him in the eyes.