Coop passed him. The guy didn’t even look thirty. Coop was thirty-seven and banged up from a long football career, but not banged up enough to let anybody get past him. Cooper Graham: drafted out of Oklahoma State by Houston; eight seasons as the starting quarterback for the Miami Dolphins; a final trade to the powerhouse Chicago Stars, where, after three seasons, he’d gifted the team with diamond-encrusted Super Bowl rings. Once that ring was on his finger, he’d done the smart thing and retired while he was on top. Damn right he had. He got out of the game before he became one of those pathetic old-man jocks trying desperately to hold on to his glory days.

“Hey, Coop!” A runner coming from the opposite direction called out to him. “The Stars are going to miss you this year.”

Coop gave the guy a thumbs-up.

The three years he’d spent with the Stars had been the best of his life. His roots might be buried in the Oklahoma dirt, Miami might have matured him, but it was Chicago that had ultimately tested him. And the rest was football history.

“Coop!” The pretty brunette heading in his direction barely kept from stumbling as she recognized him.

He gave her his patented female-fan smile. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re lookin’ real good.”

“Not as good as you!”

His body had taken a beating over the years, but he was still strong, with the same quick reflexes and winning attitude that had brought him national attention during his college days. That attention had only grown hotter as the years had passed. He might have retired from pro ball, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still at the top of his game—except now, the game had shifted to a new playing field, one he was determined to conquer.

Another mile sped by. Then two. Only the bicyclists were faster. They were his courtiers, clearing the way for him on this September afternoon. No one could catch him—not the young Turks who manned the pits at the Board of Trade or the tattooed gym rats showing off their pumped-up biceps.

Coop hit the three-mile mark, and a runner finally passed him. Young. Maybe a college kid. Coop had been slacking, and he kicked it back up. Nobody beat him. That’s the way he was made.

The kid glanced over. He saw right away who was beside him, and his eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. Coop nodded and ran on, leaving the kid behind. Old man? Forget that.

He heard feet coming up behind him. The kid again. Now he was next to Coop, looking for bragging rights. “I ran with Coop Graham today, and I kicked his ass.”

Not gonna happen, baby boy.