Ignoring Dan, she made her way into the coach section of the plane, where she immediately heard the rumble of male laughter. As she had hoped, the players welcomed the distraction Pooh was providing. The poodle scooted between their feet, scrambled over their carryons, and licked any uncovered human part she could reach.

Bobby Tom reached down to snare her, but she dodged and crouched between Webster Greer’s feet. Phoebe couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Pooh’s fluffy little head with its perky periwinkle bow perched on top of Webster’s size fourteen sneakers. She gazed warily up the aisle at her mistress and tried to figure out how much trouble she’d gotten herself into.

“I don’t think she wants you to catch her,” Webster observed.

“She’s not too fond of her carrier.”

Since Pooh seemed to be doing fine on her own, Phoebe began chatting with the players nearby, asking them about their families, the books they were reading, the music they were listening to on their Walkmans. Pooh had moved on to curl over the prized right foot of the team’s placekicker, but as Phoebe came closer, the dog darted across the aisle only to have Darnell Pruitt, the Stars’ largest offensive tackle, scoop her up.

“This what you’re looking for, Miss Somerville?”

Phoebe hesitated. Of all the men on the team, Darnell Pruitt was the most intimidating. A gold tooth studded with a half-carat diamond glistened in the front of his mouth, and heavy gold chains draped his black leather vest. He was shirtless beneath the vest, revealing a huge chest and heavily muscled forearms displayed in all their polished ebony glory. His eyes were hidden behind menacing black sunglasses, his nose was broad and flat, and a heavy scar puckered one shoulder. An article she had read just the day before in Sports Illustrated had described Darnell as one of the five meanest men in the NFL, and as she studied him, she saw no reason to disagree. She noticed that his teammates had left the seat next to him empty.

Even Pooh was intimidated. The poodle crouched on Darnell’s lap, muzzle down, peering up at him with wary eyes. With a flash of alarm, Phoebe saw that she definitely looked nervous.

She quickly moved along the aisle, absolutely certain that it was not a good idea for Pooh to get nervous while she was sitting on Darnell Pruitt’s lap. When she reached his row, she regarded him anxiously.

“Maybe—uh—I’d better take her.”

“Sit down,” he barked.

It was a command, not a request, and she collapsed into the empty seat like an accordion.

Darnell’s chains rattled.

Pooh began to tremble.

Phoebe chose that inopportune moment to recall the quote Darnell had given Sports illustrated. What I like most about football, he had said, is seeing my man being carried off the field.