The Stars’ receptionist directed him to the practice field, and as he approached, he saw Dean Robillard cozying up to Phoebe on the sidelines bench. He swore under his breath. The last thing he wanted Robillard to witness was Phoebe Calebow cutting him to shreds. Dean looked like he’d stepped out of Surfer Magazine: beard stubble, gel-rumpled blond hair, tropical print shorts, a T-shirt, and athletic sandals. Hoping to minimize the collateral damage, Heath made a quick decision and concentrated on him first. “Is that a new Porsche I saw sitting in your parking space?”

Dean gazed at him through the yellow iridium lenses of a pair of high-tech Oakleys. “That ol’ junker? Heck, no. I bought it at least three weeks ago.”

Heath found a laugh, even though the hair had begun to stand up on the back of his neck. And not from being around Robillard. He slipped on his own sunglasses, not so much to protect his eyes, but to even out the playing field.

“Well, well, well…,” Phoebe Somerville Calebow cooed in the husky, bimbo voice she used to conceal her razor-sharp mind. “Look who’s joined us. And I thought our exterminator had gotten rid of all the rats around here.”

“Nope. The meanest and strongest somehow manage to survive.” Heath grinned, doing his best to hit the balance between not pissing her off any more than he had to and letting Dean see she couldn’t intimidate him.

The Stars’ owner and chief operating officer was in her forties now, and nobody wore the years better. She looked like a more intellectual version of Marilyn Monroe, with the same cloud of pale blond hair and a powerhouse body, today clad in a clingy aqua shell and pencil-slim canary yellow skirt slit up the side. Busty, leggy, and delectable, she should have been a centerfold instead of the most powerful woman in the NFL.

Dean rose. “I think I’ll get out of here before the two of you accidentally hurt my passing arm.”

Heath couldn’t back down now. “Shoot, Dean, we haven’t even started having fun yet. Stick around and watch me make Phoebe cry.”

Robillard gazed down at his beautiful boss. “I’ve never seen this crazy man before in my life.”

She smiled. “Run along, Dean honey. Your sex life will be screwed up forever if you’re forced to watch all the ways a woman can chop up a snake.”

Retreat wouldn’t win Heath the quarterback’s heart, and as Robillard began to walk away, Heath called out after him. “Hey, Dean…Sometime ask Phoebe to show you where she buries the bones of all the agents who don’t have the balls to stand up to her.”

Dean waved good-bye without turning around. “I didn’t hear that, Mrs. Calebow. I’m just a sweet mama’s boy from California who wants to play a little football for you and go to church in my spare time.”

Phoebe laughed and stretched her long bare legs as Dean disappeared through the fence. “I like that boy. I like him so much I’m going to make sure you never get your grubby hands on him.”