What a disaster of a day it's been.

It was full-blown chaos, starting with the random phone in my hand and the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about Mila's brown doe eyes and the way her cheeks flushed when I kissed her plump lips, her whole body reacting so beautifully to my touch...

"Goddammit, Hayden. How could you lose your phone?"

Hank's voice interrupts my reverie. He called an emergency meeting, and now I have to sit in front of the prick as he scolds me like a child. The smug expression on his face makes me want to throw my hot coffee on it, but obviously, I can't do that. I'm compelled to work with this excuse of a social media agent, and I can't deny I hate every fucking second of it. "I didn't lose it. Someone else just has it." I don't even try to suppress the annoyance in my voice when I roll my eyes at him.

"That's the same thing! How are you supposed to keep up your social media appearance if you can't update regularly?"

I have to admit, the way he's seething fills me with pure complacency. I never liked that part of the job, but being drafted by the L.A. Lions and moving up to the NFL meant it's not all about the sport anymore. It's business, fame, and glory. "I'm sure the people will survive for a week without me, Hank."

Suddenly he gets up, slamming this stupid-ass manila folder he always carries around on the table, exerting his power as usual. He's one of these guys who feels intimidated by someone like me, someone who worked his way up the list instead of letting his daddy work things out for him. The only way to ease the broken ego of someone like him is being a dickhead, obviously.

"They might, but you won't have a contract anymore if you don't get the feedback we need. And I say you have to please the people, show them what you got."

"Damn, even I feel objectified, and I'm not on trial here," my best friend Kilian Rogers mumbles under his breath, and I smirk at him as he bumps my fist under the table.

We've been friends since middle school, have always stuck together, supporting each other with every step we took. And now we're both living the dream, playing in the NFL for one of the biggest teams in history.

"I don't give a shit about how you feel, Kilian. I give a shit about the numbers, and I can already see them plummeting if Ice over here won't do as I say," Hank speaks up again.

"I already told you. I'll reset my passwords and just continue on posting later."

"Yeah, you've already done some damage, though. I expected some celeb pics from that Vanity party. Instead, you lose your damn phone."

"There's not much we can do about that now, is there?" My voice rises in volume from the pure hatred running through my veins right now. This fucker has been riling me up for weeks, but it seems like he's on a warpath today.

Kill bumps my shoulder, giving me a well-known look to calm the fuck down. He knows as much as I do that Hank has ties with the Lions' CFO, and his connections could sabotage our careers.

"Look, Hank. I'll take care of it, alright?"

He regards me for a second before rolling his eyes at me, and I swear the urge to kick this dickhead's balls grows with every second. "I expect as much. I want a report by the end of the day."

I shoot up, eager to get on the field and release some of that pent-up energy during training. I don't even say goodbye to Hank before I rush out of the room, Kill right on my heels.

"Bro, I swear that fucker is irritating me more and more with every second I have to look at him," he comments while shaking his head.

"Yeah, you're telling me."

Luckily, the training session does its job. I can feel the negative energy leaving my system as it always does when I'm out here. Life is different on the field. It's not about media, drama, or fame when you're playing. It's pure muscle, tactics, and teamwork.

Just what I need.

My bliss is short-lived, though, because as soon as we step into the shower, I hear the voice of the other idiot who could probably compete with Hank where it concerns next-level stupidity.

"Bro, why the fuck is this shower so hot?" Jason Hass, our substitute quarterback, calls out as he jumps away from the shower.

"There's a regulator on it, you dumbass!" I point to the handle right next to him.

The rest of the team laughs as Jason looks about ready to kill me—not that I care. Being the primary quarterback of the team, it's kind of my job to tease him. He's too young to know better, anyway.

"Speaking of hot. That girl on the phone? Shit. She sounds gorgeous," Kilian interrupts my teasing.

"The what?" I turn to look at Kill, who has his back to me, water running down his face before he looks at me over his shoulder.

"The girl. The one who has your phone?"

"You spoke to her?"

"How else would I have gotten that number?" He laughs while turning off the shower, and I do the same, wrapping a towel around my waist before I follow him into the changing room.

"I don't know. I thought John gave it to you." I asked my manager, John, to forward my number to those who need it. Obviously, he didn't think my best friend was on that list.

"Nope, I was smart enough to just dial your number and figure it out myself."

"Wow. Look at how happy you are about that!" I can't help but quip, pointing at the smug grin on his lips. "So, what did she say?" I ask as we're finally dressed and head to the meeting room.

Kilian throws his duffel bag over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at me before he speaks. "What did she say? She said hello, even though she probably wanted to say who the hell is calling me at five in the morning?"

Shit. "You called her at five AM?"

"No, I called you at seven in the morning, which means five in the morning in L.A. Didn't know I'd hear that cute voice instead of the lawnmower sound you make in the mornings."

"Lawnmower?"

His laugh echoes through the hallway as we finally reach the meeting room. Luckily, we're the first ones there. I'd hate to talk about this with my teammates around.

"Okay, forget it. So, what did she say?" I ask again, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Bro, are you trying to hit that or something?" He grins.

"Kill, just answer my question."

My irritation must be obvious now, because he raises his hands in defense before one of them moves to his chin, tapping it dramatically with his index as if he's thinking really hard. "Hmm. Let me think."

"Kilian..." The look on his face makes me want to smack him up the head. Sometimes I think this guy will never grow up.

"Geez, okay. She didn't say much. I don't think she knew who I meant when I asked for Ice. And then she said you're in Chicago. She didn't tell me why she has your phone, though." He leans back on his chair. "Which reminds me...why does she have your phone? With all that Hank business this morning, I never got to ask."

I sigh and run a hand through my hair, trying to wrap my head around all this.

"She some fangirl or something?"

"She'd know who Ice was if she was a fangirl, wouldn't she?"

"Right. So, how did this happen, then?"

How did this all happen? I recollect the memory from that night before sharing it with Kill, who listens intently until a huge grin appears on his smug face.

"So you did already hit that."

"No, I didn't 'hit that'." I use my fingers to air quote his words. "And you definitely should stop saying 'hit that.' It makes you sound like a sixteen-year-old with three hairs on his chest."

He gives me the finger, and I laugh out loud, just in time for the rest of the team and our coach to join us. Even though Kill stopped asking questions, the grin on his lips shows he's not done with me yet.

Luckily, Coach wants to speak to him after the meeting, so I manage to slip out of there unnoticed. I'm glad I didn't carpool with my idiot best friend this morning, so I can jump into my rental and drive straight to the hotel.

When I get to my room, I grab the phone out of my bag before turning it on for the first time today. We have a strict no-phone rule during training, and usually I'm glad about that, but today...today is different.

I expected a shit-ton of notifications, because that's what my phone does whenever it's turned off for more than five minutes. Instead, I get a few email notifications and one about a voicemail from the other night.

Voicemail? Hmm, it's from the night we swapped phones... Maybe she left some important information.

A few seconds after I dial the voicemail, a smile dances on my lips. Hearing her shy voice and how she stumbles over words to express herself, somehow warms my heart. But then she says something that turns my smile into a wide-ass grin, and before I know what I'm doing, I type out a message.

Sorry about that wake-up call from Kilian this morning. The person responsible for forwarding this number didn't think my best friend was on the list ;)

It takes a moment to see the three dots appear and disappear. This goes on for a minute or two until a new message pops up.

I figured. Does everyone have the number now? I appreciate my sleep, you know...

I grin at her sassy comment and type out the reply. Yeah, I told everyone who needs to know. Let's hope I didn't forget anyone.

I really hope so too, she instantly replies, and I get the feeling she's ready to finish this conversation.

But I sure as hell am not, and so I fire away the next message. So...I'm a solid ten, huh?