The air was crisp with a cool breeze blowing across the back of his neck and reminded him that winter wasn’t far away. He zipped his jacket up higher, wishing he’d put on a longsleeved shirt underneath instead of short sleeves because— “What the hell?” he muttered when his attention was snagged by his players—his players—on the field in the middle of warm-ups…with Annabelle. His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses when the meddlesome—and damn she was hot in spandex—woman jabbed her hands on her hips and nodded as the players moved from one stretch to the next. She meandered across the grass, weaving around the players, nodding at some and making corrections with others. “She’s a sight, isn’t she?” Cameron said after he’d strolled up alongside Blake. Casual as you please, as though Annabelle Turner, a woman who’d caused Blake to take more cold showers than a nymphomaniac, wasn’t completely stepping on Blake’s toes.
