If You Were Mine

Know what’s worse than being a twenty-one-year-old virgin?

Having the bad boy of the NFL, who also happens to be my brother’s teammate, offer to take care of that pesky little problem.

Excuse me while I cue the laughter.

If there’s one person I can barely tolerate—it’s JT Higgins.

He might be talented on the field, but he’s even more notorious for his bar brawls, drunken antics, and the women who flock to him in droves.

I’ve spent the last three years shutting down his every advance.

So, ignoring him should be a piece of cake, right?

Wrong.

JT was given an ultimatum at the end of last season—clean up his act or get traded. For some strange reason, my brother decided to take the younger man under his wing. Now the golden-haired, green-eyed mountain of muscle is around all the time. If he’s not parked across from me during Thursday night family dinners, he’s knocking on the door and maneuvering his way inside when I’m babysitting my niece and nephews. Or he’s popping up at the shop where I grab coffee on my way to school.

What I’d like to know is when his gaze began to feel like a physical caress.

It’s enough to make me scream.

It’s also enough to send my pulse skyrocketing and my resolve to the brink of shattering.

Here’s the problem…this new and improved JT—the one who doesn’t whore around or drink—is more difficult to resist.

Especially when his attention is focused solely on me.