Focused: A hate to love sports romance

The smile was there again, imagining pint-sized Molly bossing me around. To the rest of the world, she probably wasn't so pint-sized, but she was to me. "Not my boss. Just a coworker, I guess."

Grandma hummed. "Okay. I'll put you in the basement room since you don't need impressing. The camera guy and the producer, you said? Yeah, Marty can go in the bunk room across from mine, and what's her name?"

"Molly."

"Molly can sleep in the main guest room."

That had me rubbing my forehead. The king bed in that room was the one I always slept on. She'd look tiny in the middle of that bed by herself. Under the sheets and underneath the down plaid comforter that I loved because it was soft and light but kept me warm even on the coldest South Dakota winter night. "Right."

Even to my own ears, my voice sounded rough.

A text notification dinged in my ear, and I pulled the phone away. Inexplicably, my heart sped up when I saw it was from Molly.

Molly Ward: This was just emailed to me. Just FYI.





I clicked on the link and found myself scrolling through the pictures too fast because I loved what I was seeing. My thumb hovered over the map, and I zoomed in. It was on the east side of Lake Washington, the same place that the Wolves owner, Allie Sutton-Pierson, lived with her husband, retired QB Luke Pierson.

"Grandma, I have something that just came through my phone that I need to look at. I'll email you my itinerary, okay?"

"Sure, sure. You'll fly on one of those fancy private planes?"

I smiled. "Probably. You know I need the extra legroom."

She harrumphed. "Whatever you say, half-pint."

"I'm excited to see you too, Grandma."

"Oh, hush. You know I love you best."

I rolled my eyes. I was her only grandchild "Love you too."

After I tossed the phone down, Marty shifted from the corner, and I bit back a curse, sending him a glare instead.

His smile widened behind the camera, but he didn't say anything.

"I actually forgot you were here, you creep." That made him laugh. "Am I going to get in trouble if I talk to you?"

"Nah. We can edit around anything, you know that."

I sat up on the couch and grabbed my phone again. The house that Molly sent me was ... perfect. Absolutely perfect.

A little bit more money than what I wanted to spend, but it checked every other box. Tall ceilings, warm tones, a massive kitchen, and sprawling views of the lake and the mountains, greens at every height in the trees that surrounded it. Trees meant privacy, and I liked that too. It was set back from the road, but the house itself wasn't a behemoth. Four bedrooms and three baths with a fully finished basement and a home gym already installed. A pool for laps in the morning before practice.

It was a space I could actually live in, not just exist.

Me: Marty is here already. Want to come with us if I can get a hold of the listing agent?





The fact that I held my breath as she started typing was akin to a blaring airhorn in my ear.

Danger! Danger! Abort!

Molly Ward: I can't tonight. The twins are here hanging out. Just wanted to pass the house along, it looked like you.





She started typing and stopped. Then once again. No other text popped up, and before I realized what I was doing, my jaw popped from grinding my molars together.

"Molly meeting us?" Marty asked lightly. Too lightly.

I cut him a look, then pulled up the number for the listing agent. Something about all of this, the past few days, had me feeling edgy and restless. There were too many circumstances out of my control, and it had my skin humming in relentless buzzing.

It would have been convenient to blame that for how the next two hours of my life unfolded.

The listing agent for the house filled my silence as I walked around all four thousand square feet of the home. Each stretch of wood floor, each reflection of the lights in the granite lining the massive kitchen island, every corner of the large, light-filled bedrooms fell prey to my notice, even if I didn't say much about it.

She must have had a sixth sense for the way I studied each inch of the place.

It did look like me.

It felt like me too. And Molly had known it.

If her inbox was anything like mine, I'd had a dozen houses emailed to me, most of which had only earned a cursory glance because I was too damn tired most nights to try to go see.

The space was large enough for someone my size, the furniture in the home big and comfortable with hefty wood frames and room to spread out. Sprawling views of blues and greens and glinting water. In my bones, I knew it was meant to be my home.

It was one of those times when I never questioned how quickly I came to a decision. It was a trait that served me well on the field, acting on instinct, because I knew my instinct wouldn’t steer me wrong.

This place was mine.

If Marty was annoyed by my lack of commentary, he didn't prompt me to say something that would serve the damn narrative. He simply followed me around as we both ignored the mindless chatter of the woman who was about to make a huge-ass commission off me.

"It's been on the market for a little over a month," she said, trailing red-tipped fingernails along the custom trim on the windows overlooking the lushly landscaped backyard. "I know I'm not supposed to say things like this, but I'm sure my clients would be"—her eyes trailed deliberately over my chest and arms—"flexible."

I held her gaze and saw exactly what she'd be willing to give me.

Nothing about her tempted me. Not her long legs or curvy hips, the nipped in waist and generous bust, or the curly dark hair spilling down her back. Most guys on the team didn't believe me, but it's entirely possible to flip the off switch when it comes to the desire to sleep with a stranger.

She was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.

And the last thing I wanted was to see the look in her eyes at how much she'd let me do to her. It was every cliché that I hated about being a professional athlete. Because I did what I did, I was desirable. Because I wore a recognizable jersey and had a familiar face, she'd let me flip her flat on her back with no more than a nod of agreement on my part.

Nothing about that appealed to me, and so, no part of my body reacted.

Instead, all I wished was that she was someone else. Someone shorter with lighter hair and brighter eyes and a bigger smile. Someone who found my temper mildly amusing and schooled me on football. Someone who looked at me and wanted to dig beneath the surface, not worship the fa?ade.

"Could I have some privacy to make my decision?" I asked her.

She glanced at the camera and back at me in question, like she couldn’t tell whether I wanted her or Marty to leave the room.

"I'd like to be alone," I said more firmly. Her eyes shuttered in an instant, and she gave me a nod of deference.

"Of course," she purred.

Marty stayed by me, a strangely comforting presence as I braced my arms on the ledge and stared ahead.

"You find a house, Griffin?"

All that restlessness from early uncoiled slowly, sinking into something comfortable. "I think I did, Marty."

He gestured on the ground, just behind the couch. I didn't see what it was at first until I crouched down and pulled it out by the edge. A smile lifted my lips when I saw them stacked on top of each other.

I called the agent back in the room.

"I want it."

Her eyes flared with a different kind of excitement. "Excellent. I'd be happy to present an offer to my clients."

"I'll offer their asking price, but I want a two-week close date so I can move in before the season starts." And I lifted my hand, letting her know I wasn’t done. "I also want to film a segment here tonight if they’d be so kind as to not return home just yet."

She lifted her eyebrows. “They’re out of town, so that should be fine.”

“And I want to borrow these.” I lifted the other hand.

If I thought her eyebrows were high before, they shot up even farther.

"You ..." She shook her head. "That's what you want?"

"Do we have a deal?"

"I-I'll call them right now," she said cautiously. In her eyes, I must have lost a bit of my appeal and replaced it with a healthy dose of insanity.

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