“Austin!” Cason grabbed Austin’s hand and used all his strength to pull back on the limb. “Come on, man!” Blood spotted Austin’s undershirt, smeared his knuckles. “You want to try it again, Matt?” His voice carried throughout the silenced locker room. “You want to try sending pictures of your dick to my wife again?” Cason released Austin’s arm. “What? Are you serious? Man, Austin. . .do your thing.”

...she noticed the door had pushed open a little further from her fumbling. She noticed she could see well into the hallway. And she noticed that she could see Matt, his eyes glassy and his bottom lip pulled into his mouth, his gaze on the mocha-capped tip of that exposed right breast.

as he arrived at the ESPN channel and the ticker at the bottom flashed the latest news—Houston linebacker, Matt Wilson, traded to Dallas just days after a major scuffle with Austin Riley—he knew the entire month would be a shit-show.

Matt swung again. Two of his teammates’ arms stretched across his midsection, dragging him toward the Houston sideline. Cason Allen, Dallas’ top wide-receiver, pushed Austin back with two hands against his chest pads.

She tossed the cotton ball into the nearby trashcan and turned. He lifted her onto the vanity counter, spread her legs with his, and pushed the skirt up to her hips.

“I want you,” veteran linebacker, Matt Wilson, repeated. “What do you have to say to that?”

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