Football players s*ck.
A bunch of cocky, lying cheaters who think theyíre godís gift to women, just like my dear old dad. Iíve managed to avoid them my whole college career until now . I just got assigned to be wide receiver Callum Samskevitchís physical therapist.

Pro: It will be great to add to my resume.
Con: I have to see him. Every. Single. Day.
Which would be fine if he wasn't so dang sexy

Football is all I've got, so when Coach saddles me with some frumpy PT student with a chip on her shoulder, all I can think is doom. I donít have time for this. Not now. Not when my dreams are on the verge of being crushed. All that should matter right now is ball. So why canít I stop imagining what Bee Mitchell is hiding beneath those baggy sweatshirts?