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over the final details of his contract. Members of the coaching and training staff came by for introductions, but Shane couldn’t remember a single name or face. His mind was racing as he stared across the room trying to figure out what Dorothy was up to. Or Carly. Or whatever the hell her name was. She’d known who he was all along.
Christ, he’d been nuzzling her neck!
He’d spent the last several days in a constant state of sexual frustration, ready to hunt down a certain fashion designer who’d ruined the evening.
Shane should have felt relieved that he’d managed to avoid breaking a fundamental rule he had: don’t screw with the staff within the team’s organization. He’d learned that one the hard way.
    But he wasn’t relieved. The sexual tension was still there, sitting between them in the room like a giant linebacker. It was all Shane could do not to break out in a sweat. History was
not
going to repeat itself. He’d been falsely accused of sexually harassing the daughter of the San Diego Chargers’ owner, when the truth was, it was she who’d been harassing
him
. In her capacity as the team’s travel coordinator, she’d constantly made sure her room adjoined to his when the team stayed in a hotel the night before each game. When Shane had rebuffed her advances enough times, she cried foul, claiming he’d been doing the harassing. The problem was, he didn’t feel a breath of the attraction to her that he felt for Dorothy. If she came on to him, he wasn’t so sure he could resist.
    “I think that does it,” Hank was saying. “Asia Dupree, our media relations director, suffered a little mishap on the ski slopes last week and tore her ACL. Despite that, she’s put together a fairly intensive media campaign to help turn you into a household name here in the Baltimore area.”
    “Ahh, damage control for my image.” Shane leaned back in his chair defensively.
    “Are you suggesting your image couldn’t use a little public relations help?” Hank challenged.
    Roscoe answered before Shane could damage his image further. “He’s suggesting nothing of the kind,” his agent said as the heel of his shoe made contact with Shane’s shin beneath the table.
    “Good,” the GM replied, leaning back in his chair, one ankle propped over the other knee. He peered over steepled fingers at Shane. “We take our responsibilities for encouraging proper values in the community very seriously. Every member of the Blaze family is expected to adhere to a certain standard of conduct both on
and
off the field. You’ve had some very negative publicity with your off-the-field antics lately. You also have a reputation of bucking the team’s system when it comes to dress codes and curfews. Everyone on this team follows our rules, Devlin. No exceptions.”
    Shane resisted the urge to squirm in his chair, instead maintaining an insolent slouch. He’d spent years cultivating his renegade reputation. Most of it was an act; a shield to keep people from getting too close. Best of all, his so-called bad behavior helped to wipe a bit of the sheen off the Devlin name. Shane meant to bring down his father any way he could.
    Hank lectured on: “As a team, we believe we have everything in place to win the Super Bowl this season. Gabe Harrelson’s little honeymoon mishap may have been unexpected, but there are still a few months until the season starts. Time enough for you to learn our system and lead us where we need to go. You’re smart. You’re talented. And you’re here because everyone in this organization believes you can do the job. Leave the bad-ass behavior on the West Coast and come here to play and we’ll be fine. Are we clear with this?”
    “Well, of course,” Roscoe said, again not giving Shane a chance to speak. “Gabe Harrelson was well liked by folks in the area. Shane wants to do everything he can to earn the respect of all the Blaze fans, too.” Roscoe finished his sappy speech by shooting Carly his Boy