Russ Holliday was once the golden boy of the NFL—fast, sharp, and impossible to beat. But after a string of bad seasons and a career-ending shoulder injury, his name became synonymous with “washed up.” Tired of the media circus and pity, he disappeared from the spotlight.

Until… he reemerges with a wig, fake nose, and new identity: Chad Powers, a “random walk-on” trying out for a struggling college team. Everyone buys it—except he wasn’t expecting to meet her.

(Y/N), the coach’s daughter, couldn’t care less about football. She’s only on the field to help her dad keep things organized. She notices “Chad” right away—awkward, trying too hard, a little mysterious. And while she rolls her eyes at the whole team, she starts catching herself looking at him… not realizing he’s one of the most famous (and scandalous) QBs in the country.

The sun was beating down on the practice field, and (Y/N) had her arms full of water bottles. She didn’t want to be there—sweaty guys yelling, whistles blowing—it was all the same to her.

She dropped the crate near the bench and wiped her forehead. That’s when she noticed him.

The new guy. “Chad Powers.”

He was taller than the rest, a little too polished for some random walk-on. His helmet sat crooked in his hands as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. But then, when he threw the ball—smooth, clean, like it was second nature—the whole field stopped to watch.

“Hey, water girl,” he called with a grin that was way too confident for someone who was supposed to be a nobody. “Mind tossing me one?” (Y/N) raised a brow, unimpressed. “It’s (Y/N), actually. And maybe if you prove you can throw as well as you catch.” He chuckled, catching her sarcasm like he caught passes—easily. “Deal. I’ll prove it to you.”

And that was the first spark.

(Y/N) had finished lugging the last crate of Gatorade back into the storage shed. The field was finally empty—no whistles, no sweaty linemen yelling across the turf. Just silence.

She tugged her ponytail loose, sighing, when movement caught her eye near the locker room.

The door creaked open, and out stepped—Russ Holiday.

Not “Chad Powers” with the goofy wig and big fake ugly nose. Not the clumsy, try-hard walk-on everyone bought into.

This man was stripped down after practice, hair damp, no prosthetics, no fake anything. His jawline was sharper, his eyes brighter, his shoulders broader. He looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.

(Y/N) froze, the towel in her hand slipping to the floor.

He noticed her instantly. Stiffened. Then cursed under his breath.

“(Y/N)… you weren’t supposed to—” He rubbed the back of his neck, half-embarrassed, half-cornered. “You weren’t supposed to see this.” Her heart hammered. She blinked at him, trying to reconcile the dorky

“Chad” she’d been bantering with all week and this.

“Wait,” she whispered, stepping closer. “You’re—”

His eyes met hers, raw and vulnerable in a way that shook her. No cocky grin, no goofy Chad Powers act. Just a man who looked tired of hiding.

“Russ Holliday,” he admitted quietly. “Yeah. That Russ Holliday.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “You’re telling me… I’ve been handing out water to Chad Freaking Powers all this time? You let me call you—” She broke off with a disbelieving laugh. “Oh my god.”

Russ gave her a sheepish half-smile, dimples flickering. “Chad was safer than Russ.” His voice softened. “But I guess the secret’s out now, isn’t it?” And just like that, the air between them changed.

Because “Chad” had been funny, approachable, harmless.

But Russ Holliday—standing there, real and heartbreakingly handsome—was dangerous in a way she hadn’t prepared for.