Previously published as Lucky Number Eleven.

The headlines don’t lie—two pro football players went head-to-head … over me.

My brother warned me. Don’t touch Branch Best.
They might be teammates and best friends, but Branch is a heartbreaker.

The smirk. The swagger. His playboy reputation is well earned. So obviously, I was drawn to the red flag like a wide receiver to an end zone.

One fun, carefree night. Game over.

That is, until two faint pink lines turned the secret into the biggest scandal of the sports season. Now fists are flying on the field, my brother won’t talk to me, and I want to bury myself under the covers with an entire coffee cake and forget the world.

This was never supposed to be serious, but the game has changed. And now I must ask—are we just a fumble … or the end game?