Touchdown Temptation [MOVING TO GALATEA]

The Nashville Vipers’ training facility smelled like sweat, testosterone, and bad decisions. In other words, exactly how Alessia Sterling remembered it.

She hadn’t set foot in this building in over two years, not since she swore off everything involving cleats, contracts, and men who thought a six-figure endorsement deal made them gods. But here she was. Back in the belly of the beast, stilettos clicking across polished concrete, hair pulled into a sleek knot that meant business, not nostalgia.

She was here to clean up a mess.

And it had a name: Jace Donovan.

She didn’t need to look up to know he was watching her the second she walked in. He always did — at games, at fundraisers, even once at her father’s post-season dinner, where he’d winked at her from across the table like he had any idea what to do with a woman who wasn’t chasing his jersey.

“You know,” Jace drawled from behind her, his voice low and lazy, “I’d recognize that strut anywhere.”

Alessia closed her eyes for half a second. Breathe. Then she turned, slowly, already irritated.

He was leaning against the wall like he had nowhere better to be — like the world wasn’t two seconds from cancelling him again. Black Vipers shirt stretched across his chest, dark hair damp from a workout, and that signature smirk aimed directly at her.

“Donovan,” she said coolly.

“You came all this way just for me? I’m flattered.”

She held up her tablet. “You punched a country singer, called a referee a ‘whiny little diva with a god complex,’ and flipped off a fan. I didn’t come for you, I came for the disaster you left in your wake.”

His grin widened. “So this is business, not pleasure. Got it.”

“Please don’t mistake me for someone who ever found you pleasurable."

“Ouch.”

She turned on her heel, heels echoing sharply as she walked past him. “Let’s make one thing clear. I don’t flirt, I don’t fawn, and I don’t care how many touchdowns you’ve thrown. You’re a PR nightmare, and I’m here to fix it. Period.”

Jace followed, hands in his pockets, all amused arrogance. “Good. I don’t do crisis managers with superiority complexes. We’ll get along great.”

Coach Sterling, her father, appeared just then, his expression as unreadable as ever. Alessia gave him a tight smile. He nodded back, ignoring the tension hanging in the air like smoke.

“Glad you’re both here,” he said. “This thing with Donovan is spiraling. Sponsors are pissed. Media’s circling.”

Alessia didn’t need the briefing. She’d read the headlines. She’d written them, practically, with the way his name trended every other week for something idiotic.

“I want you handling this personally,” her father added.

Jace looked far too pleased with that news. “Guess that means we’ll be spending some quality time together after all.”

Alessia didn’t miss a beat. “Perfect. We’ll start by reviewing the long list of reasons you’re currently one bad quote away from being benched.”

She swept past him again, her tablet already pulled up to the latest scandal.

Behind her, Jace just laughed.

God help her. It was going to be a long season.

The conference room was glass-walled and pristine, perched on the second floor overlooking the indoor practice field. Alessia walked in first, every inch of her posture tight and commanding. Her tablet rested against her hip like a shield. She didn’t need notes for this meeting — the mess that was Jace Donovan was already committed to memory.

Jace sauntered in behind her like he had all the time in the world, his gait casual, his smirk still in place. He dropped into the chair across from her and propped one ankle on his knee, arms spread wide along the back of the seat like he owned the damn building.

Coach Sterling stayed by the door and cleared his throat. “Jace, this is going to be your official crisis manager for as long as it takes to clean this up.”

“You make it sound like I rolled a bus full of nuns,” Jace muttered.

“No,” Alessia said sharply, eyes flicking up from her screen. “You just hit the PR trifecta: violence, arrogance, and a complete lack of self-awareness. It’s honestly impressive.”

Coach sighed. “Alessia, play nice.”

“I am playing nice,” she replied, tapping a few notes into her tablet. “If I weren’t, I’d be posting his mugshot on Instagram with a link to a GoFundMe for his emotional maturity.”

Jace let out a low laugh. “You’ve got jokes, Sterling.”

She looked up at him, her voice smooth but deadly. “I’m not joking. You’re hanging by a thread. The league’s watching. The sponsors are restless. Your contract renewal depends on you becoming less of a headline and more of a brand. And right now? Your brand is ‘reckless hot guy with anger issues.’”

He blinked. “You think I’m hot?”

“I think you’re reckless,” she shot back.

Coach pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m leaving before I witness a homicide.”

He stepped out, leaving the two of them alone in the room with nothing but tension and a glass wall between them and the rest of the facility.

Jace leaned forward, elbows on the table now, more serious than she expected. “Look, I get it. I’ve made mistakes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Mistakes? That’s how you’re categorizing calling a ref a ‘fame-hungry hobbit’ on live TV?”

His grin returned. “Okay, that one was funny.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You haven’t even started working with me yet.”

Alessia took a slow breath. Focus. She wasn’t here to spar with him. She was here to protect the team, protect the brand — and maybe, in some twisted way, protect her father’s legacy.

She pulled up the plan she’d drafted before coming to the Vipers' HQ. “Here’s how this is going to go. First, you’re going to apologize — sincerely. No smirking, no jokes, no half-assed sarcasm. Public statement. Clear, concise, and humble.”

He snorted. “I don’t do humble.”

“You do now.”

“Didn’t realize I signed over my personality.”

“You didn’t. You signed over the part of it that gets you in trouble.”

He leaned back again, jaw working slightly. For a moment, he didn’t speak. And when he finally did, there was something quieter in his voice. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

Alessia met his gaze evenly. “I don’t need to. I’ve handled athletes like you a hundred times. Talented, hot-headed, always used to being forgiven because you can throw a football.”

Something flickered in his expression. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think you’re protecting me from?”

“Himself,” she said simply, standing. “You might not care if you implode your career, but there are rookies on this team who look up to you. Fans who show up in your jersey. My father’s reputation. My company’s credibility. And let’s not forget the media, who are just dying for you to give them another reason to light you up.”

She paced slowly to the window, watching as a few players moved across the practice field below. She recognized them. Faces she’d seen as a child — younger then, fresh-faced. Football had always been part of her life. But it had never felt as heavy as it did now.

Behind her, Jace’s voice was quiet. “You used to love this game.”

She turned, surprised. “What?”

“I’ve seen you before, at games. Years ago. You were always in the stands, yelling louder than the fans.”

Her jaw tightened. “That was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

Her eyes met his, sharp and unflinching. “None of your business.”

He nodded, but there was something in his expression now. Not pity, not arrogance. Just... curiosity. Maybe even regret.

Alessia collected herself quickly. “We’re doing a charity event next Friday — youth football clinic, cameras will be there. You’ll smile, you’ll coach, and you’ll keep your mouth shut unless I approve the quote.”

“Babysitting me already?” he asked with a grin.

“Believe me,” she said, walking to the door, “if I were babysitting, I’d at least get paid extra to deal with this level of ego.”

She opened the door, pausing in the doorway to glance back at him. “And Donovan?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you try to flirt with me, try not to make it so obvious. It’s embarrassing.”

She walked out, leaving Jace still seated, staring after her with a look he didn’t wear often.

Like maybe, just maybe...

He’d finally met his match.

By the time Alessia pulled into her driveway, the sun had already dipped behind the Tennessee hills, leaving a soft golden haze lingering over the rooftops.

She killed the engine and sat for a moment in silence, her fingers still curled around the steering wheel. The air inside her car was warm, but it wasn’t enough to ease the tension in her shoulders. The day had been long: meetings, damage control calls, sponsor updates, and Jace freaking Donovan with his smug grin and easy swagger lodged in her brain like a splinter.

God, she needed a glass of wine.

Inside, her townhouse was quiet and clean, just the way she liked it. Pale hardwood floors, dark countertops, tall windows with gauzy white curtains that softened the world outside. Her laptop waited on the kitchen island, already open to a dozen tabs: Jace’s past interviews, sports blogs, donation receipts, and public sentiment trackers.

She didn’t even bother kicking off her heels as she walked straight to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and poured a generous glass.

This was what people didn’t see — the unglamorous hours spent stitching up the reputations of men who never even realized they were bleeding.

She curled up on the couch with her wine and tablet, flicking through social media posts tagged with Jace’s name. It was a toxic storm of hashtags, memes, and highlight reels. Some fans were still loyal, blinded by touchdowns and dimples. Others weren’t so forgiving.

Her eyes paused on a video clip. One she’d seen already, but her thumb hovered anyway. She hit play.

Jace, standing outside a bar, laughing too loud, shoulders tense. Then — the scuffle. The way his smile dropped when the singer threw the first insult. The flash of fists. The grainy, chaotic quality of a thousand phone cameras capturing the moment his temper cracked wide open.

You used to love this game.

She set the tablet down harder than she meant to and took a long sip of wine.

The worst part? He’d been right.

There was a time when football was everything to her. Not because of the players. Not even because of her dad. But because it had structure. Rules. A playbook that made sense. Something to believe in.

Until she believed in the wrong person.

She glanced at the bookshelf across the room. One photo stood alone — her and her father on the field after a playoff win, her younger, smiling, wearing a Vipers cap too big for her head. Innocent. Hopeful.

Stupid, she thought.

These days, she kept her heart in check and her claws sharper than her lipstick. That’s what it took to survive in a world where charm hid rot and cameras never blinked.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Text from Dad:

“Thanks for today. I know this is asking a lot.”

She hesitated for a second, then replied:

“Just doing my job.”

Simple. Safe. Professional.

She didn’t tell him how her stomach twisted every time she walked back into that stadium. She didn’t mention how Jace looked at her like he saw things she’d buried years ago. She didn’t say she’d barely taken a breath all day.

Instead, she opened her planner and started reviewing the charity event schedule. Press check-in, camera zones, child safety protocols, pre-approved soundbites, wardrobe coordination. If this thing went sideways, it would be her name on the line.

She wouldn’t let that happen.

Not because of him.

Not because of anyone.

Alessia Sterling had rebuilt her life once already — and no cocky quarterback was going to unravel it again.

The locker room was mostly empty by the time Jace finished his post-practice ice bath, dragged himself into a hoodie, and headed for the lot. Half the team had already cleared out — some off to lift, others probably headed straight into bad decisions with worse judgment.

He threw his duffel into the back of his car and slid behind the wheel, but didn’t start the engine. Instead, he leaned back in his seat and stared out at the empty parking spaces, bathed in fading dusk and fluorescent lights.

He hadn’t lied when he said he remembered her strut. Alessia Sterling had always carried herself like someone who knew exactly what she was worth — someone untouchable.

She’d shown up today in those heels and that sharp voice and sliced through his ego like it was soft butter. And Jace? He’d let her. Hell, part of him had enjoyed it. Because as much as she grated on him, there was no pretending she wasn’t brilliant. Prepared. Unshakable.

And worst of all?

She saw right through him.

Most people — coaches, fans, even his agent — only saw what they wanted to. The star quarterback with the million-dollar arm and the shit-eating grin. The one who laughed through press conferences and pretended the chaos didn’t bother him.

But Alessia didn’t fall for it. Not for a second.

He drove aimlessly for a while before ending up at his place — a modern penthouse that overlooked the Nashville skyline, complete with the kind of sleek furniture and cold lighting decorators loved and Jace barely noticed.

The place was clean, mostly because he didn’t spend enough time in it to mess it up. A few trophies lined the shelf. Some framed magazine covers. One lonely whiskey glass left on the counter from the night before.

He poured himself another, neat.

Slumped on the couch, he turned on the TV, but muted it immediately. The sports network was already recycling footage from the bar incident — blurred punches, dramatic voice-overs, and scrolling Twitter opinions from people who didn’t know a damn thing about him.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

He had made mistakes. No denying it. But it wasn’t just anger, wasn’t just some self-destruction impulse for fun. There were days he felt like he was walking a tightrope over a pit of expectations and legacy and media landmines — all while being told to smile more and play through the pain.

And yeah, sometimes he snapped.

But Alessia? She didn’t give a shit about his excuses. She wasn’t impressed by the fame or the stats or the way he could charm entire interview rooms into forgiving him. That kind of indifference should’ve annoyed him.

Instead, it stuck with him. Kept looping in his head like a bad replay.

You used to love this game.

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Hadn’t expected the flash in her eyes, like she’d been exposed. Like someone had peeled something back she wasn’t ready to look at.

What had happened to her?

And why the hell did he care?

He downed the last of the whiskey and stood, restless. He should’ve gone to the gym. Called a teammate. Hell, gone out and distracted himself the old-fashioned way — with a girl who didn’t expect anything deeper than a smile and a hotel key.

But none of it sounded right tonight.

Instead, he walked into his home office and flipped on the light. There was a framed photo on the shelf: him and Coach Sterling after his rookie debut. Arms slung over each other’s shoulders. A real smile on his face. A rare one.

Coach had believed in him early. And Jace respected the hell out of him.

Which meant he couldn’t screw this up — not the season, not the sponsors, not the fragile balance between his talent and the team’s patience.

And if that meant playing nice with Alessia Sterling and biting his tongue for the first time in his damn life?

So be it.

He grabbed his phone, pulled up her contact from the shared PR file, and hovered over the screen.

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he typed:

“Thanks for not completely roasting me in front of your dad today. I deserved worse. You were... fair.”

He hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

She didn’t reply right away. He didn’t expect her to.

But still, for the first time in a long time, Jace felt the stirrings of something he hadn’t felt since his rookie year.

Challenge.

Interest.

Maybe even a little hope.

And damn if that wasn’t more terrifying than any blitz coming off the line.

Author’s Note

Hey there, reader! 👋✨

Welcome to my story Touchdown Temptation! I’m so excited (and a little nervous 😅) to finally share this world with you—full of football, fiery banter, tension-filled moments, and characters who are just begging to fall for each other... even if they’d rather tackle each other first. 💥🏈

If you made it to the end of Chapter One, THANK YOU. Truly. It means the world that you’re giving this story a chance.

I’d love to hear what you think so far—your comments, reactions, favorite lines, or even wild predictions. Don’t be shy! I read everything and it seriously fuels my writing. ❤️

Until next chapter,

Mia