You Ruined My Life, Now Be My Girlfriend

She needed to get closer.

This was Mackenzie's final line of thinking before leaving the bleachers, camera gear weighed down on her shoulders. There was no chance she'd ever obtain the photo she needed if she remained way back in the nosebleed seats.

Elbowed through crowds of students and fans, Mackenzie reminded herself that while she'd been stuck with this job, she was going to take it home.

She finally managed to score on Sonny Tenz, the lane that circled around the field during the hot game with Johnson Carb Academy. The wealthy kids were pounding Wasons College on home soil, but her school team just kept going, taking it like a champion. Honestly, Mackenzie had no clue what was actually happening on the field. If she didn't keep an eye on the scoreboard, she'd be completely lost. This assignment had been forced on her by the editor of the school paper, and while she would have much rather been shooting something meaningful, she’d already finished the important news pieces for the week. Sports events were usually left for the photographers who wanted free passes into games.

“Arizen has mono. You’re going in for him.”

That was all her editor, Doug, had said before he flung her a press badge and told her the game was on in fifteen minutes. The paper needed pictures, and, naturally, she was late.

So the awful seats.

But Mackenzie had worked under worse conditions and more pressure. She'd been properly trained. Elbowing through the tide of students and spectators, she finally ended up on the fringe of the field. The players were already in top gear, the Wasons team mixing with the orange-and-navy storm of Johnson Carb's giants. Their players were huge—broad-shouldered like pros—and with their flashy uniforms, they made Wasons look like they were playing in hand-me-downs. Mackenzie didn't mind. All she needed was the shot. That's all.

She set up her camera on the sidelines, ignoring the absence of a tripod—though it would make the shot neater.

"Hey. You!"

A man in tight striped shorts came bounding over, his hand clutched around a whistle. He blew it right in her face, making her head flinch back. He stalked across the sidelines with hot spots burning in his eyes and gestured at her.

"What do you think you're doing on my field?"

She wasn't actually on the field. Not technically. Mackenzie set her camera against her hip.

"I just need a couple of shots of the game."

"Take them from the bleachers."

"I'm press," she snarled, whipping out her badge. "I got here late too. I'll take my picture and leave. I have a deadline to meet."

She was so over it. Wasting her Friday night shooting a football game against what seemed to be combat-wearing boys was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.

The ref blew his whistle again—hard enough to make her clamp her teeth.

"I don't care if you're the President of the United States. You're on my field. Get off—now."

He was blocking her path, and she didn't move fast enough. Before she could even consider it, he was grabbing the tripod and pulling it out from the sidelines.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" she growled.

He reached for her camera, and she moved back hastily. No way this guy was touching her dad's camera.

"Back the fuck off!"

"You will get off my field—"

He halted when someone yelled from the field. The ref turned around, and so did Mackenzie, just in time to see a Johnson Carb player coming full tilt towards them. The game hadn't stopped, yet this guy was already headed straight for the sidelines.

He was huge. The largest man Mackenzie had ever seen—and probably still not even twenty yet. All of Johnson Carb's crew looked like soldiers, but this guy? Captain America-level of intimidating.

He had the build too—broad shoulders, muscular build, leaner build but still strong. His thigh alone was bigger than hers, and she wasn't small. Size sixteen most days.

"Whaddaya want?" he growled, his voice low.

He removed his helmet, ruffling out a mess of dark curls that cascaded in waves over nearly-black, piercing eyes. His complexion was honey-colored, as if he were born that way, not some tanning-bed baby.

Why are you staring so?

Because he was staring at her.

He was. breathtaking. That much was clear. Dusky-hued irises, square jaw, straight nose—every feature of his face carved like a statue.

He stepped forward, and the ref pushed his hand into his chest.

"Get back on the field, Tony Zacks," the ref snarled, shaking the player out of whatever trance he'd been in gazing at Mackenzie.

Tony did not budge. He appeared to grow even taller somehow, puffed up and glowering at the ref. "You were going to get hands-on with that girl."

Mackenzie blinked. What the…

She stared between the two as Tony got to his feet in the ref's face. The official took a step back—a full-grown man stepping back.

"Get on the field or I'm sending you out of the game," the ref warned, whistle poised.

"I fucking dare you, bro."

The whistle blew. The ref tossed Tony out with a flick of his wrist.

Mackenzie's mouth dropped open. So did Tony's.

Next thing, three other Johnson Carb players came running towards the sidelines, leaving the game in progress. One arrived first, blond hair pouring out from under his helmet. The other two were on either side of him—one tall like Tony, the other unmistakably the biggest guy on the entire field, like a man-child on steroids.

"What's up?" the blond one said. "Anaga, where are you? Why aren't you out there?"