Disclaimer: Twilight's not mine. But I thank Ms Meyer for the inspiration! The following is EPOV. This alternating POV may continue (well, it does for at least a few more chapters) but it may also change depending on what comes to mind.

Blonde, brunette, redhead? Statistics show Cullen prefers

his flavors come blonde by some 62%. ~ Football Fantasies Blog

Raucous laughter, loud conversation, louder music, and the latest video war game all competed inside the otherwise staid two-story home. But even off campus, I knew the eyes were on me. I was expected to cut loose, get up to my usual antics that made me not only the team leader, but the life of the every party for the last year. But Coach's warning hummed in my ear, so I kept things simple, a few chin lifts and knuckle bounces with the guys, all the while avoiding eye contact with the girls or lingering too long near any of the guys. I had no fucking patience to make conversation. How did Sam Uley figure we could "meet" in such a public setting?

I made my way into the kitchen, propped back against the kitchen island and watched over the counters as people hooked up and otherwise partied on a random Wednesday night. Yeah, it was just the start of the semester, but getting wasted mid-week was not on my agenda. I poured a ginger ale and settled in to watch and wait.

Jason Pines, a second-string defensive lineman and bench warmer, strolled up to the center island and started pouring himself a drink from the assorted bottles. He addressed me in a low tone, barely audible over the racket. "He's upstairs, in my dad's office. Third door on the left."

I narrowed my gaze at Pines, then eased back with my own glass of ginger ale. I lifted my glass in thanks before strolling deeper into the house. I threaded my way through the bodies, stopping every so often to BS with my guys, but steadily moving closer to the stairs.

Within twenty minutes, I'd made my way to the foot of the stairs. Private meetings with boosters would be frowned on by the NCAA and certain university admins, but with the whole team here, it could probably be excused. Regardless, taking this risk at Coach's direction was pretty ironic. Here the Coach was lecturing me to stay within the lines of good behavior while at the same time sending me here to potentially break all sorts of rules.

When two guys started screaming at each other over some bullshit black ops video game drawing the attention of everyone in the room, I pivoted on my heel and bolted up the stairs two at a time until I hit the landing, then hurried into the hall and out of view.

It was early enough that people were still downstairs and not fucking the night away in every halfway hidden space up here. I reached the third door, twisted the knob and shoved inside.

Sitting in one of two leather chairs angled in front of a fireplace was Sam Uley. He had that same fake look on his face that always made me want to take a swing. Uley owned half a dozen car dealerships and fast food restaurants throughout the city. But those were his hobby, his gimmie jobs for relatives and idiot players. He apparently made his real cash with some sort of investment firm. I didn't know the details and until Coach told me to expect this meeting, I hadn't really known much about Uley other than his fake ass showed at every team event. But since being told to show or else tonight, I'd asked around and done the whole Google thing.

What I'd learned so far had the hair on the back of my neck prickling. Uley poured a lot of cash into the university - both the athletic department and academics. He was a leader in the alumni and spearheaded at least one major fundraiser every year. He didn't have a building named after himself yet, but the school liked him and the athletic department damn near worshiped him.

Uley stood as I approached, with a welcoming handshake and smile that didn't sit quite right on his face. I resisted the urge to rub the hairs on the back of my neck down.

"Edward," he said as he gripped my hand in that way weak men do when they're trying to impress. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I'm a huge fan, you know."

I nodded, coming close to rolling my eyes. Agreeing to meet with him, huh? Like I'd been left any fucking choice.

He motioned me into the other chair. "Ready for the big opener next week?"

I settled in, taking my time before answering. I reminded myself that Uley didn't have all the power in this conversation. Yeah, he could effect whether or not I played, but he, and most every other Husky fan, wanted me on the field. They wanted the skill I brought to the game. "Ready as I'll ever be, Mr. Uley."

"Caught the last scrimmage. Looking good, my boy, looking really good."

I listened as Uley shared more of what I already knew. I couldn't throw a bad ball. No QB in the conference had a better arm or better footwork. And no player on the field had better instincts. No shit.

"ESPN rolled some footage of your last open practice. You must have seen that, right? Some plays from the good games last season. Nick Sampson is positive you're going to hand us the conference title this year.

And the ESPN commentator wouldn't be wrong, I thought. But I said, "That's the plan."

Uley leaned back in his chair, eyes on me, assessing. Then abruptly, he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. He leaned in further like he was getting ready for a little man-to-man chat with his favorite son. "But then they ran the photo of your wrecked Z. And edited versions of the photos that circulated on Twitter and Facebook - you know the ones I mean, Edward? The ones with you and not one, but two girls and a pool table. And while the edited versions of the photos did little to disguise what was going on, Samson went ahead and reminded the national viewing audience - and this was ESPN, so what, maybe a few hundred thousand people? - that those pictures preceded your being taken into police custody. Not arrested. They made a point of emphasizing that. Not arrested, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. But police custody, which is bad enough. Reminded everyone about the partying, the underage drinking, and the losses of the last four games last year."

Just like Uley was reminding me now. Yeah, asshole, I remember last year just fine, thank you very much. I concentrated on not crushing the plastic cup of ginger ale and let Uley get it all out.

"Edward, there's no question in anyone's mind that you're the best quarterback for the Huskies. But the University of Washington has never made athletics a top priority. They won't suffer embarrassment, and certainly not on a national scale. Between Penn State and Ohio State, the press is hungry for the next scandal. Coach and I had to really put our necks out there to keep you on the roster. The university wanted to release you for conduct unbecoming. Between the bad press and the academic issues, you're persona non grata as far as the university admins are concerned."

Irritation burned just under my skin and I could feel my temper prickling, getting ready to fire off and cause me more shit. I concentrated on unclenching my jaw and responding in a voice slightly lower than a yell. "Coach asked for my promise before I ever set foot on campus again this year—"

Uley leaned back again, abandoning his fake man-to-man camaraderie. "Yeah, but we've come to realize that's just not going to cut it."

"My practices are damn near perfect—"

"Wins are what matters, and the school's reputation." Uley interrupted again and I realized it was a power move, his effort to show a little dominance and that set fire to my temper like nothing else could. In my mind, I could hear my father doing the same thing, forcing me in the direction he wanted me to go.

But unlike when I was a kid, I had some leverage here and I wasn't above using it. "As big a fan as you are, Mr. Uley, I'm sure you've seen the latest scout reports - the scouts fucking love me. And the commentators, love me or hate me, all have me in the running for the Heisman."

"And that's news, big news. Which means all eyes are going to be on you. Will you have a killer year or crash and burn like last season? You've already set a precedent, Cullen, and you're asking us to trust in little more than a boy's promise to be good. To invest the school's resources and reputation in a kid who fucked up so bad he landed himself and an innocent girl in the hospital less than a six months ago."

I slumped back into my chair. There was no escaping that uncomfortable truth. I'd hesitate to call the girl innocent, but everything else was spot on. I'd made a promise. Big fucking deal. I nodded at Uley, meeting the other man's eyes as he waited.

"Edward, son, we want you to succeed. We, the boosters, the school, your success is our success. You go on to a professional career - that only looks good for us, you know? So hear me out. We think this sets you up for the best possible chance in the drafts, and it gets the Huskies what they need - butts in the stadium and positive recognition on a national stage. So, again, hear me out. We've come up with a list of stipulations – things that will get us both what we want in the end."

I shifted in the suddenly uncomfortable chair, feeling like I was in the principles office with no hope of escape. What the fuck? If my school was laying "stipulations" on me, I might as well be in kindergarten.

"First, you move back in to the athletics dorm. You'll room with Emmett, which Coach says you won't hate as you both came from the same high school, right?"

I nodded, but really, what did my agreement matter?

"Second, obviously, no drinking, no drugs, nothing illegal that will land you in front of a cop."

I rolled my eyes at this one. Obviously. I lifted the fucking plastic glass of ginger ale. Uley grinned, enjoying himself a little too much.

"Third, you agree to a girlfriend."

I stated at him. Something in my expression must have clued him in to my astonishment, for he leaned back again in his chair with an exasperated sigh. That pissed me off even more. "You fucking kidding me?"

Uley held out his hands, palms down – as though to press some patience into me. Good fucking luck with that; I had none.

"Seriously, Mr. Uley," I struggled to moderate my tone, but that was the best I could do. "You have to be kidding me."

"No, Edward. It's no joke, no one's kidding around here. You agree to no alcohol, no toxic publicity, a curfew. And the girlfriend. You're attention stays focused on the game. You lose the distractions, your game improves and you'll be a better player and better for the school, better than ever. You have the girlfriend, the gossips get bored, forget about everything except your next game. The scouts see your focus, it will make an impression. You take us to the national championship, you're set."

This time it was me flopping back into my chair. My heart was pounding, my mouth dry and I didn't know exactly what all I was feeling. Anger was the most dominant, but something that tasted uncomfortably like fear also circled like a hungry shark. This man could end my career right now. And though I'd known my fuck up was of astronomical proportions, at this moment, it bore down on me with unrelenting intensity.

"…my niece."

I stiffened. He'd said something important there, something I'd missed. "What was that?"

Uley's mouth tightened. "My niece, Leah, is a student here. She's a model student and would be perfect for our purposes. I could speak with her. You two might—"

"You're even going to pick out the girlfriend?"

"Not exactly. She's just a suggestion. She's pre-med, an exemplary student. She'd fill the need you have perfectly."

I lurched up from the chair, my chest too tight. "I need some time, Mr. Uley. Need to think about everything."

Uley rose, as well. "You have until Monday. Play your game Saturday; remember how good it feels to be in the spotlight for the right reasons." He stood back, motioned for me to pass. "But let's be honest here, Edward. It's already decided. You agree to these terms or Saturday is the last game you ever play for the Huskies."

Cold washed over me. My parent's faces flashed in my mind. Images of sitting on the living room couch, watching the game, critiquing the last call, predicting the next play…year after year until it was an ingrained part of our existence passed lightning quick. What would Dad say if I called him and said I was off the team? Last year had been hard enough; this would end our relationship as I knew it. "I'll be in touch by Monday."

Uley let me leave at that point without another word. I flew through the doorway, out into the hall. As I jogged down the stairs, I moved with a lot less care than when I'd come up. But my mind was reeling, my gut churning. I felt sick, trapped.

I brushed by my teammates and the others partying the night away in the lower level of the house, shoving out the front door, moving fast until I could sling myself into the relative privacy of my car. Even then, I could see people standing up on the porch, pointing at me and waving me to come back inside.

If Uley was right about one thing, it was this. I didn't have a prayer of not attracting attention. Last year, I'd eaten that up. Loved the adulation and attention. I could practically hear my mother's voice crooning hindsight's twenty-twenty. Yeah, Mom, it sure as fuck was.

Driving demanded enough of my attention that I was able to get a handle on my breathing, fight down the roiling nausea in my stomach. I wasn't far from campus, and the hour was early enough that there was still traffic. What Uley was proposing wasn't even legal. But legality and reality were not much compatible in this circumstance. I bucked Uley and ended up not playing for at least a year. Should I take the chance that another school would pick me up? Lose a year of play, even if they did? End up at a Podunk school out of the eyes of the pro scouts?

No, I'd be agreeing to these restrictions, but I still had to wrap my head around everything. The worst, of course, was the stupid-ass set-up girlfriend. No way could I handle that. I had to find a way to negotiate my way into something I could at least stomach and didn't make me feel entirely like a stud for hire.