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Of course, she had made a solemn vow never to be caught in a situation like that again. Even if it meant given up women forever. Well, maybe forever was

a bit of a stretch, but at least until Pallas Dylan Lambert and the Birmingham Badgers were out of her life.

Decision made, Hodge hit her warm up routine with gusto, stopping only when she felt a presence looming over her. She straightened, looking up into the

dark, flashing eyes of Keisha Brown.

“I seen you eyeballing Lambert over there, shorty. Just keep lookin’, girl, cause that’s the closest you’re ever gonna get.”

Hodge easily stood her ground. “Think so, huh?”

Brown beamed. “Oh, honey, I know so.” With that, Brown moved swiftly by, making sure to slam Hodge hard with her shoulder as she passed.

The whistle blew, and the camp’s directors filed out onto the court, basketballs in hand.

“Okay ladies, listen up. Now’s your chance to show our esteemed guests what you’re really made of.”

Hearty cheering echoed through the gymnasium.

“First up are shooting drills. When I call your name, go to the ball racks and start shooting. One shot per rack. The whistle will tell you when time’s up.

Good luck. Brown! You’re up.”

Hodge took in a deep breath to settle the butterflies in her stomach. Looking around, she could see other women wiping sweating palms on their shorts

and shifting nervously foot to foot, anxious to prove their worth to the coaches. Perversely, this made the butterflies in her own stomach vanish entirely.

When her turn came, Hodge trotted up to the first rack and began shooting without an ounce of nervousness.

Dylan took a seat courtside, rather than in the benches set aside for the staff members. She wanted to watch the women play, not sit around and talk

about what color new Mercedes some half-assed coach had just bought with a bonus they didn’t deserve. She was here to do a job, not schmooze and eat

the free buffet.

The recruiting class was a good one, chock full of talent at all positions. While Dylan carefully scrutinized each woman, right down to her shoe size, she

made no bones about the fact that one player in particular drew her interest.

“So that’s Super Girl, huh?”

Dylan had the good sense to roll her eyes and keep her groan to herself before she turned around to face Horace Johnson, the owner of the Badgers. A

shade under six feet tall, he fashioned himself a JR Ewing type, right down to the Stetson. His protuberant belly hung listlessly over his belt, and his suit

jacket was a size too small. The cologne he all but bathed in was enough to raise the dead, and Dylan found herself stifling a sneeze.

“That’s her.”

“She’s short.” Johnson observed, past the toothpick he was chewing because his damn doctor told him to quit smoking.

“She compensates for that with her abilities.”

“She’s young.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth and made a sucking noise through his teeth that made Dylan want to slap him.

“No younger than anyone else here, and older than a few.”

“She’s queer.

Dylan dropped her head then looked back up at the man, sighing softly before speaking. “She’s gay. And that has no impact on her ability to play

basketball.”

“Don’t like queers.”

“I don’t imagine they’re real fond of you either.” Dylan mumbled.

“What?”

“I said it shouldn’t matter. Her talent is amazing and if you want me to give you a winning team, you’ll let me draft her.”

Squinting his beady, close-set eyes, Johnson made a show of examining the young woman in question.

“Make you a deal, then.”

Dylan tried not to look annoyed. “What?”

“I’ll let you draft the little Sodomite on two conditions.”

Dylan looked over to Mac, who was standing out of the line of fire. Mac shrugged. Dylan glared at him, then returned her attention to the owner. “And

they are?”

“First, you’re completely responsible for her behavior. I don’t want her caught in some queer nightclub and I sure as hell don’t want her marching in any

gay pride parades.”

“And number two?”

“I want you to go out with Hunter Locke again. This team gets damn fine publicity when you two go out together.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Since when did I become your corporate whore, Horace?”

The toothpick rolled again. “Why, since the day you signed my contract, darlin. You want that queer little filly in your stable, you gotta put out. Got to give

me what I need.”

“And a championship isn’t enough for you?”

Johnson hooked his thumbs through his belt and pretended to think on it. “Nope. Guess it isn’t.”

As he turned to her, her fists closed against the urge to slap that smirk off his face.

“So, we got a deal?”

Dylan gritted her teeth. “Fine.”

Johnson sniffed, trying to give a superior air that he didn’t have. It was all Dylan could do to keep from quitting her job, punching him in the nose and

ramming her booted foot up his ass, not necessarily in that order.

She was very relieved when he jammed his toothpick back in his mouth left the gym, in search of his free meal.

“Asshole.” She mumbled as she turned her attention back to the court.