The club had been closed for the team’s private party, and everyone seemed to know everyone else. Most of the players were built for strength and not agility, so the dancing caliber was mixed. Their laughing efforts made Jenny relax, and she gave herself over to the music.

Across from her, Cole did the same. He was under six feet, and much slighter than all the other men around him. But his movements were smooth and practiced. His smile was broad. And she felt emotionally safe in his company.

“May I cut in?” came a deep voice at her side.

Jenny glanced up to see Jeffrey Porter’s bright smile. She’d met him a few times over the years, and she knew he was a good friend of Mitch’s.

She looked to Cole, who shrugged his shoulders and raised his palms, backing away to the beat of the band.

Jeffrey wore a white cotton dress shirt and black jeans. His skin was olive-toned, and his jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck. In her experience, he was invariably friendly and jovial. All the other players seemed to like him.

The band switched to a slower number, and he drew her into his massive arms. “We should take this nice and slow,” he spoke in her ear. “I’m not the most graceful guy on the floor.”

“No spins or dips?” she teased.

“It’s for your own safety, ma’am.”

She laughed. “Nice catch out there, by the way.” She referred to a late game play in the end zone where Jeffrey had leaped a good five feet to snag the ball and score a touchdown before smacking into the turf.

“Thank you. Mitch would have drilled it straight to me, saved me a bruise or two.”

“You think?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Cooper’s a decent quarterback. But Mitch is psychic.”

Jenny drew back. “Psychic?”