I don’t date football players.

I’m not interested in the ones who are a decade older than me. I want nothing to do with the ones who play on the same team as my brothers, and I certainly avoid the ones who spend more time in strip clubs than kids’ clubs.

So why do I suddenly find myself faking a relationship with Ben Olson, the bad boy tight end who fits every descriptor on my naughty list?

He’s in a tight spot, and I’m intrigued by the illicit under the dinner table action that proved to me he’s nothing but trouble. He’s hot and I’m bored. He doesn’t do relationships, and I’m just looking for some fun.

Except fun is taking a quick turn into real feelings, and now I’m in a tight spot of my own.