Captain Wolf's Surrogate

RAVEN

The late August sun poured through the window of my new mini-suite, and I stood in the center, laughing to myself with my arms spread wide, as if I could take off at any moment and soar into the skies. I looked like a damn fool doing it, too. But I couldn't help but feel my heart in the clouds. Today was move-in day, my first day of freedom, and, most importantly, a new beginning with endless possibilities.

This place would be my home for the next five years, thanks to Teagan’s mom, who gave me the shot at attending one of the best universities. I intended to make her proud.

But that wasn't the sole reason for my ridiculous grin. My heart raced for another, equally thrilling reason; I was about to meet my first and only crush.

“Raven, hurry up!” Teagan called from the bathroom, where she was applying another layer of mascara. My roommate was a force of nature, already treating Stanford like her personal kingdom. I suppose it was fitting, given that she was not a freshman like me. “They’re on the way, and I don’t want to have to shove my way through the crowd!”

“I’m almost done!” I laughed, shoving the last suitcase under the bed.

Every summer, the Dallas Cowboys held their official preseason training camp in Oxnard, just a few hours south of campus. They were promoting the NFL 60 campaign, and Teagan, who writes for the Stanford Daily, had gotten us media access.

I was finally going to see them in person… see him in person.

A knock sounded on the door before it flung open, and in walked Teagan's friend, carrying the kind of confidence that only old money could buy. We hadn't met, but I recognized her from Teagan's social media.

“Who’s this?” She asked, eyeing me with mild curiosity as she adjusted her designer sunglasses.

Teagan waved a hand. “Raven. She’s my little sister’s babysitter. Mom’s paying for her tuition, and she’ll be staying with me.”

“Oh,” She said, giving me a quick once-over. “And she’s coming with us?”

“Yes,” Teagan replied, emerging from the bathroom. “Don’t worry, she’s cool.”

I offered a polite smile, which Teagan's friend completely ignored, ignoring the sting as the word babysitter played over in my head.

I pondered how far that introduction would go. But I couldn’t dwell on it with how excited I was. Today was about the Cowboys, and nothing could dull my excitement.

We finished preparing in a frenzy of excited chatter. Teagan had on a cropped Stanford tank and high-waisted shorts that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her friend looked cute in a navy blue jumpsuit, while I kept things simple with jeans, a fitted tee, and my favorite sneakers.

“Ready?” Teagan asked, dangling the keys to her brand-new Jeep, and we were more than ready. We piled in, windows down, music blasting as we headed south toward Oxnard.

The drive felt endless and too short all at once, with Teagan and her friend already losing it in the front seats. I had no idea how Teagan would even interview the team, and I was about to ask when she said something that made me pause.

“Oh my God, I can't wait to see The Wolf!” She squealed. “That man is fine. Those arms? I’d let him tackle me anytime.”

Her friend laughed. “Right? Lyall Kingsley is everyone’s hall pass. The way he moves on the field is just… lethal.”

My heart thumped against my ribs. Lyall Kingsley, aka Captain Wolf, was my crush and the person I'd been silently losing my shit over. I'd followed him since the Patriots, drawn to the intensity and power he exuded even through the screen.

I hadn’t realized he was everybody’s crush. I suppose I should have known. Teagan and her friend must have noticed my expression in the rearview mirror, as they looked at me next.

“Wait,” Teagan said, twisting around. “Who do you like? Who are you going there for?”

I hesitated before smiling. “Lyall. Captain Wolf.”

“No!” they both said at the exact same time.

Her friend fully turned in her seat. “Absolutely not. Pick someone else, Raven. Anyone else.”

Teagan nodded in agreement. “Trust us. That one’s way out of your league, babe.”

I leaned back against the leather seat, my pulse racing as the training facility came into view, astounded by how they spoke as if he were their man or something. They could say whatever they wanted. I was still going to meet him.

The Oxnard training facility buzzed with electric energy as we pulled into the parking area. Bright NFL banners fluttered in the coastal breeze, and the aroma of grilled food from nearby vendor trucks filled the air.

Players in Cowboys gear mingled near the practice fields while cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions. My stomach flipped with nerves and pure excitement, still in disbelief that I was actually here.

Teagan parked and looked back at me before getting out. “Stick close,” she said, opening her door.

“And try not to embarrass us,” The friend added, giving me a glance. I was starting to question Teagan’s best friend’s character, and I rolled my eyes but stayed quiet, my heart racing even faster.

The summer sun beat down on us as we joined the stream of credentialed media heading toward the main gates, Teagan’s press pass swinging from a lanyard.

We soon reached the security checkpoint, where a burly guard scanned the crowd. Teagan quickly flashed her access card with a confident smile, and I crossed my fingers that he would let us all in.

“Teagan Hughes, Stanford Daily. These are my assistants.”

The guard nodded after checking his tablet and waved us through. I followed, passing through clusters of fans waving jerseys and heading toward the player arrival zone, where the team buses had just pulled up.

The atmosphere was electric, with coaches barking orders, equipment staff hauling gear, and loud voices of interviews already underway under shaded tents.

We moved through the crowd to the main player staging area, where players signed autographs and posed for photos. But Teagan was in full professional mode, stopping me cold when I tried to rush over for a picture and autograph.

“We’ll do that after the interview,” she said, notebook already in hand. But I caught her adjusting her top to show more cleavage when she thought no one was looking.

I was still staring at her, mouth wide open, when her friend grabbed my arm.

“There he is,” she whispered, almost bouncing on her heels. And I followed her gaze, my breathing quickening at the sight of him. Even from behind, Lyall Kingsley was unmistakable.

He was tall, athletically built, with that signature confidence in the way he carried himself. He stood under one of the media tents, deep in conversation with a polished journalist from a major broadcast network.

His back was to us, dark hair catching the sunlight, shoulders stretching the fabric of his team polo, and I couldn't take my eyes away.

Heat rushed up my cheeks as I stood there, completely oblivious to the chatter around me and just drinking in the sight of him. He was the god of football.

Teagan led us closer, first stopping to talk with a few other players while Lyall remained focused on the reporter. She interviewed a veteran offensive lineman with practiced questions about the upcoming season, and her friend jumped in, snapping photos on her phone.

Teagan had said no pictures until we were done. But I didn’t say anything. My attention was preoccupied with Lyall.

Was that reporter ever going to finish with him?

Just then, she laughed at something he said, and my heart skipped as if he were speaking to me, straining to hear.

I didn’t even feel myself stepping closer until I was close enough to see the way his muscles shifted under his shirt and the subtle tilt of his head.

I mumbled something incoherent, cheeks burning, just as the network journalist wrapped up, hugged Lyall and stepped aside.

The area around him opened up, and Teagan didn’t hesitate. She fixed her hair quickly, her voice suddenly unrecognizable as she called out, “Lyall! Teagan Hughes from the Stanford Daily. Got a minute for us?”

She rushed forward, her friend and I trailing a few steps behind.

My legs felt weak, my heart thundering in my ears. Up close, he was taller than I imagined, with an aura that made the air feel charged.

Lyall turned at Teagan’s voice. But he didn’t look at her. His gaze swept right past Teagan’s polished smile and locked directly onto me.

His golden piercing eyes widened, and he froze mid-turn, his entire body going completely still.

The smile he'd worn during the previous interview vanished, replaced by an expression of raw, unguarded intensity. And the shift was so abrupt that everyone nearby noticed.

Conversations faltered, and heads turned, while cameras that had been pointed elsewhere swung in our direction, as all eyes followed Lyall’s stare… straight to me.

I froze in place as well, my eyes widening as I stopped breathing completely, feeling a wave of heat that nearly knocked me off my feet.