“You have five Super Bowl rings, Zach.” She points at me accusingly. “Five. Do you know how many Drew McCallister has?”
I sigh because unfortunately, yes. “Six.”
“Six,” she repeats dramatically. “So what I’m hearing is you want to retire one ring short of beating the greatest quarterback record in NFL history.”
“I'm telling you I want to—”
“One,” she says. “You need one more.”
“It's not that simple. You can't just—”
“You've won five Super Bowls with a team that was 2-12 when I showed up at your stadium in your jersey.” She tilts her head. “You built that from nothing. You, Owen, Dax, Reese...” she shakes her head in disbelief. “You built an entire dynasty out of nothing, and now you want to quit one short of the record?”
“Drew's still playing.”
“Then beat him before he gets another one.”
I stare at her for a second.
She stares right back completely unapologetic.
And there it is.
That look.
The one that’s gotten me into trouble since we were eighteen years old because she somehow manages to believe in me more than I believe in myself.
“You’re seriously not gonna let me retire, are you?”
“I’m gonna support whatever you want,” she says softly. “But I know you, Zach Evans. And you do not sound like a man who wants to retire.”
I stay quiet.
Her eyes narrow immediately. “Oh my God. You’re testing me right now, aren’t you?”
I take a slow sip of my beer instead of answering.
Honey points at me. “That means yes.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” She lets out a laugh under her breath. “You’re literally fishing for permission to chase another ring.”
I try—and fail—not to smile.
“Unbelievable,” she mutters, stealing the beer from my hand and setting it on the coffee table before curling back against my chest like she belongs there. Which she does.
“One more,” she says quietly, the words muffled against my shirt.
“One more,” I agree.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and hold her a little tighter.
One more....
At least...
Honey goes quiet for a moment, her fingertips tracing lazy patterns over my chest.
