Chapter fifty
Leftovers & Stolen Kisses
Eslin
It’s Sunday dinner after Thanksgiving, and Grant’s house smells like leftovers and cinnamon from all the pumpkin and sweet potato pie laying around. Declan and Matteo both came tonight—Marlow made up the excuse that they were still homesick, so she didn’t have to leave Declan at home. And Grant didn’t even blink. He made it clear that he never minds extra people at the table so the extra company actually made him happy. And if he noticed that Marlow and Declan happened to arrive at the exact same time, he didn’t say a word.
The men are in the media room, shouting at the screen as a European football match blares in the background. The sound drifts into the kitchen where Marlow and I stand side by side, hands busy with dishes but voices low.
“We agreed, for now.” Marlow says, her voice sharp with determination. “We’ll give Kennedy his damn exclusive, but only to buy time. Declan’s brother will figure out exactly what he’s into. Then we’ll cut him off at the knees.”
I frown, wiping my hands on a towel. “Declan’s brother? What does he have to do with anything?”
“And can he help get rid of Coach Jones before he says anything about what he saw at Thanksgiving?”
I shake my head at my damn self. I’ve been watching entirely too much Scandal.
Marlow exhales. “Your guess is as good as mine. But apparently, he’s…connected.” Her voice dips lower, cautious. “When I pressed Declan on what that meant, all he said was I have a lot to learn about my in-laws. About his family.”
Her next words are as pointed as the look she gives me. “Either way, Niko will get answers. We’re just waiting.”
“It all sounds soespionagey,” I say in a whisper.
“Is that even a word?”
I shrug. “Who cares. It fits!”
I have so many more questions about her mysterious husband, but before I can press her, Matteo drifts into the kitchen, hands shoved deep into his pockets, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Coach Saunders, did you hear the news?”
I shake my head. “No, I did not!”
He glances over his shoulder toward the living room, then lowers his voice like he’s afraid the walls might tattle on him. “I got intocollege. I’m the first one in my family to go, and…” His grin widens, pride breaking through. “I’m going to be a teacher.”
I can’t help it—I drop the dish towel, throw my arms around him, and squeeze him tight. “Congratulations, Teo! I’m so proud of you. And I know your family will be too. Have you told them yet?”
He shakes his head, his eyes soft with excitement. “Not yet. I’m waiting until Christmas Eve. Gonna tell them as a gift.”
I hug him again, my heart swelling at the shy kid who once barely spoke to me now standing tall with his dreams in his hands. “Congratulations again, papa.”
He grins sheepishly. “Hey, I told you—only family calls me that.”
I put my hands on my hips, giving him the kind of look that dares him to argue. “And what are we?”
He laughs, shoulders loosening. “Alright, you’re right. The Strikers are a family.”
Matteo heads back into the media room and Marlow isn’t far behind him. My smile widens when Grant comes through the door.
“You look real good in my kitchen, Eslin Saunders,” Grant says, his voice always sounding like he’s tasting the words before letting them go.
“Stay away from me, Grant Mills,” I shoot back.
“Why?” His mouth curves into that devastating grin as he inches closer. “Because you know the next thing out of my mouth will be that youtasteeven better in my kitchen?”
I laugh, the sound spilling out before I can stop it—bright, helpless, like he’s pulled it straight from my chest. These days, I always laugh with him. And now that he’s mine, I don’t just laugh—I glow.
“That’s exactly why. And also how we ended up in trouble!” I jab, smirking at him. “Have you spoken with Jones?”
He frowns. “Why would I be the one to speak with him? That’s your situationship.”
