“Eva.” I let out a sigh.
“No, I’m serious,” she says, leaning back, making the Walker University logo pull my gaze to her chest. She’s trying to look detached and play the part like she’s unbothered, but I can see her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “You apologized, yes, but the second I try to give you an out—that it was just a fun night—you got this look on your face like you wanted to tear the place apart. You’re the one who left, Aston. You’re the one who snuck out without a single word.”
“Because I panicked!” The admission slips out of me before I can stop it.
I stretch my legs out in front of me on either side of her legs, somewhat trapping her. The proximity is intoxicating, and it’s making my head fuzzy.
“I panicked, Eva,” I say softly, but my gaze doesn’t leave hers. “I woke up with you next to me, looking at the girl my twin brother had loved, the girl who had broken his heart, and all I could think about was the fact that I had just crossed a line I could never uncross. Ace is my twin, Eva. I’ve spent my entire life attached to him in every way, and in the span of a few hours, I took something that felt like his. I felt like I’d betrayed him. So, I ran because if I had stayed in that bed with you for one more minute, I was never gonna leave.”
Eva’s breath hitches, her eyes softening for a fraction of a second, letting me see the hurt and confusion lingering underneath her cool facade. She pulls out the rubber band in her hair and finger-combs the messy strands.
“I never belonged to Ace,” she whispers back and starts braiding her hair. “What Ace and I had was college fun. We went our separate ways, and he seemed to agree, so hearing I broke his heart is news to me. Our relationship was long over by the wedding, and I sure as hell don’t belong to him now. But you treated me like a mistake. You left me in that room alone to figure out if what had happened between us was real or just a night of drunken fun.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I say, my voice firm. I reach for her hands, and she lets me take hers in mine. “It was the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my life, and it terrifies me. Every time I see you, every time you tell Sam to ask me ridiculous questions just to see me squirm, I lose my mind, Eva.”
She stares at me, her lips slightly parted, and she stands, taking a step until she’s between my legs. The fire in her eyes is still there, but there’s also an undeniable current of desire.
“Good,” she murmurs, a wicked little spark in her eyes. “I’m glad I’m driving you crazy. You kinda deserve it.”
A gruff laugh cuts through my chest, and the tension breaks just enough for the possessive, dominant instinct I’ve been suppressing for months to take over. I reach out, my thumb catching her chin, tilting her face up.
“Yeah?” I ask, my eyes dropping to her lips. “You think you’re tough behind that clipboard?”
“I don’t think; I know I’m tough,” she whispers, her hands sliding up my chest. “And I’m still working. So, if you’re going to hang around, you’d better make yourself useful.”
She forcefully pushes against my chest and steps back. I let her go. My skin feels like it’s on fire where her hands were on my chest. She reaches around me and hits a key on her keyboard.
A video file pops up on the large monitor. It’s the footage from last weekend’s game. The screen shows me and Saint standing on the field. My jersey is ripped on the shoulder, my helmet off, as I pace the sideline with Saint during a critical fourth-quarter drive, which ultimately cost us the game. The audio track filters through her speakers, the deep, heavy sound of Saint’s breathing filling the room, punctuated by the roar of the crowd and the crunch of pads.
“Watch the inside.” My voice catches on Saint’s mic, and the camera zooms in on us. “He’s moving. The tackle is leaning on third down. He’s gonna get to Pitz. Fuck!”
Eva moves in front of the computer and clicks a button,pausing the footage right on a close-up of my face. My on-screen expression is wild, aggressive, and completely locked on the game.
“The network wants us to use this segment for the pregame,” she says. “But the league office is questioning the audio right after this play. And they want me to verify who’s speaking.”
I stand behind her, leaning over her shoulder, my chest brushing against her back as I watch the screen.
The video rolls, and pretty much the entire Titans sideline is yelling at the ref for the unsportsmanlike hit Pitz took.
“Get that garbage out of my house!” someone yells.
Eva hits pause again, turning her head to look up at me, our faces so close that I can see the tiny gold shimmer in her green eyes. “Garbage? That’s what the network is questioning?”
“I mean, that’s pretty mild compared to what’s said on the field.”
“Right,” she agrees. “The audio track itself is clean, but the alignment is off. I need to sync the file and make a few edits.”
She leans forward, her fingers flying across the trackpad as she zooms into the timeline. I watch her work for a second, the quiet clicking of the keys the only sound in the room. The contrast between her sharp mind and the soft, comfortable way she’s dressed is completely undoing me.
“You know,” I say softly, tugging at her hoodie, “I remember this.”
Eva’s fingers pause on the pad. She doesn’t turn her head, but I notice the slight rise and fall of her shoulders. “Oh, yeah? It’s one of my favorites. Hard to get rid of it. I’ll probably keep it till it falls apart.”
“I remember you wearing it around the house. I’d imagine you had nothing on underneath it. And the glasses are new, and I totally dig the look,” I say in a low rumble. I place my hand on her hip.
“Don’t do that, Aston,” she whispers.
“Do what?”
