“Stay the night?” I whisper, my fingers tracing his tattoos.
Aston stares at me for a minute until a devastating smile breaks through the dark. He reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Okay,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll stay.”
We drift off to sleep a few minutes later, our bodies locked together in the middle of the bed. The complications of tonight can wait until tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ASTON
The icein my tumbler has melted down to a single sliver, floating in two fingers of bourbon. Around us, the low hum of American Whiskey in Midtown Manhattan is punctuated by the clink of glasses and late-night traffic outside. It’s the kind of place two famous athletes can sit at a table without being bothered.
Which is exactly why I brought Aiden here.
We have a standing rule between us. When Aiden’s hockey schedule brings him to New York for a series, whether it’s against the Rangers or Islanders, we meet up. No exceptions. We’ve always shared a different kind of brotherly bond, different from the one I have with Ace. Aiden’s older and steady, and he never coddles me. When my head gets cluttered or the pressure gets to me, Aiden is the one I go to, to give it to me straight.
“I’m just saying, if you don’t get after that left tackle on Sunday, he’s going to wash you out of the play,” Aiden says, his voice carrying a rough edge after he’s spent his winters getting slammed into plexiglass. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the oak table, eyes locked on mine. “I watched thetape from your Minnesota game, Aston. You’re cheating inside too early on the snap. You do that against Cleveland, and you’ll be in the dirt before the ball even leaves the quarterback’s hands.”
“I was crushing the B-gap because the linebacker missed his cue, Aiden,” I say, rolling the glass between my palms. “I know how to play my position.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters, though a faint smirk flickers across his face. He takes a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact.
Our burgers arrive, and we eat in a comfortable silence. We take our food seriously. But my mind wanders to the phone in my pocket that feels like a lead weight.
I fight the urge to pull it out to check for a notification or a text. A single line. Anything from Eva. We’ve texted back and forth, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Mostly just flirty banter and her incessant teasing, which I secretly love.
Eva: *picture of Aston in uniform*
Eva: I love your cosplay.
Aston: Cosplay, huh? You didn’t notice my haircut?
Eva: Oh, I totally did. Love the pixie cut. ;)
It’s been six days since I left her loft. Six days since I woke up with her dark hair spread across my bare chest. We’d spent the night fucking, and when I woke up the next day, I didn’t want to leave.
I look at my watch. 9:15 PM.
She’s probably still working.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Eva wants to hide what we’re doing, and I completely get it. If the network executives, or worse, her father, found out she was sleeping with the defensive lineman of the very team she’sassigned to, her credibility would be shot. She’d likely be reduced to a tabloid headline.
I, on the other hand, want to keep what happened with us—twice now—a secret for a different kind of survival.
I look at Aiden across the table. My family is a fortress, and loyalty to my brothers is the foundation of everything that I am. We don’t keep secrets.
Except I am.
Every time I think about Ace, a slice of guilt pierces me.
Sure, Ace is in Florida, and I’ve already justified my actions by the fact that he has a girlfriend, but if my family found out that I crossed a line, the fallout could be radioactive. The allegiance that defines us brothers would turn, and I would be standing on the wrong side of the line, like a traitor.
“Hey, Aston.” Aiden’s voice breaks through my thoughts sharply.
I snap my gaze to his, realizing I’ve been staring at my plate with my burger in hand. “What?”
