“You got it, Doc.” Saint grins, then leans down to plant a solid, lingering kiss on her lips, which makes Brody grumble on his way out of the kitchen.
“Can we keep the PDA to a minimum?” Brody asks. “It’s bad for team morale.”
“You’ll get there, Vaughn. We all do.” Liam laughs, slapping Brody’s shoulder as we all walk toward Saint’s new lair, which is really just an office they added on to the house.
When we enter the room, Saint walks over and grabs a couple of beers from a small refrigerator, tossing them around until everyone is settled. Then he walks over to the fireplace and pushes a button, and flames erupt inside.
For a few minutes, the only sounds are the hiss of the fireplace and the muffled laughter of the kids running through the house.
“We’re three games up in the division,” Saint says, leaning back into his chair. “Philly dropped one to Dallas today. If we handle business against Chicago on Monday night, the math starts to look real friendly for a first-round bye.”
“Don’t look at the math yet,” I say, my eyes fixed on the flames of the fire. “Chicago’s defense is a lot tougher than tape shows. Their inside guard handles the bull rush better thananyone we’ve seen since week three. We start looking at the postseason now, we’ll get caught leaning.”
“Spoken like a Griffith,” Liam teases, taking a slow sip of his beer. His eyes are relaxed but observant. He’s known my family since he and Archie started playing at Walker University their freshman year of college. They’re still best friends, which means he knows exactly how much pressure we Griffiths put on ourselves. “He’s right though, Saint. The media’s already posting playoff brackets. It’s getting loud out there.”
“Let them post whatever they want,” Brody chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips as he props his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m just ready to win the whole fuckin’ thing. I have some nice postseason plans lined up.”
Saint turns his head, brows lifting. “Oh, you do, do you? How nice. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that phone call you were on yesterday, would it? I caught a little of it, and I sure hope you weren’t saying those things to your agent.”
Brody rubs the back of his neck, his smirk softening into something slightly defensive, but he can’t hide his grin. “Okay, fine. There’s a girl. We’ve been hanging out a bit, but it’s a little complicated.”
“Complicated?” Liam questions, a laugh rumbling out. “Brody, you and complicated don’t go together. Who is she?”
“Just someone I met through mutual connections,” Brody says quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s pretty great though. Super smart. We’re, uh, taking it slow for now.”
I keep my mouth shut. Sounds similar to the tangled web I have with Eva, where every time we meet up feels like a sting operation.
Brody’s eyes shift to me, and he tries to redirect the conversation. “What about you, Aston? You haven’t been around much lately. You seeing someone?”
The question hangs in the air.
Saint looks over at me, his curiosity piqued. Even Liam tilts his head, and I can feel his gaze locked onto the side of my face.
I take a slow sip of my beer, feeling the cold liquid slide down my throat. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I am.”
Brody sits up quickly. “Bullshit. Who? Do we know her?”
“No,” I say bluntly, my game face on. “You don’t know her. And I’m not telling you yet.”
“Oh, come on, Griff!” Brody huffs, throwing his hands up. “You’re really not gonna give us anything? Is she a model? One of those influencers?”
“You didn’t tell us who your girl is. Let it go,” I sigh, rolling my head back, looking at the ceiling.
Saint lets out a low rumble, shaking his head. “Leave him alone, Vaughn. If he wants to keep it tight right now, just like you … let him.”
“Okay, fine.” Brody chuckles. “I’ll get it out of him at some point. I can’t believe you haven’t said anything to me yet.”
“You haven’t said anything to me about your girl either.” I smirk.
“I’m just sayin’, you can tell me. I’ll keep your secrets,” he says, patting his chest.
We all laugh then, and Saint and Liam tell us about Rhyan and Sera’s, Liam and Alie’s daughter’s, dance recital. I thought boys were wild, but these girls of theirs are gonna make them go gray early.
A while later, the energy in the house winds down. The kids are starting to get crabby, and not that I’m an expert, but I would say they’re probably ready for bed.
I stand by the front door and slip my boots on and pull my heavy Carhartt jacket over my shoulders. I wince when my bruised ribs pull, and Presley notices when she walks to the door to say goodbye.
“I saw that. I want you to come see me tomorrow when you get to the facility.” She leans in for a hug.
