Eva: How was it?
Aston: Amazing food and great company, so overall, a good night. They did ask me if I was seeing anyone though.
Eva: Oh, yeah? And how did you answer that?
Aston: I told them I was, but said we’re keeping it private for now.
Eva: Good answer. Keep the vultures away for a while. My dad is ringing in, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep. xx
Aston: Night, Honeybee.
I stare at the screen until it turns black and slip the phone back into my pocket.
My mind wanders as I make my way to my bedroom. I think about being at Saint’s house and the normalcy of their routines. Presley laughing as she wiped Rhyan’s sticky hands. Liam and Alie sharing a quiet look at the table. That’s the blueprint. That’swhat happens when you survive the pressure and the noise of being a professional athlete and build something that can outlast the fame.
I want that. I want the home. The family. And when I picture what that looks like for me, the only face I see next to me is Eva’s.
I can see her sitting at the kitchen counter on her computer. I can see her green eyes smiling as they lock on mine. I see a future where she doesn’t have to hide behind a camera and pretend not to know me the way she does, where her car sits in my driveway next to my truck. Something permanent and real.
I want a future with her more than I’ve ever wanted anything. The question is, how can we get there?
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVA
The sidelineof an NFL stadium during pregame warm-ups isn’t for the faint of heart. Adrenaline is pumping. Heavy bass rumbles throughout the speakers, creating beautiful chaos.
At least it is to me. I live for this kind of energy.
I adjust my headset against my ears, checking the countdown clock on the jumbotron to make sure we’re synced with the stadium. Twenty-two minutes until the national anthem.
My eyes instinctively drift across the field, skimming past the sea of blue-and-white jerseys until they land on number fifty-four.
Aston is in full uniform, minus his helmet. Even from fifty yards, I can see the sheen of sweat on his scruffy face and that perfect smile of his that makes my belly somersault. It gives me a thrill, knowing exactly how those lips feel against mine and how those hands go from breaking blocks to exploring my body with gentle precision.
I break my stare before someone notices and turn around to check the yardage markers behind me. Then my world spins.
Standing right outside the media perimeter, wearing a VIP field pass slung over a casual black T-shirt under a leather coat and a pair of dark aviators, is a ghost of my past. He has the same rugged jawline, the same sun-streaked Texas hair, and the exact same cocky, half-crooked smile that used to make my world tilt when I was twenty years old.
Ace Griffith.
My heart trips as I take him in, noticing the subtle differences between Ace and Aston. They’re the same height, they have the same hair and same eye color, but Ace is a little leaner, where Aston is a bit bulker, which is fitting for their positions on the field. But the biggest difference is the way they carry themselves.
“Eva Carrington,” Ace’s voice booms over the crowd noise, rich and thick with that slow Texas drawl. He pulls off his aviators, his blue eyes dancing with mischief, locking onto mine. “Well, I’ll be damned. If you aren’t the best-looking thing on this entire sideline.”
He doesn’t wait for permission. He just steps across the media boundary line, his long strides closing the distance between us before I can even find my breath. Then, before I can process the sheer reality of what is happening, he throws his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug that smells of expensive cologne, leather, and … Ace.
“Ace,” I gasp, my hands coming up to press against his chest, friendly but firm, forcing an inch of professional distance between us as he pulls back. My headset slips slightly, so I reach up to steady it. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Florida.”
“Bye week, sweetheart.” He grins, his hands resting casually on my shoulders for a beat too long before he lets them drop. He leans in, his smile widening into that flirty charm that once defined my one year of college. “Flew up to surprise my brother. Didn’t tell anyone. But, hell, if I had known you were running the show tonight, I would’ve gotten a sideline pass weeks ago. Look at you. You look incredible, Eva.”
“Thanks, Ace. I really should get ready to start,” I say quickly, my eyes gazing over his shoulder, meeting Aston’s, who has stopped moving mid-drill.
He’s standing in the same spot as I saw him last, but now his body is rigid. His eyes are locked on us, his expression unreadable.
My stomach twists. Ace’s easy and flirty confidence, the casual way he just stepped into my space—it wasn’t confrontation. It was blissful ignorance. He doesn’t know about me and Aston.
“Ah, come on. Don’t give me the professional brush-off yet,” Ace teases, completely blind to my body language. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register he used when he wanted to get his way. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, Eva. It’s been way too long. Seriously. You living in the city? We need to get a drink. You know, for old times’ sake.”
