Page 97 of Julian

“I swear,” he says while adjusting the Vipers beanie on his head, “playing Boston should legally count as a hate crime.”

I laugh. “Please don’t say things like that in front of Julian.”

“He’d probably agree.”

Dylan’s right. One hundred percent, in fact.

By the time we make our way upstairs to the owner’s suite, warm-up music is already thundering through the arena and thousands of fans are filtering into their seats below us in restless waves of green and black.

Julian stands near the glass speaking with two executives when we walk in, but the second he sees us, his entire expression brightens.

Tonight he’s dressed more casually than usual in dark jeans beneath a camel coat, and looped around his neck—

The scarf. The one I made him.

Then I spot not one, but two more. Identical to the one I made him.

Julian catches the direction of my stare immediately, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

“What?” he asks innocently.

I move closer, blinking at the matching green, black and white scarves folded neatly across the back of one of the suite chairs.

“Where did these come from?” I ask, completely confused as I pick one up.

Beside me, Dylan grabs another. “Wait… these are actually sick.”

Julian looks entirely too pleased with himself now.

“Well,” he says smoothly, leaning in to kiss my cheek and I blush at the PDA, “I happen to love mine. And it got me thinking about the soccer clubs in Europe. The scarves, the traditions with all the supporters’ sections.”

I stare at him, resisting the urge to touch my face where I the imprint of his lips still tingles. “You manufactured them?”

“I instructed the merchandise department to.”

Dylan looks between us like he’s watching business genius unfold in real time. “No way.”

“They go on sale tonight for the first time,” Julian says. “Limited release initially.”

I glance down again at the stitching and craftsmanship and honestly—they’re beautiful. Richer yarn than mine. Cleaner detail work. The Vipers logo woven perfectly into the pattern.

“These are incredible,” I murmur.

Julian’s gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary. “I thought so too.”

How am I supposed to emotionally survive this man?

Meanwhile Dylan already has his scarf wrapped proudly around his neck.

“Dylan,” Julian says, “I want to show you something.”

Dylan perks up immediately. “Yeah?”

Julian glances toward me. “Do you mind, Harper?”

“Of course not.”

The two of them head toward the far side of the suite where a discreet door blends invisibly into the wall paneling. Julian opens it and gestures Dylan inside. Meanwhile, I grab a glass of wine on a tray as a server passes me.