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My cheeks warm instantly, and I have to look at anything but him. "Thanks, I think?" I say, finding his reflection in the nearest mirror.

A for effort.

He pulls his neck back. "What?"

"Nothing." I shake my head, just now noticing the cold tub in the corner that I could have used ten seconds ago. "I basically called you a god, and you said I'm not in bad shape." I throw air quotes around those last three words, finally feeling well enough to look at him head on again.

"You said I'm in better shape than before. As a professional athlete, I'd hope so."

I sigh. "You knew exactly what I meant."

Jace pauses, running his tongue along his bottom lip before stepping closer. "Would you have preferred if I said you still take my fucking breath away?"

I swallow, my heart hammering so loud I'm afraid he can hear it. "Better. Yeah."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Come on. I wanna show you the rest."

"Am I allowed in here?" We step into the locker room clearly marked Players and Coaching Staff Only, and my eyes grow wide.

"Typically?" Jace walks to the Gators' logo in the center of the carpet, stopping carefully between the two rows of teeth. "No," he finishes. "But you're with me."

Something about those words makes my stomach flip.

I laugh quietly, stepping farther into the room, my gaze sweeping over the stalls lined up one after another. Each has a nameplate mounted above it and a folding chair a few feet in front. Some have gloves tossed inside, batting tape hanging from hooks. One has a protein bottle left beside it, another a pair of sneakers abandoned nearby, hats and headphones scattered in between.

The whole room is professional, but messy. Orderly but lived-in.

Lavish but… real.

I wander slowly down the row, reading the nameplates as I go, until I get to the one that stops me in my tracks.

Holloway #20.

My fingers brush over the metal before I even realize I've lifted my hand to the plate.

"This one's yours?" I ask, rereading it again.

Jace steps up behind me, his chest so close to my back, his shirt brushes mine with each breath. "What gave it away?"

He says it lightheartedly, but my heart is beating so fast I can't laugh.

This isn't just the hall.

It isn't just the gym.

Not the stadium. Or the team.

This is his place in all of it. Proof that he's living the dream out loud that we always whispered about. One like the people in the photos from the hallway are doing.

"You actually did it," I say quietly, running my hand down the jersey hanging there, the fabric smooth against my skin.

Jace steps beside me. "Did what?"

"All of it."

I don't dare look over. Not when tears threaten to fall as it is. But God, I want to see his face. To touch him, hold him. Beg him to relive all of it for me.

He's quiet. Still. But eventually, he exhales. "You've never even watched me play."