Chapter 46 August
August
Ali
August flew by.
Ali spent her days texting Dylan between answering whiny emails from clients trying to write off country club memberships and scrambling to wrap up quarterly filings.
His texts were constant—sometimes playful, sometimes filthy, sometimes just a sleepy selfie from the training facility with a “miss you” that derailed her focus for the rest of the afternoon.
Camp had him up before sunrise most days, and the pre-season schedule was already heating up, but he still found time to call her every night.
Sometimes it was from the backseat of a car headed to a team dinner.
Other times, it was from his hotel room with his hoodie pulled over his head, asking what she had for lunch like it was the most important question in the world.
And even though the season was closing in fast, every message felt like a promise: I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.
She was standing barefoot in her kitchen, nursing an iced coffee that had long ago melted into a watery mess, when her phone buzzed.
Dylan??????:
You got a sec, baby?
She smiled, already moving toward the living room to plop onto the couch.
Always. What’s up?
Her phone rang almost immediately. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi,” she said softly, already smiling wider.
“Hi,” Dylan replied, that deep, syrupy voice curling in her chest like honey. “You busy next weekend?”
Ali scrunched her nose, mentally scrolling through her calendar. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“The season opener’s next Sunday,” he said. “Home game. Big deal. New uniforms, national broadcast, the whole thing.”
She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Abigail’s got those suite tickets,” he added. “The ones she won at the fundraiser? I was thinking… if y’all are free, maybe the four of you could come down for the game?”
Ali’s heart did that soft fluttery thing it always did when he included her people. “You want us in the suite?”
“I want you with me,” he said. “Where I can find your face in the crowd and feel a little less like the world’s watching.”
She melted into the cushions, warm all over.
“Ya’ll can come Friday,” he added. “Make a weekend of it.”
Ali hesitated.
“I know you hate driving,” he said gently. “That’s why I’m offering this too—stay with me. All of you. I’ve got room. Plenty of it.”
She blinked. “Wait, you want me… and Abigail and Raleigh Ann and Ashley? In your house?”
“I can handle four women and an army of hair products. I’m a grown man,” he teased. “Besides, Naomi says it builds character.”
Ali laughed. “You’re seriously okay with us crashing your space?”
“I’m seriously counting down the days until you’re in it.”
Her cheeks flushed as she tucked her legs under her. “You sure?”
“Completely. I want you here, Ali. In my world. At my games. In my house.”
She exhaled slowly, smiling at nothing.
“Okay,” she whispered. “We’re in. Cross your fingers that Ash isn’t already going to Atlanta. But I’m in either way.”
Ali ended the call and tossed her phone onto the couch, grinning like she was twelve and someone just told her the Jonas Brothers were coming to prom.
“ASHLEY!” she hollered. “Get in here, emergency!”
Ashley appeared in the doorway, mascara wand in hand. “What? What happened? Is Dylan okay? Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, Ali was already pulling up her phone and starting a group FaceTime. Abigail answered first, immediately suspicious.
“You’re flushed,” she said. “What did he do? Are we mad or excited?”
“Excited,” Ali said, bouncing slightly. “Just wait—Raleigh Ann’s joining—”
“Already here,” Raleigh Ann chimed in, settling into her desk chair. “Why do y’all always FaceTime during work hours? I’m not even mad, I just want to understand.”
Ali waved her off. “8am is not work hours Raleigh Ann. At least for the non-teaching world. Okay. So Dylan just called. He wants us to come to the season opener next weekend. Like, all four of us. The suite tickets from the fundraiser.”
Ashley squealed and dropped onto the couch beside her. “YES. Do I wear my cute Tritons tee or save that for the tailgate?!”
“It’s Sunday,” Ali added quickly. “Kickoff is at one.”
“Long weekend vibes,” Abigail said approvingly. “I’m packing my comfiest hangover outfit.”
Ali paused, biting her lip. “Also... he invited us to stay with him. Like, at his house. Friday through Sunday.”
Raleigh Ann’s eyebrows flew up. “The whole crew? Mac invited us to his house?”
“He said he has extra space,” Ali said with a little shrug. “And that I hate driving. Which... accurate.”
“Honestly, I’m shocked he’s letting all of us disrupt his NFL player sanctuary,” Ashley said, smirking. “That is like sacred space. He’s in love.”
Ali flushed deeper, chewing the inside of her cheek. Then—
“Wait. Okay, this is dumb, but… am I just assuming I’m sleeping in his bed? Like—is that weird? Should I offer to bunk with one of y’all? Would that be weird? Oh gawd—”
All four of them burst out laughing.
“Ali,” Abigail said, wheezing. “You think we’re driving five hours just to snuggle with you?”
Ashley threw a pillow at her. “Girl. If you even try to sleep anywhere but wrapped around that man, I’ll stage an intervention.”
“You’re the girlfriend,” Raleigh Ann added. “You go in the boyfriend bed. We’ll manage with guest rooms, or whatever. Just tell us if we need to bring earplugs.”
Ali covered her face, groaning. “I hate y’all.”
“You love us,” Abigail said smugly. “Now send the group chat the dress code for the suite. I need to know how hot I can reasonably look around professional athletes while married.”
The road shimmered in the late morning sun, and the inside of Abigail’s Range Rover felt like the warm, glittery core of a girl-powered supernova.
Taylor Swift’s Blank Space blasted from the speakers, windows cracked just enough to keep the air moving as they crawled through yet another stretch of I-95 traffic.
Ali sat up front, one leg tucked under her and the other bouncing with nervous energy. Her sunglasses slid down her nose as she glanced at the clock for the sixth time.
“Y’all,” she said, twisting to look at the others. “We’ve been in this same stretch for, like, twenty minutes.”
“Welcome to Georgia,” Abigail muttered, tapping the steering wheel. “Where time slows down and so do the minivans.”
“Can I request a snack handoff?” Raleigh Ann called from the back. “I think my blood sugar’s low and my tolerance for Ali’s pre-boyfriend nerves is even lower.”
Ashley cackled and passed over a half-opened bag of sour gummy worms and a protein bar. “This car is 90% estrogen and 10% Target snacks.”
“Sounds like heaven,” Ali murmured, grabbing a Diet Coke from the cup holder and cracking it open. The fizzy hiss made her sigh like it was medicinal.
Shania Twain’s "Man! I Feel Like a Woman" came on next and all four of them screamed like they’d summoned it.
By the second verse, they were full-on belting, windows down now and harmonies questionable at best. Abigail beat the steering wheel like a drum, Ali flung her hair out the window, and Ashley threw up her hands in a dramatic air guitar solo.
Somewhere near Jacksonville, after the singing gave way to giggling and hair fixes, the real planning started.
“Okay,” Raleigh Ann said, leaning forward between the seats like she was orchestrating a military operation. “So what’s your entrance plan? You walking in like a romcom heroine or what?”
Ali groaned. “Can’t I just exist?”
“No,” Ashley said immediately. “You’re a girlfriend now. Like a literal NFL WAG. Of a quarterback. There’s an art to the entrance.”
“She needs to be a little late,” Abigail said, nodding sagely. “Fashionably delayed. Like, oops, I got distracted looking hot.”
“And you better wear those sandals again,” Raleigh Ann added. “The ones that made Dylan look like he was about to propose in the airport lobby.”
Ali blushed furiously. “I hate y’all.”
“We love you,” Abigail corrected, glancing sideways with a grin. “And you deserve a stadium entrance. You already won the game, babe.”
Ali stared out the window, heart fluttering somewhere between nerves and excitement. Her Spotify queued up the next song—Enchanted. She let herself lean into it, the lyrics washing over her, soft and dreamy and so ridiculously on brand it almost made her laugh.
She texted Dylan a picture of the road ahead with:
almost there ?????????
A bubble popped up almost instantly.
I’ve been pacing for twenty minutes. Drive faster.
Ali smiled down at her phone, stomach flipping like it always did when it came to him. God, she couldn’t wait to see him.
Ali’s phone buzzed just as they took the exit off I-4 to Dylan’s house.
Change of plans.
Rocky and Naomi invited us for dinner. Super casual. Steaks and kid mayhem. They said “Bring the Instagram girl.” ??
Ali snorted, thumb flying.
That’s me. A coastal influencer now. Do I need to wear linen?
Only if it’s wrinkled and off-white. Bonus points if you say “mouthfeel” at least once.
Ali bit her lip to stifle a grin.
You want us to come straight there?
Nah. Come to the house first. I want you to myself for at least twenty minutes. ??
Her stomach flipped at the emoji, heat rising in her cheeks. Abigail didn’t even pretend not to notice.
“You’re blushing,” she said. “Did lover boy send a sext or a dinner invite?”
“Both,” Ali muttered, sliding her phone face-down onto her lap.
Ali’s heart did a little skip as Abigail’s Range Rover turned off the main road and onto a quiet, palm-lined street.
Everything in Lake Nona looked pristine—golf courses like green velvet, sleek sidewalks curved between fountains and sculpted hedges, and houses that looked like something out of Architectural Digest.
“This is where Disney villains live when they retire rich,” Ashley muttered from the back seat, eyes wide behind her sunglasses.
Ali gave a breathless laugh, but her pulse wouldn’t settle. The closer they got, the more real it felt. This was Dylan’s world now—polished, expansive, private. She wasn’t sure if it made her want to swoon… or throw up.
“This one,” he’d texted earlier, along with his gate code and a photo of the driveway. Big white stucco, tall windows, bronze hardware, and a wraparound porch with fans turning lazily overhead. Florida luxury at its most laid-back.
As Abigail eased into the circular drive, Ali’s stomach gave a nervous twist. His Bronco was parked out front. This time, there was no hiding behind sunglasses or “keeping it lowkey.”
“You good?” Abigail asked, cutting the engine.
Ali nodded, but her fingers gripped the handle a little too tight. “He lives here.”
Ashley smirked. “And he wants you here.”
Raleigh Ann leaned forward from the back. “Now get out of this car and go knock the wind out of your man.”
Ali took a deep breath and pushed open the door, stepping down onto the stone drive. The air smelled like citrus trees and fresh-cut grass. She smoothed her dress, adjusted her tote on her shoulder.
Then the front door opened—and there he was. In joggers, a tee that clung to his chest, and bare feet on the porch like some kind of barefoot GQ ad. His grin hit her like sunshine.
She didn’t even realize she was smiling until her cheeks started to hurt.