Chapter 12
Mars
I didn’t expect to feel that alive.
I had been to basketball games before—sat in the courtside seats inside loud, vibrating arenas—but football felt entirely different.
It somehow felt bigger. Slower and faster at the same time.
Every single snap felt like a collectively held breath, a tense pause where the universe stopped spinning.
Every hit sounded like a car crash, the violent crunch of plastic and pads echoing all the way up to the glass.
And when he scored, when the entire stadium literally shook under my feet and total strangers screamed like they’d known him their whole lives, I felt it directly in my chest. I felt pure electricity.
By the fourth quarter, I wasn’t thinking about the cameras anymore.
I wasn’t thinking about the looming headlines or the PR strategy session we had meticulously mapped out over chocolate croissants.
I was standing at the railing, yelling until my throat was raw, laughing with Nia while Cal pretended he wasn’t pacing the back of the luxury box like a stressed-out dad.
When the clock finally hit zero and they secured the win, something deep inside me settled. The heavy weight of the anxiety I had carried all week evaporated, replaced by a sudden, lightheaded rush of adrenaline.
I pulled my phone out of my purse while we were walking through the private, concrete corridor toward the players’ exit, the distant roar of the stadium still muffled through the walls. My fingers tapped out a brief, simple message before I could overthink it.
Nice game.
My phone buzzed shortly after.
Don’t leave yet.
I slowed my pace slightly, my espadrilles dragging against the polished floor as the rest of our group kept moving down the hall.
Nia noticed.
“What?”
“He said don’t leave.”
She grinned.
“Oh.”
Outside, the air was cooler. The kind of cool that only came after Texas heat had been baking asphalt all day.
Security was guiding family and VIP guests toward a controlled exit near the players’ lot.
A reporter stepped forward before we reached the gate.
“Ma’am, can we get your name?”
Cal didn’t break stride.
“If you don’t mind,” he said calmly, one hand lightly at my back, “I’d like to give my little sister some space tonight.”
He didn't come off aggressive. Just firm.
The reporter nodded and backed off.
It felt strange and comforting at the same time.
We stood near the curb waiting, the cool evening air carrying the faint, metallic scent of the stadium lights cooling down.
SUVs were lined up in a neat, idling row, their exhaust curling into the dark sky as players began emerging in waves from the tunnel.
Some were already changed into sharp, tailored travel fits; others were still half in uniform, their athletic tape loosely unraveling around their wrists.
All around us, wives and girlfriends leaned against cars, trading familiar smiles and winding down from the game day high. Cameras were flashing, but at a respectful distance, the stadium security keeping the paparazzi pushed back completely behind the iron barricades.
Then I saw him.
He had swapped his pads for dark washed jeans and a crisp white tee that clung just enough to his shoulders.
Clean sneakers completed the look. He didn’t rush his steps.
He walked toward our small group like he had all the time in the world, completely unaffected by the lingering fans shouting his name from the fences.
And when his eyes finally landed on me, they changed. The intense, competitive mask he had worn on the field dissolved completely, his light brown eyes becoming softer. Warmer.
He stopped close to me, hyper-aware of the flashing lenses somewhere behind his back, but his focus remained locked onto my face. "Are you good?” he asked quietly, his voice a low rumble.
"Yes,” I said simply, my heart doing that familiar, traitorous skip against my ribs.
He leaned in slightly, bending his tall frame just enough so his words were low enough that only I could hear them over the idling engines. “Do you want to get out of here with me?”
“Yes,” I said again, suddenly losing all my vocabulary. Under his steady gaze, my sharp corporate wit had completely vanished, leaving me breathless.
Nia made a small, amused noise behind me, a low throat-clearing sound that broke the spell. “Well,” she said, shifting her weight and adjusting the strap of her leather purse over her shoulder, “Cal and I are going to grab drinks with some of the guys. You two linking up?"
“Yeah,” Jalen answered easily, not breaking eye contact with me for even a fraction of a second. “We’ll link.”
He looked down at my hand, where my keys were looped around my index finger. "Want to drive your car?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind the top down,” I said, a little bit of my usual playfulness finally returning to my voice.
His smile widened, bright and entirely victorious, as he reached out and slid the keys from my fingers.
We slid into my car just as a line of players began pulling out of the secured exit.
Large SUVs. Luxury trucks. A few sports cars.
Cameras stood respectfully behind barricades snapping photos as each vehicle rolled forward.
It was almost routine. It was a controlled access area for the media and a few fans walking by.
As he eased toward the gate, I felt his hand wrap around mine firmly. “You sure you're good?” he asked again.
“I’m good.” And I was.
He smiled softly, shifting the car into gear as we rolled past the security guards and out onto the open Houston streets.
The cool night air rushed over the windshield, instantly catching my hair and whipping it around my face.
It felt incredible, cutting through the leftover heat of the stadium and the claustrophobia of the crowds.
Jalen didn't let go of my hand. He kept his fingers laced through mine, his thumb drawing slow, reassuring circles against the back of my palm while he navigated the heavy post-game traffic with his other hand on the wheel.
The gates opened.
We rolled forward slowly.
A few cameras lifted. Some flashes popped.
He didn’t wave or try to play it up. His hand wrapped around mine until we cleared the barricades.
One hand rested relaxed on the wheel, the other near the gear shift, music low while we eased out of the stadium traffic.
The city lights stretched ahead of us, Houston still buzzing from the win.
I exhaled, still smiling.
“That game was insane. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself that much in a very long time.”
He glanced over at me.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said, turning toward him. “It was thrilling. The crowd, the tension. I felt it in my chest. I could see it in your eyes too. You were locked in.”
His eyes lit up slightly at that.
I grinned at him.
“You acted your ass off out there, huh?”
He laughed under his breath.
“Who’s acting?”
I waved him off.
“Hush. I know media training when I see it.”
He shook his head, still smiling.
“You think that was rehearsed?”
“Please,” I said playfully.
He looked at me, amused.
“Forget strategy for tonight.”
I studied him.
“It’s a big win,” he continued. “Wouldn’t it look a little suspicious if we didn’t celebrate together?”
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
“Suspicious?”
“Yeah,” he said lightly. “You were front-row energy all night. Then you just disappear? People might talk.”
I tilted my head.
“Smooth.”
He smiled.
“I try. Plus, Cal and Nia are already out.”
I looked back out at the city lights.
The adrenaline was still humming inside of me. I didn’t actually want to go home and sit in silence.
“You’re not dragging me somewhere I need a full glam team for, are you?”
“Trust me,” he said seriously, his eyes briefly glancing down my legs where they were crossed, “you don’t need full glam.”
I thought for a second longer than I needed to.
“Okay,” I said finally. “We can celebrate. But if I regret this tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”
“That’s fair,” he laughed.
A comfortable quiet settled between us after that.
Just two people choosing to stretch the night a little longer.
When I looked over at him again, he was already looking at me.
We didn’t have far to go. We were already downtown, so the ride was smooth and easy. The car glided through streets still buzzing from the game.
Fans in jerseys spilled out of bars. Car horns echoed in celebration. Someone ran past waving a team flag.
The valet stand was bright and busy.
The attendant stepped forward the moment we pulled up and noticed Jalen.
“Good game tonight,” he said, trying to keep his composure.
Jalen handed over the keys with an easy nod.
“Appreciate you.”
As we stepped away from the car, a couple of bystanders recognized him.
“Yo, that fourth quarter was crazy!”
Jalen turned toward them fully.
No rushing. No brushing them off.
“Y’all brought the energy,” he said, shaking one of their hands. “Made it easier on us.”
One asked for a quick picture. Jalen agreed without hesitation.
I stood beside him watching the exchange.
He was patient. Present. Kind. He listened when they talked. He thanked them again before we moved on.
As we approached the entrance, the crowd thickened slightly.
Without making a show of it, Jalen reached for my hand.
It was subtle. Natural.
His fingers laced through mine like it was second nature.
His posture shifted slightly.
Still warm and polite. Just a bit more alert and protective. Security opened the rope immediately.
Inside, the lighting softened into gold tones while low music vibrated through the floor. His hand stayed in mine as we walked toward VIP. I noticed a couple of familiar faces near Cal. People I had seen around him before. Not random. Not strangers.
As we slid into the booth, Jalen’s hand briefly settled at the small of my back to guide me in. Protective, but not possessive. Gentle. Intentional. I felt it.
And for a second I realized something. He moved through all of this like it was normal. But he made sure I never felt lost in it.
Nia slid out of the booth first. “Finally,” she laughed, opening her arms.