Chapter One #2
“Aston,” she says in her sexy, raspy voice that should be illegal. She looks down, then back up to my face. “Nice boots. Can’t take the cowboy out of Texas, huh?”
“Texas forever.” I lift my beer, then take a drink.
A grin spreads across her face. “That’s all you got after two years?”
“If I’d known you’d be here, I might have had a better speech planned.”
“Oh?”
For a second, we just stand there, smiling at each other. Neither of us moves. And neither of us looks away.
The years between us suddenly feel a lot shorter than they should.
“You look good, Aston.”
My pulse kicks up. My stomach tightens in a good way.
This feeling right here—where one simple compliment from this girl makes me want to fall to my knees—is dangerous. Very dangerous.
“You too.”
She arches an eyebrow.
I chuckle. “What?”
“That’s it?”
“You know you’re gorgeous.”
She smiles, and my heart starts to pound in my chest.
“I just wanted to hear you say it.”
Lord help me. She’s still full of fire.
Eva steps closer, and the smell of her perfume hits me. It’s a soft scent of jasmine and something warm, like vanilla.
“So, how’s life in the league? I see your highlights. You still jump the snap count like a maniac,” she teases.
“It’s called timing, Carrington,” I joke, my eyes falling to her lips for a fraction of a second before I move them back up. “And life is good. Better now that I don’t have to answer your smart-ass postgame interview questions.”
“Aww, still sensitive,” she says, her dimple popping. “I notice you still use red tape on your fingers like you did in college.”
I slide a hand into my pocket. “You remember that?”
She shrugs. “You did it on specific fingers for every game.”
“I’m superstitious.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs into the back of her hand. “You also insisted on tapping the goalpost three times.”
I shake my head. It’s unbelievable that she even remembers that about me. Rituals I’ve carried into the pros.
“It works,” I say with a smirk. “Didn’t know you were paying such close attention.”
She bites her lower lip, as if caught doing something wrong. I grin at the way her cheeks redden.
“I’m a journalist. It’s my job to study my subjects.”
I take another swig of my drink, the courage I lacked two years ago replaced by the knowledge that the girl he watched from afar was watching him right back.
“Do you still braid your hair when you’re nervous?”
She scrunches her brows. “I didn’t do that.”
“You’d stand on the sidelines and braid your hair when we were down or it was a close game. We’d come out of the tunnel after halftime, and it would be fully braided.”
“I was … keeping my hands busy.”
“I always knew whether we’d win by how tight your braid was.”
She laughs. “You noticed my hair?”
“I noticed everything.”
The words hang between us like a confession of guilt at Sunday Mass. Except I wasn’t prepared to confess my sins.
She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks up at me. “Me too.”
I can’t help the grin that crosses my face. “Good to know.”
“And you’re still staring.” Her eyes flash with a mix of mischief and something hotter that makes my blood start to simmer.
“Yeah, and I don’t see anything in my way right now,” I say, leaning in just enough so she can hear me over the music.
She laughs like she’s been waiting for me to admit it.
Then we get pulled into conversations with the rest of the group.
It’s like no time has passed. Like she never dated my brother. Like I didn’t spend my last year of college pretending it didn’t wreck me every time I had to see her kissing my twin.
The music starts, and everyone hits the dance floor like they’ve been waiting for permission all night.
“Bar?” she asks.
I grin. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
We weave through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that the back of her hand brushes mine twice before either of us pretends to notice.
We make our way to the bar, and the bartender comes over.
“Still vodka soda?” I ask.
She glances up and lifts a brow as I give our orders to the bartender.
“Just confirming things don’t change,” I say as I slide a twenty in the tip jar.
“Some things do.” Her eyes drag over me for a half second before she looks back at the bar. “You got broader.”
I huff out a laugh. “The league is no joke. I needed to bulk up.”
Her smile curves, and when the drinks arrive, she takes hers.
I lean an elbow on the bar. “What have you been up to, Evangeline?”
“Living the dream. Associate producer. Not as glamorous as it sounds. Emails. Schedules. Grown men arguing over call times.”
“Sounds terrible,” I deadpan.
“I once had to convince an anchor that showing up on time was not, in fact, creative limitation.”
I grin. “Football’s the same. We have our fair share of divas. Just more ice baths and fewer feelings.”
“You? Avoiding feelings? Shocking.”
“Careful. You act like you know me.”
“I know the entire female population at Walker had a crush on you and you were completely aloof to most of them.”
“Not the entire female population,” I say, looking at the one girl who didn’t want me.
Instead of agreeing, she stares directly in my eyes, and as her chest rises, she lets out a breathy confession. “All of them.”
“You sure know how to stroke a guy’s ego.”
She laughs. “Is this where I make a comment about knowing how to stroke a lot of things?”
“Damn. You said it. Not me.” I lift my beer and take a long drink. “I missed your sass.”
“Well, Aston, there’s a lot more where that came from.”
We cheers and clink our glasses.
Hours pass, and drinks keep coming.
Then more drinks.
Eva and I are with my friends and teammates, huddled together in a group, separate from the other guests. Our stories get exaggerated, and embarrassing memories resurface.
The lights dim, and an acoustic guitar, playing a familiar tune, blasts loudly through the sound system.
A collective roar goes up from our Walker University crew. It’s like a biological trigger.
“Fuck yes!” Liam shouts from across the table, grabs Alie’s hand, and pulls her onto the dance floor. He waves to the rest of us. “Get out here!”
“Garth!” Archie yells, dragging Emma toward the center of the dance floor so fast she nearly loses a shoe.
Within five seconds, our entire group has formed a wild, dancing circle, no doubt shocking all the blue bloods in attendance.
Eva, Aiden, Charlie, Beck, Casey, Noelle, Casey’s wife, Bo, Chelsea, Brooke, Silas’s wife, Silas, my teammate Brody Vaughn, my other teammate Wyatt St. Clair, and Presley St. Clair, Wyatt’s wife and the bride’s sister and our team doctor —all of us hold our drinks in the air, creating a ceiling of glass and flying booze.
As the chorus hits, we erupt, screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs, jumping up and down like we’re back in college at Logan’s on a Saturday night after a win.
I pull Eva into my arms and spin her. Her green dress flares out, and her laughter is loud and unrestricted. Silas bumps into me from behind, and for a heated second, she’s pressed against me. Her hands come up to my chest to steady her balance.
We’re both breathless, singing right into each other’s face, completely lost in the sweaty, euphoric nostalgia of our college days.
She leans in, her lips brushing against my ear as the song comes to a finish with a massive cheer from the entire crowd. Even the blue bloods.
“I think Archie got all the dance moves in the family.”
“What are you even saying? I’m an elite dancer, Eva,” I say, my hands staying firmly on her hips as the music changes to a slower tempo.
Around us, the circle of friends is dissipating, and people stumble toward the bar. And I see Charlie talking to the DJ, likely putting in another request for our group. Somehow, a football appears, and some of the guys start tossing the ball around just off the dance floor.
But Eva and I stay right where we are. The rest of the world feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Her eyes are dark now as the playful banter melts into something heavy and undeniable. The tension we had buried beneath the boundaries of friendship is suddenly roaring to life.
“I’m not sure we should be doing this,” she says, even though she doesn’t pull away. Her hands gripping my shirt.
“Doing what? Dancing?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Looking at each other like this in front of all these people. My dad is here somewhere, probably watching me.” She smirks.
The mention of other people highlights the warning Aiden issued, but the alcohol and the sheer intoxicating reality of having her in my arms burn right through it.
“Other people? All I see is you.”
She leans in and whispers in my ear, “You wanna get out of here?”
Every smart answer, every reasonable thought, and every warning bell disappears.
“Fuck. Yes.”
She pulls her head back enough to look me in the eye. “Yeah?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling against mine. “Let’s go before we get stuck in another impromptu karaoke session.”
I don’t ask any questions because I don’t want either of us to change our minds. I don’t say goodbye to Liam and Alie, and I completely ignore Archie yelling my name from across the bar. I just grab her hand and weave us through the shadows of the lawn.
“Wait, where are we going?” She tugs on my hand to stop me.
“We each have a place here on the property for the night.”
She bites her lip and looks around. “Okay.”
“If you’ve changed your mind—”
“No! I was just figuring out how to make an escape in the morning.” She shrugs, smiling.
“I’ll get you out of here without anyone noticing.” I lean in and kiss her cheek.
As we walk, I realize I left my favorite hat behind, but one of my brothers will surely notice and grab it for me since Archie and I sat at the same table. I’m not going back now and risk her having second thoughts.
The rest of the way to my guesthouse, we don’t talk. But we don’t need to. The witty remarks are gone, replaced by a hunger that’s been brewing since college.
By the time we reach the house, the tension is thick enough to choke on.