Chapter Fifteen
EVA
The engine of my Range Rover Evoque ticks as it cools under the gray canopy of the mid-November sky. I sit in my car for a minute and look at Aston’s house, taking in the stone and the heavy wood door. It’s masculine, but there’s a homeyness to it that feels perfect for him.
I step out of my car and grab my travel bag and a grocery bag from the back seat. When I get to the door, I pull out my key and turn the lock. When I enter, I type in the code that Aston gave me yesterday, and the red light turns green.
The house doesn’t really need overhead lighting; the floor-to-ceiling windows let in a soft, muted light, casting a quiet, peaceful glow across the wide-plank cedar floors.
I take off my shoes, then take a slow, deep breath, letting the scent of his world pull me into the present and not back in my office. The house smells exactly like him—a rich, comforting blend of seasoned oak woodsmoke, leather, and a hint of spice from his cologne.
I drop my bag and the groceries by the staircase, then walk toward the stone fireplace, my bare feet silent against the wood.
This place might just look like a big, beautiful home from the outside, but looking at it now, I realize this is a living gallery of the man beneath the shoulder pads.
On the mantle sits a row of frames, so I step forward to get a closer look.
I haven’t taken the time to look around in the few times I’ve been here, but I’m going to take my time now. I want to know him.
There’s an older photo of sun-bleached identical, dirt-streaked boys, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders as they grin into the camera lens, both wearing oversized football jerseys.
Ace and Aston. I trace the glass over Aston’s face, my heart doing a strange little flop.
Even as a young boy, he had the same quiet intensity.
Next to it is a massive group photo, with a beautiful sunset in the background, rolling hills, and a sea of gorgeous blond people and two brunettes.
Archie, his wife Emma, their daughter Lainey, Aiden, Ace, Aston, Austin, Jesse, and his parents, Shane and Alicia.
The Griffith family. A dynasty of athletic talent and sharp eyes.
And every single face has a genuine smile, like they're truly happy just to be in each other’s presence.
I notice that Aston’s father has the same lines Aston wears when he’s deep in thought.
His family was always nice and welcoming whenever I saw them when they came to games or for a quick visit at Walker. But Ace and I were never serious enough for me to make it down to the family ranch in Texas.
I run my fingers over the top of the frame, and my throat tightens with emotion.
Next to the frame is a leather-bound book. I flip it open and see sketches of a large ranch home, the Griffith ranch logo, a horse, and some scribbled words with the initials AG at the bottom of the page.
The world might know Aston Griffith as number fifty-four for the New York Titans, a terrifying linebacker who breaks double-teams and has a smirk that makes women go wild.
But here, in the quiet space of the house he’s made here, he’s just a boy who misses the wide-open Texas sky.
A man who’s made a home in a different state but wants to keep his soul anchored to the earth just like how he grew up.
A floorboard groans, breaking the silence in the room.
I turn around just as Aston steps off the staircase.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of worn-out Wranglers, his hair damp from a shower, his chest bare and marked with tattoos.
The bruises on his ribs are finally fading, but he still carries the ruggedness of a man who spends his weekends colliding with other humans.
His eyes, though, find me standing by his mantle, his leather-bound book in my hand. The curious expression on his face vanishes, replaced by a soft warmth that is meant entirely for me.
“You’re here,” he says, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Uh, yeah. The key worked,” I whisper, a breathless smile breaking across my face as I set the notebook down. “I was just looking around for a minute. I’ve never really looked around your place. I didn’t realize that you were an artist.”
“Artist? Nah, I just like to sketch out some plans from time to time.”
“Well, you’re really good,” I say, smiling.
“Thanks, Honeybee.”
He closes the distance between us in three long strides. He doesn’t say a word; he just reaches out, his hands coming up to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. He leans down, his mouth meeting mine in a deep, slow kiss that tastes of mint.
There’s no rush. No frantic urgency. This is just a man and a woman wanting to be in each other’s space.
“Your lips are still cold from outside,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands sliding down to wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against his bare chest.
“I brought the steaks,” I say, my hands sliding up his back, feeling the ridges of muscle and the heat of his skin. “Should we have an early dinner?”
“Fuck the steaks,” he grumbles, burying his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. “Let’s just stay here for a minute.”
“Stay here? Like hugging?”
“Yeah, I just want to feel you in my arms. I know it’s only been a few days since we saw each other, but I missed you, and I just want to hold you for a minute.”
“Okay,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
A few minutes later, we make our way to the kitchen, the groceries in Aston’s hand.
“I’m cooking.” I push his chest with my palms until he relents and sits on one of his barstools across the island. I open his fridge and see some Lone Stars, so I grab one for him and hand it to him, and he smiles.
“Do you have an iron skillet?” I ask.
“Yep, it’s in the cabinet to the left of the stove,” he says, pointing with the neck of his beer.
I pull out the skillet, set it on the commercial-grade range, and turn on the burner. I move around his kitchen with a quiet familiarity, finding the salt and pepper and the fresh sprigs of rosemary he has in the refrigerator.
We talk about nothing while I cook, but every time I look up, I see him watching me with a soft smile on his face.
Not the way a guy looks at a girl he’s banging—not the hungry look that says, I want to fuck you on every surface of this kitchen.
Which I wouldn’t mind, for the record. Instead, he watches me with a quiet reverence, his eyes tracking the way I’m moving, the way I chop veggies, the way I laugh when the butter starts to sizzle in the hot iron, creating its own little tune.
And I watch him too.
“What’s on your mind, Honeybee?” he asks, a crooked smile touching his lips.
“Nothing,” I say, turning the steaks. “Your home fits you. I was looking at the family pictures on the mantle.”
Aston’s eyes look toward the living room, then back to me. “Yeah? Those are some of my favorites.”
“I like the one of you and Ace when you were kids,” I say, leaning against the counter while the steaks cook. “You had the same look on your face as you do after a win, but also an intensity that Ace doesn’t have.”
Aston lets out a low laugh, setting his beer down. He stands, walking around the island until he’s beside me. He leans his hip against the counter, facing me.
“Intense, huh?” he asks. “Maybe I am a little intense, but I’ve always been the quieter one of the two of us. Ace is just…Ace, you know. He’s loud and takes up a lot of space. And I didn’t mind. I liked observing instead of being the main attraction.”
He looks down at me, his blue eyes soft.
“When I got here, I was a bit homesick. Being in Oklahoma was great because I could get home in a few hours, and the sky is big there too, and the people are similar. Being here and far from that life was different. So I bought this place because I needed to remember that there’s a life outside football.
I needed a place that makes me feel just a little bit of home. ”
He leans in closer, and I can feel his breath on my lips. “And since you’ve been coming over, this place truly feels like home now.”
My heart flips. “Because you gave me a key?”
“Because of the person holding it,” he whispers, then captures my mouth with his.
The sizzle on the skillet gets louder, so I break the kiss and finish making our food. Then we eat at the table in the kitchen next to the tall glass windows and talk about his upcoming game. But we also talk about things that actually anchor us.
He tells me funny stories about him and his brothers, and about the time his brother Austin tried to ride a three-year-old cow and ended up in a stock tank.
Then I told him about my first year with the network after graduation, when a roving steady-cam crew had accidentally knocked over a cooler of Gatorade onto a legendary coach, and I had to apologize for it even though it wasn’t my fault.
“I’m sure you have some pretty great stories about Liam Pitz and your brother Archie,” I say, leaning back in my chair, a glass of red wine between my fingers. “I’ve heard some, of course, but I bet they were a good time.”
“Yeah, I do have some, but Ace and I were still in high school most of the time they played together, but Pitz and Beck Linson, Casey King, Bo Callaway, Silas Arbuckle have all stayed tight. Well, Silas didn’t play with Arch in college, but as you know, they play together now, and their families are pretty close and even live in the same neighborhood.
But yeah, they’re a lot of fun to be around. ”
“I’m sure. I mean, I know some of them, but I’m betting you have much better stories than I know,” I laugh.
“Yeah, they’re all like family.” He reaches across the small table, his palm resting flat against the wood, open and waiting.
I don’t hesitate. I slide my hand into his, his fingers curling around mine.
“Honeybee,” he says, his tone shifting from humor to something more serious.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want you going back to the city tomorrow,” he says bluntly, his eyes locking on mine. “I know you have to go to Atlanta on Thursday, but stay here. Let me come home to you tomorrow after practice, or whenever you get done for the day. Before all the schedule chaos.”
I look at our joined hands. “I could possibly do that.”
“I really like seeing you here. In my home.” He pulls my hand up, pressing his lips against the knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Eva,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I’m completely falling for you.”
The words don’t drop like a bomb. They’re certain and without doubt.
My breath catches though. Because I feel like I’ve wanted him—this—for a long time.
That I’ve spent years watching him from the sidelines.
Forcing myself to be his friend in college, forcing myself to be professional, forcing myself to treat him like a story for television rather than the man who holds my heart in his hands.
And hearing him say these words feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
“Aston,” I whisper, leaning forward, my free hand touching his arm. “You can’t just say things like that to me.”
“Why the fuck not?” He leans back in his chair but doesn’t release my hand.
“Because it makes me want to throw my calendar away.” I reach across the table, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m falling for you too. I think it’s something that’s been building for a while.”
Aston doesn’t wait. He stands, knocking his chair back, and it falls to the floor, then he pulls me out of my seat. He lifts me effortlessly, his arms wrapping around my waist as he buries his face in my hair.
“Good,” he says against my ear, his voice thick with emotion. “Because you’re not going back to the city tomorrow. You’re staying right here with me.”
My head tilts back and I laugh.
Instead of going to his bedroom, he carries me over to the massive sofa in front of the fireplace, then pulls a blanket over both of us. I lie with my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around my middle, holding me so close I can feel every beat of his heart.
“I grew up in a loud house, and I play a loud game, and don’t get me wrong, I love my family somethin’ crazy, and I love football, but until I moved here, I didn’t really know what it was like to have quiet,” he says, as his fingers trace a slow pattern against my hip through my sweater.
“And sometimes I’m not sure what to do with it. ”
I shift slightly, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. “I can understand that.”
“But now things feel different,” he says softly, his grip tightening around my waist, pulling me closer into his chest. “When I’m sitting here with you, the silence makes sense. Because having you here finally makes it feel like a home. We don’t need to fill it with noise.”
I turn in his arms, shifting until I’m looking up at his face. I reach up, my fingers smoothing the tiny, rough lines of fatigue near his eyes, tracing the strong, unyielding line of his jaw.
“We’re about to have a lot of weeks where we’ll barely see each other, Aston. I’ll see you at your games, but then I’ll have to fly right back out,” I remind him. “Our jobs will constantly pull at us.”
“Yeah, they will,” Aston agrees, his eyes steady on mine. “But that doesn’t change what this is. Every mile I travel, every stadium I’m in, I’ll be working my way back here. Back to you.”
I smile, leaning up to kiss his jaw, the rough stubble scratching my lips before I rest my head against his chest.
He squeezes me gently, like he’s trying to keep me all to himself, despite all the noise, the upcoming travel, and the cameras waiting on both of us.
In the quiet of his house, surrounded by family photos and the comforting smell of the wood burning in the fireplace, I close my eyes and let myself sink into the chest of the man I’m falling for. Hard.
Right now, the world is ours, and I’m exactly where I belong.