“Funny,” I murmur, “you weren’t so detached last night.”
“You need to dial it back,” she mutters quietly. “If anyone notices?—”
“They won’t.” I catch her wrist. “Don’t run from me, Trouble. We’re not kids anymore. There’s nothing wrong with us choosing each other.”
Her eyes flash, sharp enough to cut. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got nothing to lose.” She leans in, clipped and quiet. “This gig matters. If I screw it up and people start talking, it costs me more than you realize.”
Her words land. My frown deepens,but she presses on, hands firm on my hip as if grounding herself. “If you care about me at all, you’ll dial it down when others are around. Please. Keep this private.” Her tone is ice again when she straightens. “Mobility’s good. Finish the game. Be smart with your pushes.”
The door creaks open. “Knock, knock,” Finn drawls, stepping inside. His gaze sweeps the room, clocks me on the table, Eden’s hands on my hip, the air strung with tension. He raises a brow, mouth quirking. “Got a minute, Doc?”
Eden stiffens. “I’m not a doctor, O’Reilly—” She stops herself and shakes her head, realizing it isn’t worth the fight. “What’s wrong?”
“Shoulder’s barkin’ a little,” he says, rolling it once. “Figured better safe than sorry.”
She nods briskly, already snapping off one pair of gloves for another. “Table.” Finn obeys without fuss. Her focus locks onto his arm, efficient and precise, but before she turns away, her gaze flicks to mine. Barely a beat, but enough. A silent message:I meant what I said. And I’m trusting you.
I give the smallest nod, watching while she works Finn’s shoulder. He doesn’t say a word until she’s finished. She strips off her gloves and announces she’s heading to update Coach. Then she’s gone, the door closing softly behind her.
Silence stretches, then Finn rolls his shoulder. He looks at me with that familiar mischief. “Gotta hand it to you, Russo. She’s got good hands.”
I glare. “Not funny.”
“Sure it is,” he says, but then his eyes sharpen. “Women don’t get to play by the same rules as us in this business. She slips once—or hell, even looks like she did—and people’ll tear her to pieces.”
I drag a hand down my face, frustration boiling. “Yeah, Iget it. But all I wanna do is stake the claim and let everybody know she’s mine.”
Finn claps my back, chuckling. “Ain’t you just a regular Tarzan.” His expression is pure mischief. “Just keep showin’ up, big man. Give her what she needs, and she’ll keep comin’ back for more.” He leans in, dropping his tone to a stage whisper. “And hey, worst case, knock her up with twins and put a ring on her. Worked out fine for me and Jessica.”
I snort and chuck a towel at his smug face. “You’re an idiot.”
He ducks it easily, still wearing that satisfied look. “Seriously though. Don’t make her choose between you and what she’s buildin’. That girl’s tougher than nails, but she shouldn’t have to prove it.”
The horn blares, summoning us back. Finn hops off the table, expression widening. “Now let’s go finish this damn game.”
25
VANILLA IS NOT MY FAVORITE FLAVOR (NATE)
The plane’s wheels kiss down at Teterboro a bit before midnight, the lights of Manhattan flickering across the river. Within minutes, the cabin doors open and the team files down the stairs into the chill December air.
Equipment staff are unloading gear into the belly of the waiting team bus. A few guys drag their carry-ons, shoulders slumped from the trip, voices low as they trade half-hearted jokes. We are all dead on our feet and eager to get home as quickly as possible. Thankfully, there’re no crowds here and no regular airport chaos.
Eden falls in beside me, carry-on slung over her shoulder, head down as she angles toward the exit. Coach Novak spots her as he’s herding guys toward the bus.
“You got a ride, Eden?” he asks, distracted but checking the box.
“I’ll grab a cab,” she says quickly.
Coach nods, but this time he pauses long enough to add, “It’s been good having you on this trip, Carver. KeepingRusso on top of his game.” His tone is gruff but genuine. “Thanks for being this flexible so close to the holidays.”
Eden gives him a quick, polite smile. “Glad to know it was helpful, Coach. Anytime.”
Rowan swings her bag over her shoulder as she heads past us. “Night, Eden. Stop by when you’re at the complex next time?”
“I will,” Eden promises, squeezing her arm. “Thanks for the company.”
Rowan winks before jogging up the steps of the bus.
