I’m not sure how to handle the way my chest tightens when he says that. I’ve heard compliments before, empty, half-hearted, but nothing about the way he looks at me feels fake.
I let out a shaky laugh and nudge his knee with mine. “You acting all serious? I’m shocked.”
His grin finally cracks through. “What can I say? You bring out my serious side.”
Of course. The big, cocky quarterback has a serious side. And of course, that’s the part making me fall for him. Figures.
We sit there for a little longer, letting the conversationflow naturally. I tell him about the first tattoo I ever did on myself, talk about the time Catalina and I accidentally triggered a fire alarm in a hotel, and mention my cat Rex’s obsession with shredded cheese.
In return, he shares stories about learning to drive on the ranch, sneaking out with Carter and Reed to swim in the creek, and the first time he threw a football and realized he was good at it.
It’s… easy, which is terrifying.
When the wind picks up and the sun dips lower, he looks at me with that spark in his eye. “C’mon, dollface. Let’s go home.”
The word lingers between us.
Home.
It causes a strange flutter in my chest that I can’t quite name yet.
My eyes drift to his outstretched hand. The safe choice is to pull back. To remind him, remind myself, that this isn’t real.
That it can’t be.
But my fingers move before my brain can stop them. I slip my hand into his anyway, holding on even as a voice in my head whispers I shouldn’t.
maverick
. . .
Ican’t believe I have to release a public apology to this shitbag.
Camera shutters click rapidly, each one a sharp jolt that makes it harder to focus. The air smells of burnt coffee and cigarettes. My suit jacket feels too warm, and the tie around my neck feels like it’s choking me more than just the air.
A reporter calls out from the front row, “Mr. Hayes, do you have anything you’d like to say regarding your altercation with Jax Montgomery?”
My fingers loosen from the pen before I break it in half. “Yes,” I answer. “I’d like to make a public apology to Mr. Montgomery. My behavior at the gala was unprofessional and inappropriate for someone in my position. It doesn’t reflect who I strive to be, on or off the field.”
Camera flashes fire again.
The words taste wrong, but they’re the ones Maggie told me to use.
More questions come, and I stay within the lines I’ve been given. The only thing holding me back from walkingout is the image of Amelia standing at Moss Cove, her hair tangled by the wind, and the sun tracing her tattoos.
It remains at the core of my mind, helping me stay grounded.
A voice cuts through the noise. “How is this affecting your season… and your marriage?”
The pause between the words is intentional.
“The season’s great,” I say. “My focus is on winning games for the Mustangs. As for my marriage…” My mouth pulls into a grin that feels almost genuine. “Married life is good. I love being a husband.”
They keep going, but Maggie ends the conference, and I walk out with the sound of shutters still ringing in my ears.
I’m already moving, taking long strides toward the parking lot, headed for my Bronco.
“Hayes!” Maggie’s heels click sharply against the pavement.
