Grace considers that a moment before nodding. “I get it. Healthy boundaries with parents are important. My mom won’t stop harping about Jensen and I giving her grandbabies, but we’re just not ready for that and don’t want to rush into anything. No matter how many times I explain that to her, though, she just won’t drop it.”
I immediately think of Zander asking me about kids in the French bistro, and how nervous that question made me.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for kids,” I confess softly.
Grace shrugs. “I don’t know if anyone is ready for kids, but maybe if Zander is the right guy, you’ll feel more comfortable with the idea.”
Me and Zander and kids? I picture myself pregnant, Zander hovering around me protectively, and then I imagine what he’d be like with a kid of his own. Loving, attentive, adoring…
Why does thinking about him as a Dad make me blush?
“I suppose we’ll have to see,” I murmur, quickly steering the conversation to safer territory.
It’s another twenty minutes before we arrive at the stadium in Rock Springs, and as we park and get out of the car, Grace moves to the trunk.
“Hold on, now,” she says in a singsong voice. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Something for me?” I blink as she pulls a large gift box out and hands it to me. “What the hell? This is really for me?”
Grace nods, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Yep, from Zander.”
Zander got me a present? My heart races as I tear into the package, not bothering to preserve the wrapping paper in my eagerness to get at what’s inside. Beneath a few layers of tissue paper, I find a Night Hawks jersey with CALDWELL printed on the back in big black letters, as well as the number 21.
“I’m supposed to tell you that he’d really like you to wear it,” Grace declares. “But you don’t have to. It’s totally up to you andhe doesn’t want you to feel pressured… you get it. Zander is just being his adorable self.”
Fuck yes I’m going to wear it! I quickly pull it on over my t-shirt and fluff my hair as I model it for Grace.
“How do I look?” I give her a runway pout.
“If I were a guy, I’d do you for sure.”
“You’re the sweetest.”
Laughing, we gather the rest of our things and make our way into the stadium, our men’s numbers emblazoned on our backs.
“Jensen! Jensen! How are you feeling about the team’s chances of a repeat for the cup after today’s win?”
“Do you think you’ll be able to maintain your team’s speed advantage throughout the season or will other teams catch up to you?”
“Zander, do you think the Night Hawks defense will be able to stand up against Houston’s bulldog offense in the next game?”
Questions are flying like crazy as camera lights flash. Zander and Jensen, as well as a few other players from the team, are sitting at a press table in front of a crowd of ravenous reporters. After securing a win against Rock Springs, the guys are looking happy and relaxed as they field the questions and give their press-approved answers.
Grace is standing off to the side, watching them intently, her fingers flying over her phone as she takes down their answers for social media posts she’ll put up later, and I’m moving around the peripherals of the crowd, taking pictures. I don’t want to take shots of just the guys, but of the reporters vying for theirattention as well. These will just be the cherry on top of the fantastic action shots I was able to get during the game.
Plus, I want to capture the moment Zander is announced as the bachelor of the year for ICON.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and pull it out to take a quick peek. When I see it’s a text from Blaire, I open it.
Blaire: Hey, we’re watching the press conference. Are they going to announce the bachelor of the year soon?
Rylee: It’s going to be at the very end. It shouldn’t be too long.
Blaire: Good, I’ve got plans with my guy and don’t want to be late for him. Must be nice getting a press conference for your article. Will bring in lots of readers, I’m sure.
Why do I get the feeling she’s writing this sarcastically, while fuming at me from the other end? No, no, that’s not fair of me. I’m reading too much into this.
Rylee: Fingers-crossed!
