“They always do.”
“You’ll get bored.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Ava,” he says my name gently, and it does something catastrophic to my defenses. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m not asking you to go public or make some grand declaration. I’m asking if you want to grab dinner. Maybe see a movie. Talk without an audience.”
“That’s dating.”
“That’s existing in the same space without combusting.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. It comes out sharp and a little hysterical, but it breaks the tension coiling in my chest.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m persistent.”
“Same thing.”
“Is it working?”
The honest answer sits on my tongue, dangerous and terrifying. I could lie. Shut this down completely. Go back to reorganizing ink bottles and pretending I don’t feel anything.
But I’m so tired of pretending.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Possibly. Against my better judgment and every survival instinct I possess.”
His smile could power the entire stadium. “I’ll take it.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat in it. My mind is already spiraling ahead, calculating logistics. “If we do this…if, and I’m not saying we are, there have to be rules.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious. Non-negotiable boundaries.”
“I’m listening.”
I start pacing, thinking out loud. “No public anything. No social media. No cute couple photos or tagging or any of the nonsense your ex posts constantly.”
“Done.”
“No telling your teammates. Mack seems nice, but athletes gossip worse than hairstylists.”
“Harsh but fair.”
“And absolutely, under no circumstances, can my father find out. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I don’t know.” I stop pacing, facing him. “He cannot know.”
Reece’s expression sobers. “I can’t lie to Coach if he asks me directly.”
“Then don’t get asked directly.”
“Ava…”
