I don’t check it.
I check it the second Marcus leaves.
Reece:Dinner tomorrow? I know a place with terrible lighting and zero Wildcats fans.
I stare at the message for a full minute.
This is my last chance to back out. To be sensible. To protect myself, my dad, and Reece’s career from whatever disaster is waiting down this road.
Instead, I type.
Me:What time?
Reece:7. I’ll pick you up.
Me:No. I’ll meet you there. Send me the address.
Reece:Independent. I like it.
Me:Don’t get used to liking things about me, Steele.
Reece:Too late for warnings, Ava. Way too late.
I read the message three times before setting my phone down.
My dad is going to kill me when he finds out. The media is going to have a field day. This is going to end in flames, regret, and probably a restraining order from Wildcats Stadium. But the bees in my chest are still buzzing, and my face hurts from smiling, and for the first time in years, I’m choosing something reckless.
Something that ismine.
“This is a terrible idea,” I tell the empty studio.
The empty studio, wisely, doesn’t argue.
Chapter Eight
Ava
The restaurant Reece chose is buried in a neighborhood I’ve never heard of, forty minutes outside the city. No sports memorabilia on the walls, no televisions broadcasting games, the lighting is dim, bordering on romantic, and the clientele looks more interested in their pasta than their phones.
It’s perfect, and I hate how much thought he clearly put into it.
He’s already at the table when I arrive, wearing dark jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is damp from a shower, and when he stands to pull out my chair, I catch the scent of his soap.
“You’re early,” I say, sitting before he can make a big production of it.
“I’m punctual.” He settles back into his seat, grinning. “You’re the one who’s exactly on time. Control issues?”
“Punctuality isn’t a control issue.”
“It is when you circled the block three times to make sure you weren’t early.”
My mouth falls open. “How did you…”
“Saw your car pass the window. Twice.” His grin widens. “The third time I stopped counting.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I was finding parking.”
“Sure, you were.”
