We lostour game last week against the Cowboys, and my brother hasn’t let me hear the end of it yet. It was great to see him, and I wish it could have been a longer visit, but his wife and kids didn’t make it to the game, so he was anxious to get back to Dallas. He’s still head over ass for his wife, and he’s the best dad. I can’t wait to see everyone over the holidays if our schedules work out for all of us to be home.
This weekend, we’re out of town for an away game against the Minnesota Vikings. It’s fucking cold here, and it’s only September. I can’t imagine what it would be like in the dead of winter here. I’m just glad the stadium is covered. This Texas boy doesn’t like freezing on the field.
The hum of the hotel elevator is the only sound cutting through the quiet, but instead, my head is loud. I lean my back against the mirrored wall and watch the numbers change.
The mandatory team meeting downstairs in the ballroom wrapped up fifteen minutes ago—a very long two-hour session of coordinator adjustments, special teams corrections, and a final roaring speech from Coach.
My body is exhausted. The flight in was a little bumpy, and my lower back is tight. All I want to do is crawl into bed, log in to my tablet, and review the third-down blitz pattern the Vikings like to run in the red zone one last time before I nod off.
Ding.
The elevator stops, the doors sliding open on the twelfth floor, which is the designated media and production level for the network crews traveling with us.
I’m not sure why the doors opened here because no one is standing in front of the elevator. My room is on the fourteenth floor, so I press the button for the doors to close, but just as I move back to the wall again, my eyes catch a silhouette walking down the hall. A slim figure, wearing an oversize gray Walker University hoodie that swallows her frame, her dark hair twisted up into one of those messy buns, and she’s wearing glasses that are slipping down her nose. She’s got a heavy equipment case resting on her hip, a laptop under her arm, and ropes of audio cords spilling out of her pocket.
She looks frazzled and as tired as I probably look. She looks like the girl I knew in college who would steal Ace’s sweatpants and nothing like the ballbuster she is now.
Before I can second-guess what I’m doing, my hand shoots out, catching the rubber edge of the elevator door, forcing it to reopen.
I step out onto the tiles, and my sneakers squeak, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“You look like you’re losing a war with your wires, Carrington.”
Eva’s head snaps up, her eyes widening in a brief flash of surprise before the familiar smile of hers slides back into place. She adjusts the case on her hip, her chin tilting up in a stubborn gesture I know all too well.
“Aston,” she breathes, her voice a little raspy from our long day of travel. “Why are you on the twelfth floor? You guys are on the fourteenth, right?”
“Uh … I was looking for the ice machine,” I lie, closing the distance between us. I don’t give her a chance to say anything; I just reach down and take the heavy equipment case from her hip. My fingers brush against hers for a second, and a jolt of electricity makes the hair on my arms stand up. Almost like a shock. “Where are we goin’ with this? You’re gonna throw your back out before kickoff tomorrow.”
Eva lets out a sharp sigh, but allows me to take the case from her. Not that she could fight me on it. This thing weighs at least forty pounds, and she’s wearing fuzzy slippers that offer zero traction if she should slip on these tiles.
“Room 1214,” she mutters, turning on her heel and leading the way down the corridor. “And I wasn’t losing a war with my wires. The network’s public relations liaison just dumped four terabytes of unedited sideline audio and miked-up footage from last week’s game into my drive. They want a sixty-second teaser cut for the pregame show tomorrow, but half the tracks are corrupted, and the team’s PR department hasn’t officially cleared the raw files yet because they’re worried someone dropped an unapproved expletive near one of the referees.”
I let out a low chuckle and follow her down the hall, my eyes watching the sway of her hips, hiding under the worn-out hoodie. I remember this hoodie. The faded gray fabric still has a bleach stain near the pocket after a laundry mishap at our house when she tried washing her clothes for the first time. The sight of it makes me smile.
“So, you’re saying you have restricted footage of us running around the sidelines, trash-talking?” I joke, keeping my voice low as we reach her door.
“I have raw, restricted audio of all of you sounding like cavemen,” she shoots back.
She taps her card on the keypad, and when the light on the lock turns green, she pushes the door open, and we step inside.
I pause at the door, the equipment case suddenly feeling heavier than it did in the hallway. The room is a standard corporateluxury room with a large king-size bed draped in crisp white bedding. A long desk is cluttered with monitors and equipment, which I have no idea what they’re used for, and the faint smell of her perfume lingers in the air.
I feel like being in a hotel room with Eva is dangerous. The last time we were alone like this, my hands were tangled in her hair, and her legs were wrapped around my waist. Nothing else existed except for her lips on mine. The picture in my head is vivid, and I barely hear her when she speaks.
“You can just leave the case by the desk,” she says, oblivious—or pretending to be—to the blank stare I must have on my face.
She tosses her laptop on the bed and sits on the edge, rubbing her temples. “Thanks for the help. Now go back to your floor, before your coaches catch you and fine you.”
Instead of setting the case down like she told me and running out of here like a responsible, disciplined professional athlete, I step into the room and let the heavy door shut behind me.
“The team’s PR department is strict about unreleased footage, Eva,” I say, my voice dropping, as I set the case down next to the desk chair. I lean one hip against the edge of the desk and cross my arms over my chest, somewhat invading her space. “As a team leader, I have a vested interest in making sure the Titans brand is protected. I feel like I should stay and help you review the audio. You know, to ensure compliance.”
Eva looks up, her green eyes locking onto mine, the playful banter evaporating into something charged. The glowing light from her dual monitors reflects in her glasses, making her eyes look sharp, calculating, and entirely too perceptive.
“Ensure compliance?” she repeats, a faint smile dancing on her lips. “Is that all it is? You think you can handle being in a room with me without running away, Aston?”
The hit lands right in the center of my chest. The smirk vanishes from my face, and my jaw tightens as guilt rushes back to the surface.
