Aston’s eyes look toward the living room, then back to me. “Yeah? Those are some of my favorites.”
“I like the one of you and Ace when you were kids,” I say, leaning against the counter while the steaks cook. “You had the same look on your face as you do after a win, but also an intensity that Ace doesn’t have.”
Aston lets out a low laugh, setting his beer down. He stands, walking around the island until he’s beside me. He leans his hip against the counter, facing me.
“Intense, huh?” he asks. “Maybe I am a little intense, but I’ve always been the quieter one of the two of us. Ace is just…Ace, you know. He’s loud and takes up a lot of space. And I didn’t mind. I liked observing instead of being the main attraction.”
He looks down at me, his blue eyes soft. “When I got here, I was a bit homesick. Being in Oklahoma was great because I could get home in a few hours, and the sky is big there too, and the people are similar. Being here and far from that life was different. So I bought this place because I needed to remember that there’s a life outside football. I needed a place that makes me feel just a little bit of home.”
He leans in closer, and I can feel his breath on my lips. “And since you’ve been coming over, this place truly feels like home now.”
My heart flips. “Because you gave me a key?”
“Because of the person holding it,” he whispers, then captures my mouth with his.
The sizzle on the skillet gets louder, so I break the kiss and finish making our food. Then we eat at the table in the kitchen next to the tall glass windows and talk about his upcoming game. But we also talk about things that actually anchor us.
He tells me funny stories about him and his brothers, and about the time his brother Austin tried to ride a three-year-old cow and ended up in a stock tank. Then I told him about my first year with the network after graduation, when a roving steady-cam crew had accidentally knocked over a cooler of Gatoradeonto a legendary coach, and I had to apologize for it even though it wasn’t my fault.
“I’m sure you have some pretty great stories about Liam Pitz and your brother Archie,” I say, leaning back in my chair, a glass of red wine between my fingers. “I’ve heard some, of course, but I bet they were a good time.”
“Yeah, I do have some, but Ace and I were still in high school most of the time they played together, but Pitz and Beck Linson, Casey King, Bo Callaway, Silas Arbuckle have all stayed tight. Well, Silas didn’t play with Arch in college, but as you know, they play together now, and their families are pretty close and even live in the same neighborhood. But yeah, they’re a lot of fun to be around.”
“I’m sure. I mean, I know some of them, but I’m betting you have much better stories than I know,” I laugh.
“Yeah, they’re all like family.” He reaches across the small table, his palm resting flat against the wood, open and waiting.
I don’t hesitate. I slide my hand into his, his fingers curling around mine.
“Honeybee,” he says, his tone shifting from humor to something more serious.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want you going back to the city tomorrow,” he says bluntly, his eyes locking on mine. “I know you have to go to Atlanta on Thursday, but stay here. Let me come home to you tomorrow after practice, or whenever you get done for the day. Before all the schedule chaos.”
I look at our joined hands. “I could possibly do that.”
“I really like seeing you here. In my home.” He pulls my hand up, pressing his lips against the knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Eva,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I’m completely falling for you.”
The words don’t drop like a bomb. They’re certain and without doubt.
My breath catches though. Because I feel like I’ve wanted him—this—for a long time. That I’ve spent years watching him from the sidelines. Forcing myself to be his friend in college, forcing myself to be professional, forcing myself to treat him like a story for television rather than the man who holds my heart in his hands. And hearing him say these words feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
“Aston,” I whisper, leaning forward, my free hand touching his arm. “You can’t just say things like that to me.”
“Why the fuck not?” He leans back in his chair but doesn’t release my hand.
“Because it makes me want to throw my calendar away.” I reach across the table, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m falling for you too. I think it’s something that’s been building for a while.”
Aston doesn’t wait. He stands, knocking his chair back, and it falls to the floor, then he pulls me out of my seat. He lifts me effortlessly, his arms wrapping around my waist as he buries his face in my hair.
“Good,” he says against my ear, his voice thick with emotion. “Because you’re not going back to the city tomorrow. You’re staying right here with me.”
My head tilts back and I laugh.
Instead of going to his bedroom, he carries me over to the massive sofa in front of the fireplace, then pulls a blanket over both of us. I lie with my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around my middle, holding me so close I can feel every beat of his heart.
