She looks devastating. Her dark hair is in loose waves, hitting her shoulders, and she’s wearing an emerald-green silk dress that cuts low enough in the front to make a man lose his religion and high enough on the thigh to make him curse the inventor of the fabric. The green makes her eyes pop from across the damn room. She still has that quick, sharp smile—the one with the single dimple in her left cheek that used to haunt my pregame warm-ups back at Walker.
“Hey, Fifty-Four,” a voice barks in my ear, pulling me out of my trance. Silas Arbuckle, one of my old teammates and friends, slams a hand on my shoulder, nearly sloshing his whiskey all over my shirt. “Sup, Griff? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Worse,” I mutter, my eyes tracking Eva as she tilts her head back to take a sip of champagne. “Eva’s here.”
“Eva?” Silas follows my gaze, his eyebrows shooting up. “Oh shit. Carrington. Is that why Ace isn’t here?”
“Ace is currently in Cabo with a swimsuit model named Soleil, so, no, Eva isn’t the reason he’s not here,” I say, my voice dropping an octave when Eva suddenly turns her head.
Right toward me.
The room falls away. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the horrible “Cupid Shuffle” remix playing in the background. All of it just went to static noise. Her eyes lock onto mine, and for a split second, a hesitant, guarded look flickers across her face. But then the corner of her mouth ticks up in a dangerous challenge of a smirk.
She doesn’t look away. And neither do I.
“Go say hi then,” Silas says, giving me a shove. “But if you get murdered by the Ghost of Your Brother’s Past Relationships, I’m taking your truck.”
“Fuck off,” I say, laughing, but as he leaves, I can’t help but stare her way.
I see my brother Archie and Emma walk over to her and hug her. Then she laughs at something he said, tilting her head back just enough for that familiar smile to steal every ounce of my attention. Then comes the habit I remember from college—her tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before wrapping both hands around her wineglass. It is such a small thing, but somehow, it still undoes me.
Time has been good to her.Damn.Her skin still looks impossibly soft, and her dress hugs her in all the right places. If anything, she’s gotten even more beautiful. And beauty wasn’t even the best part. She was always witty, quick with a joke, and so self-assured.
My brother was one lucky bastard to have a year with her because he had the chance I never took.
Three years ago, I stood at that party with every intention of asking her out. One sentence. That was all it would have taken. But my twin got there first. The difference between us isn’t luck.It’s courage. And I told myself if I ever had the chance again to ask her out, I’d take it.
Unlike my brother, I'd never let her walk away.
Before I can take a step, a heavy arm wraps around my neck, dragging me back a few inches.
“Nope,” a voice growls.
“What the fuck?” I look over my shoulder at my brother Aiden, who must have just gotten here.
“Oh no.”
I lift a brow at his concerned tone. “What?”
“Your face.”
“What about my face?”
“It tells me you’re about to make a horrible decision.”
“I’m not making any decisions,” I huff.
“You’re staring at our brother—your twin’s—ex-girlfriend.”
I pull my gaze away from Evangeline to look at him, grinning.
“I’m looking at the floral arrangements.” I put a hand on my chest.
Unlike Archie, Ace, and me, Aiden skipped the football field entirely for a sheet of ice. Maybe just to escape the Texas heat. He’s a professional hockey player, built like a brick wall, with a jawline that’s seen its fair share of hockey stick blades, and he carries that distinct rink energy into every room he enters. He’s holding a beer, his eyes darting between me and where Eva is standing next to Archie and Emma.
“Bullshit.” He laughs.
I turn to hug him. “When did you get in?”
