Page 36

AVERY

B y the time our plane touches down in Houston and we take a cab to our hotel, the snow has started to fall.

“At least we’ll be comfortable while we wait for Monday’s game,” Charlotte says, nudging me with her elbow as we step through the revolving doors into the grand lobby of The Marlowe.

Glancing around me, I take it all in. The modern art pieces adorning the walls that probably cost more than my college tuition.

Marble floors gleaming beneath chandeliers dripping with crystals.

High ceilings that give way to rustic beams, lending the entire space an airy, elegant feel.

I have to admit, after having spent time in dozens of my father’s hotels over the years, The Marlowe is something special. A sight to behold.

“Holy crap,” Brynn whispers, spinning in a slow circle with her eyes wide as the moon. “This place is unreal. And now I feel underdressed in my hoodie and jeans.”

“You look fine,” I assure her, leading the way to the front desk where a man in an impeccable suit straightens immediately upon seeing us.

“Good evening, ladies. How may I help you?” he asks with a polite smile.

“Reservation for Avery Astor,” I say, already feeling a confusing mix of pride and awkwardness that comes with using my last name at one of our properties.

The man’s eyes round with the realization. “Ms. Astor! Of course. My manager phoned a couple hours ago to tell us to expect you.” His fingers fly across the keyboard as he continues. “They mentioned you’re staying for the National Championship game?”

When I nod, he smiles back, his voice chipper as he says, “Perfect. Allow me to personally welcome you and your friends to The Marlowe. It should be a wonderful stay, if Storm Irene stays put, at least. Regardless, you’ll be comfortable here.”

Brynn shoots me a bemused look as the attendant snaps his fingers and calls for two additional staff members. “Please prepare the presidential suite immediately for Ms. Astor and her guests,” he instructs before turning back to me with a broad smile.

“Ooh, the presidential suite,” Charlotte mumbles, wiggling her brows before Brynn elbows her in the ribs. “Ow!” she says with a laugh. “What was that for?”

“Be cool, will you?” Brynn hisses while I stifle a laugh.

“Again, we’re delighted to have you, Ms. Astor,” the attendant continues. “If you follow Jerome, he’ll escort you to your accommodations.”

A tall man in a tailored uniform appears seemingly out of nowhere, bowing slightly as he gestures toward the private elevators. “Right this way, ladies.”

At his insistence, we leave our bags with the bellhop and shuffle behind him to the elevator, where he hands me a set of key cards.

Swiping his badge, he hits the button for the top floor, waiting as the doors slide closed and the elevator lurches to life.

A few minutes later, the doors open again to a brightly lit hallway where he takes us to the first door with a placard that reads Presidential Suite.

“This is it, Ms. Astor,” he announces, opening double doors with a flourish. “Your suite.”

The suite spreads out before us in all its luxury.

A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the glittering cityscape.

In the corner, a gleaming grand piano sits, waiting to be played, while a fireplace, already lit and dancing, roars in the center of the room.

Across from it are two sofas flanking a glass coffee table which is already set with a welcome basket of fruits, chocolates, and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

“This is . . .” Charlotte trails off, stepping further into the room.

“Insane,” Brynn finishes for her as she wanders toward the windows, pressing her palm against the glass. “It’s like we’re in the clouds.”

Jerome clears his throat, reminding us of his presence, and we all turn.

“Your bags are here.” He motions to the bellhop who has already unloaded the luggage carrier.

Not that we have much. Between the three of us, we only packed three large carry-ons.

“The suite includes three bedrooms, each with en suite bathrooms. There’s a fully stocked kitchen, dining area, and a private terrace.

If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call the concierge.

We’re at your service twenty-four hours a day. ”

“Thank you, Jerome,” I say, reaching my hand out to slip him a tip from the cash I got out at the airport.

“Much appreciated, Ms. Astor.” With a nod, he smiles and leaves, closing the door behind him.

“Oops.” Charlotte grins. “I guess that’s the kind of thing you do when you have money, huh?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble, still feeling slightly awkward with our posh surroundings.

“So, this is how the other half lives,” Brynn mutters, still glancing around the room.

I laugh, shaking my head. Normally, I’d feel uptight about using my father’s money and connections, but on the flight here, as I was sipping champagne with my friends and watching the world pass by our window, I decided to just enjoy it?all of it?even the parts that normally make me uncomfortable.

“I have to say, Avery Astor,” Charlotte says as she flops down onto the couch in the living area, “I’m not friends with you for your money, but it does have its benefits.”

“I bet the beds in this place are a dream,” Brynn says with a wistful sigh.

I shake my head with a grin and glance at my watch. Though it’s nearly twelve-thirty in the morning in Michigan, it’s only eleven-thirty here in Texas. “What do you guys wanna do? We can each choose a bedroom and go to bed, watch a movie, or—”

“Are you kidding me?” Charlotte says, bolting upright.

“We’re in Houston, staying in the fanciest place I’ll ever have the chance to vacation.

It’s not even midnight, and I’m certainly not the one with a football game to play in on Monday, so I say we pop open that bad boy”?she motions to the bottle of champagne on the coffee table?“while we try out the jacuzzi then order something ridiculous for room service, and watch trashy reality TV until we pass out.”

“Sounds good to me.” Brynn grins before glancing to me for approval. “Avery?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Brynn squeals and claps her hands before sliding her phone from her back pocket. “Just let me text Jace and tell him we’re here like I promised, and then we can get our things settled.”

“Ooh. Same. I was supposed to text Chris when we arrived at Houston Intercontinental.” Charlotte grimaces. “Oops.”

As Charlotte and Brynn pull out their phones, I stand immobile, my gaze drifting toward the wall of windows.

The lights of Houston sparkle below us like a living constellation, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel real that I’m here, in this suite, at this game, with these girls?my new friends?and the very real possibility of a future with Damon on the horizon.

We may not be together yet, but whatever this is we’ve started, feels a lot like hope.

I bite my lip, wondering if I should text him just to say we arrived a day early. Unless Jace or Chris mentioned it, he’d have no idea about our change of plans.

Before I can second-guess myself, I’m thumbing through the contacts on my phone until I get to his contact?QB with a heart beside it. It’s remained unchanged in the time since we’ve been apart.

My fingers hover for one more second, debating on what to say when what I really want to tell him is how much I’m thinking about him. That I’m always thinking about him.

Shaking my head, I bite my lip and begin to type: Hey. We had a change of plans and left tonight to beat the weather. We just got to the hotel and I thought you might want to know.

I stare at the message, then send it, and to my surprise, the typing dots appear almost instantly.

QB:

I was wondering if you’d make it with the weather.

ME :

I’m surprised you’re even awake.

QB :

Couldn’t sleep. My brain won’t shut up.

I smile, pacing in front of one of the couches as I remember how nervous he always got in the days leading up to a big game.

ME :

Nervous?

QB:

You could say that. I just don’t want to let everyone down. Coach. The guys. My father.

At one time he would’ve included me in that list, but I can’t exactly feel butthurt he hasn’t. This thing between us is new, still growing, and it’s going to take time for him to trust me with his heart again.

ME :

For whatever it’s worth, you could never let me down, and something tells me you can’t let them down either.

There’s another pause and I bite my thumbnail, wondering if I’ve gone too far, said too much.

QB :

You always did care more about me than winning.

My heart skips a beat, relieved at the sincerity in his words. It’s stupid how much I still react to the simplest things from him.

I exhale, sinking down into the couch Charlotte abandoned and curl my legs underneath me, settling into the plush cushions.

ME :

That’s because I had you. I already won.

QB :

Maybe that’s why losing felt easier then, too. Because you were always there to cushion the blow.

My stomach flips, my heart pounding against my ribs like a prisoner rattling its cage as I try to think of a proper response, one that conveys how much his words mean, but he beats me to it.

QB :

So what are you guys doing now that you’re here?

I glance over at Charlotte, who’s already set her phone down and is currently peeling the foil off the top of the champagne by the wet bar, three champagne flutes lined up in front of her.

ME :

Currently, we’re about to drink a bottle of expensive champagne, then make use of the jacuzzi.

QB :

Damn. Sounds more fun than an early curfew and going through plays in your head until you finally pass out.

I bite back a laugh, then type with shaking fingers.

ME :

Maybe we can see you sometime tomorrow.

QB :

Where are you staying?

ME :

The Marlowe, same as you. Had to pull some strings last minute for flights and hotels.

I have no idea how Damon will react to the fact I had to use my family’s name and money to get us here, but he might as well know now.

QB :

However, you managed it, I’m just glad you’re here. I was worried you wouldn’t make it.

ME :

I wasn’t going to miss it if I could help it.

QB :

Can I make a confession?

ME :

Always.

My chest tightens, unsure of what he might say.

QB :

I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Heat floods my cheeks as I stare at my phone, blinking like this might be a dream. Like I’m fifteen all over again, waiting for him to text me back, butterflies erupting in my stomach with each notification.

ME :

It was a good kiss.

QB :

Good? That’s all I get?

I press my lips together, hiding a smile as I tuck my hair behind my ears.

ME :

Fine. It was more than good.

QB :

How good?

The butterflies take flight, and this time, there’s no hiding my smile.

After all this time, Damon Huhn is flirting with me again. And it feels good. More than good. It feels amazing. Earth-shattering. Life-changing.

So, that’s exactly what I tell him.

ME :

It felt kind of like this conversation. Like the best thing to happen to me in over two and a half years. Like the world stopped spinning the day I cut you from my life, and the day you pressed your lips to mine, it started back up again.

QB :

Damn. That’s a good fucking kiss.

“Earth to Avery!”

I jerk my head up to find Charlotte, waving a hand in front of my face. “Who are you texting that’s got you smiling like that?” she asks with a grin.

My already warm cheeks catch fire as I tuck my phone in my lap. “No one.”

“No one, my ass,” Brynn says, plopping down beside me. “You’re texting Damon, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes, but a laugh bursts from my chest. “Maybe.”

“Well, hurry up because your green-eyed quarterback needs his beauty sleep and we need bubbles and a jacuzzi,” Charlotte says with a wave of her champagne flute.

“Fine. Just give me one second,” I say, turning my attention back to my phone.

ME :

You should get to bed, QB. Don’t want you falling asleep at practice tomorrow now, do we?

QB :

Hard to sleep now when I’m thinking about you. But maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get another kiss?

My heart skips a beat, climbing up the walls of my throat.

ME :

You don’t need luck for that. Night, QB.

“Okay, I’m ready.” I set my phone on the coffee table and stand, reaching out for the champagne flute Charlotte offers me.

“You good?” Brynn asks, cocking her head as her eyes flicker over my face.

“More than good,” I say with a nod. “Perfect.”

And for the first time in a long time, I actually mean it.