Page 19

Zoe

I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. I could barely eat my steak between their jokes and—teenager appropriate—locker room stories. The guys are hilarious. And smart. And so much more than walls of muscle.

No wonder my dad warned me off them. If I’d known how much fun they were, I’d have set them all up with Caro and my other girlfriends—and unleashed a whole slew of drama on his locker room—immediately.

Except for Grant.

I’m not going to set him up with anyone. Else.

Is it technically setting him up if he made the first move? Which, despite his arguments, he absolutely did. Not that I pushed back. I’m pretty sure I left a claw mark on the back of his neck.

He probably thought it was a remnant of last week’s game.

A little giggle sneaks out, and I press Kenna’s script to my face. She and I are sitting on the couch, facing each other, and I haven’t heard the last minute of her monologue. The guys disappeared into the den after dinner, a deck of cards and box of poker chips in hand. Out of sight apparently does not mean out of mind because this isn’t the first time I’ve interrupted Kenna with my daydreams.

She crosses her arms and stares at me. “Are you thinking about Uncle Grant again?”

“No.” I immediately bite my bottom lip and wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry. I got distracted.”

“Yeah. Thinking about Uncle Grant.” Pursing her lips to the side, her gaze gathers weight. “Are you two in love?”

I nearly swallow my tongue, beating on my chest to clear my throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I have access to the internet, you know. I saw the pictures. Not to mention, I was there. I saw the way he treated those jerks that were following you.”

“Oh, honey.” My stomach leaks to the floor. “It’s not like that. Your uncle and I are just friends. Good friends. But just friends.”

“Oh.” She stares down at her hands. “I wouldn’t mind if you dated or got married or something.”

My mouth drops open, but I can come up with no words to fill it.

“He’s happier with you than he was with Tawna. She never wanted to spend time with me and Mom. Maybe if he married you, we could be kind of a family. Even when Mom’s gone.”

I reach for her hand, not at all sure how to reply. Grant and I have shared exactly one kiss, and we’ve unpacked it only as far as blaming the other for starting it.

And making it clear that we’d both like a repeat.

But that does not equal love. And it certainly doesn’t suggest a lifelong commitment.

Though if ever there was a guy . . .

Nope.

Don’t go there, Zoe.

I’m not going to think about Grant’s finer qualities.

With his nose, Bronco nudges my leg from his spot on the floor, clearly reading my mind and arguing my stance. I frown at the dog, who received a rather large chunk of steak off of Grant’s plate at dinner. The treat couldn’t have been bestowed on a more grateful subject. I’m pretty sure that despite his problematic name, Bronco has claimed a new bestie.

I glance at him, my face twisting as I try to figure out how to respond to Kenna.

But apparently, she doesn’t need a response. “He likes you. I can tell.”

Before I can ask how she’s so certain, the den door opens, filling the whole house with laughter.

“Well, if you weren’t such a—” Scott Bivet bites off whatever he was going to call Ja’maar as they tumble into the living room, playfully shoving each other’s shoulders.

Ja’maar quickly straightens up, his bald head reflecting the overhead light. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies.” He nods quickly at us, giving Kenna a little wink. She rolls her eyes but turns her head away to hide a grin.

It’s hard not to enjoy the attention of these guys. So strong. So good at their jobs shoving other big guys around. So funny and kind too. Walking contradictions, each.

The rest of the group trail out of the den, footsteps surprisingly light.

“Who won?” I ask.

“Ja’maar,” Grant says, a teasing frown in place.

“It’s okay.” With a clap on his QB’s shoulder, Ja’maar shoots a glance in my direction. “You’re lucky in other ways.”

My cheeks immediately flame, the heat spreading down my neck. I know it’s only good-natured teasing, and normally, I’d spit out something witty in return. But not in front of Kenna, who’s given me permission to marry her uncle. You know, if I want to.

“All right, guys. Time to go. We have practice in the morning.” With the same director voice, Grant looks at his niece. “And you have school tomorrow, young lady. Time for bed.”

Kenna groans and the guys grumble, but each of them follows orders. And I push myself up to join them heading out the door. But Grant catches my wrist in his long fingers and tugs gently as he leans into my ear. “Not you. We have things to discuss.”

My whole body shivers. Maybe from the warmth of his breath on my neck. Or the squeeze of his hand against my arm. Or the unspoken promise in his words. Because I know without a doubt that we are going to do more than talk.

After the guys leave, Kenna emerges from her room in her flannel pajamas and gives me and Grant each a quick hug. As she heads to her bedroom, I remind her, “Be confident tomorrow. You know the scene, and you’re going to do great!”

She beams, prancing down the hallway to her bedroom.

“Thank you for going over it again with her tonight.”

I can only nod at Grant. I doubt I was much help this evening. Not when I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“You want to sit out on the patio?”

“All right.”

Grant’s hand swallows mine as he leads us through the living room and dining room. As soon as he opens the backdoor, the crisp fall air wraps around me, and I shiver as Bronco trots outside and disappears into the space where the lights don’t shine. I should have brought a jacket. Or asked to borrow his oversized sweatshirt again. But I can’t find my tongue.

Instead, I stand in silence, huddling into myself, as he lights some kindling inside the round stone firepit on the edge of the patio. When the fire is going, it lets off a bit of heat and the rich scent of burning wood. With a hand on my lower back, Grant guides me toward one of the four lounge chairs circling the fire.

I move to sit in it, but he stops me, sliding into place first, a foot on either side of the long seat. Holding up a hand, he invites me to join him.

My bones have turned to jelly, and I’m not sure I can move the three feet between us. But the moment my fingers touch his hand, I cross the chasm and slip into the seat, settling with my back against his chest. He takes a deep breath, the warmth of his exhale draping over me. His arms and legs surround me. I’m home. And just like that, I melt into him.

“How’s that? Warm enough?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I have no idea how, but I can feel his smile.

We sit like this for a long while, just watching the yellow and red flames flicker. Warm. Comfortable. Content.

“So . . .” Grant begins as though he doesn’t know where he’s going.

“Hmm.” I play along like I don’t know where he’s going either.

With a squeeze and a chuckle that jostles my head, he continues. “About last night. That was nice.”

“Nice? You really are out of practice.” He immediately tickles my sides, and I dissolve in a fit of laughter. “Stop. No.”

“I’m the one out of practice? You tried to climb me like a logger.”

“I did not! I would never. I’m a lady.”

His fingers keep torturing my sides, equal parts agony and joy.

“Fine. Fine. Fine. It was nice .”

Brushing my hair behind my ear, he presses his lips there and growls low. “Maybe a little better than nice.”

“Yes.” I giggle. “Better than nice.”

He presses his nose to my neck, and I lean into it. The smarter parts of me shout that I should pull away, that I’m no good for him, that I’ll make a mess of this too and drag him into my media firestorm. But I can’t move. He silences some worries deep inside me with unspoken strength. I had doubts about Joe, but I have never doubted Grant’s sincerity and integrity. And I want more of that in my life.

I want more of him in my life.

“So, what are we going to do about that?”

I squeeze my eyes closed and stiffen my body, preparing for his retaliation. “Remember it fondly?”

“Wrong answer.” He picks me up and turns me, resettling me on his lap as though I’m a feather. Cupping my cheeks in his hands, he presses his lips against mine. He’s gentle, lightly brushing against my mouth, finding the right fit. Last night was hungry and frantic. This evening is sweeter, softer. But no less stirring.

I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and savoring the gentle grip of his hands around my ribs. He’s holding me like he might never let go.

I won’t fight him on that.

This is what it feels like to be protected. Physically, I know he won’t let anyone hurt me. But more than that, I trust him not to embarrass me or break my heart. Relief bubbles inside me, begging to be released on a giggle. But I can’t very well laugh while I’m making out with the guy of my dreams.

He smells like the wood he put in the fire, and I press my nose into the stubble on his cheek as his kiss trails down my jaw and to the bottom of my ear.

“Taste so sweet,” he mumbles, his warm breath on my cool skin shooting sparks all the way to the tips of my toes.

“You too,” I whisper.

His fingers immediately curl into my sides, ready for another attack. “Sweet?”

“No. Definitely not sweet.” My mostly scrambled brain searches for a manly word, even as the scrambler in question shifts his attentions to my neck. Can’t find words. Can’t think. Don’t even want to.

Except that his fingers are still threatening to tickle me again.

“Good. You taste good ,“ I manage to get out.

Lips still working some sort of magic against my neck that’s making my whole body tingle and my insides quiver, he chuckles. “Fair enough.”

Good. Because that’s the best I can do at the moment. I plunge my fingers into his hair, which is softer than I remember. Maybe I was too surprised to notice last night. Maybe I was focused on other things. But at this moment, I can’t stop comparing the silky strands of his hair with the scrape of the stubble along his jaw.

Which is probably going to leave a memory on my chin.

Worth it.

Grant finds his way back to my mouth and all other thoughts vanish. I’m lost in him again. We sit on the patio for what could be hours but is probably more like a few minutes.

When I finally make myself pull back, I look right into his eyes. I’ve never noticed how green they are, like the color the pine trees. “I like you, Grant.”

There’s no embarrassed flush to his cheeks as a slow smile spreads across his mouth. “I like you too, Zoe. And I think about you more than I should.”

I’m not as cool as he is, and a warmth fills my cheeks. Pressing my hands over them, I look down at his chest covered by a thin gray T-shirt. There are definitely worse views.

And that thought has my face going completely up in flames.

“I’d like to keep seeing you.”

He’s so nonchalant about it, and I hate to break the bad news. But I have to be honest. “I can’t date someone in the public eye. Not again. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Okay, so we’ll date out of the public eye.”

I shove his shoulder despite the shimmer of hope that his words bring. “I’m serious! I’m a tabloid mess right now. And I’m going to ruin your reputation if we’re seen together.”

He shrugs. “What reputation? I don’t think you have the power to get me into the Hall of Fame someday—or keep me out for that matter.”

“Gra-ant.” I turn more so that I can look squarely into his face. His whiskers scrape the palms of my hands as I hold him still. “Don’t be flippant about your future. About your career. About my dad’s reaction.”

His eyes narrow, piercing through my chest. “I’m not.”

“You thought Tawna’s efforts to get in the press were a distraction, but you haven’t seen anything. I can’t even take a walk without winding up in a messy headline. Perfect timing for an audition.”

Suddenly his hands are on my shoulders, making long smooth strokes to my elbows and back up. “What happened on your call with the director yesterday?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Tell me.”

“He knew about the story. He knew. Before I did.” My voice threatens to break, and I swallow several times, blinking against the truth. “I didn’t even know enough to play defense.” Dropping my chin to my chest, I let out a long breath through tight lips. “I know better. I can do better. And I still put myself in a situation to lose a chance at the only job I might have a shot at. And to put you in my dad’s crosshairs.”

Shaking my head, I lean forward to rest the top of it against his chest. His chin falls, and he sweeps his hands up and down my back in slow circles.

“You couldn’t have known your shoe was going to break,” he whispers.

“Or that you were going to pick me up.”

“Or that someone was going to record the whole thing.”

Instead of making me feel better, his words twist the vise around my lungs tighter. “I didn’t know the guy I was seeing was married either. Doesn’t make me any less responsible.”

“Hey.” Hooking a finger under my chin, he lifts my face until I meet his gaze. “You’re doing your best with the information you have.”

I shake my head. “Joe wasn’t the best. He was . . . He was good at pursuing. And somehow I thought that meant he was worthy. I thought that meant I was special.”

“You are special, Zoe.”

I want to smile at his compliment. I want to believe it. But how can I?

“I messed up a lot of lives.”

“Listen to me, Peebles.” His voice takes on a stern tone—one I know his teammates follow. “You have to forgive yourself.”

“That’s a lot easier said than done.” I don’t realize I believe those words until they come flying out of my mouth. His eyebrows arch in question, and the truth keeps spilling out. “Marissa Kellyn. The tabloids. The film director and producers. None of them are going to let me or anyone else forget that I messed up a marriage and nearly blew up a whole production. There’s nothing I can do to make up for it.”

His fingers dive into my hair, tips massaging my scalp, soothing the tension that has been building there. “Do you think that what they’re saying about you is true?”

I sigh, letting my forehead fall against his collarbone. “I’m not sure I know what’s true anymore.”

“You’re not who they say you are,” he whispers into my ear. “You are who God says you are.”