Page 10

I yank my suitcase off the plane, move through the jet bridge, and force myself to focus.

A normal layover.

A normal return home.

A normal damn life.

But when I step into the terminal, my stomach drops.

Because standing near baggage claim, leaning against a pillar like he owns the whole damn airport—

Is Grant Maddox.

I freeze. It’s not possible. It’s not fair.

I haven’t even had time to convince myself I don’t miss him, and now he’s just… here?

Looking all relaxed and aloof in a Nashville Eagles hoodie and dark jeans—like the universe is mocking me.

Like it knew I was trying to move on and threw a six-foot-four roadblock in my way. His arms are crossed. His head tilts slightly. And when his gaze locks onto mine, his mouth curves into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Fancy seeing you here, Flight.”

It’s so cheesy, I should laugh. I’m too busy being irritated at him.

This interaction cannot be happening. I grip my suitcase handle, inhale slowly, and try to convince myself I’m hallucinating.

Because Grant Maddox is not standing in the middle of the airport, looking like every poor life decision I’ve ever made wrapped in a six-foot-four Greek God.

But when I take another step, his smirk deepens.

Which means I am so screwed.

I school my face into something neutral and keep walking, even as my pulse kicks up.

“What are you doing here?”

He lifts his coffee cup in a lazy gesture. “Picking someone up.”

I blink. “You? Personally picking someone up? Not sending an intern?”

His smirk never wavers. “Some things require a personal touch.”

My stomach tightens.

Because I have no idea if he’s talking about work or something else entirely.

And I hate that my body reacts either way.

I swallow hard, straightening my spine. “Well, I just landed. So I need to—”

“Yo, Coach!”

A voice cuts through the tension, and my head snaps toward the baggage claim area.

Because walking toward us, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen—

Is Kingston.

I internally groan.

Of all the players on the Eagles, it had to be him.

Not Jake, who would at least be clueless. Not some random rookie, who wouldn’t care.

No.

It had to be Kingston. The one who notices everything. And when his gaze flicks between Grant and me, his grin widens.

“Ohhh,” he hums, stopping right in front of us. “Now this is interesting.”

I gape. “Nothing is interesting. Nothing at all.”

He arches a brow. “Oh really?” He turns to Grant. “Because I was under the impression you were just here to pick me up, Coach. But I’m starting to think… maybe not.”

Grant doesn’t blink. Doesn’t react. Just sips his coffee like Kingston isn’t stirring up trouble. I, however, am not as calm.

“Don’t you have bags to grab?” I snap.

Kingston’s grin doesn’t budge. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. I can multitask.”

I freeze.

Because what the hell did he just call me? We are not so chummy as to be using any terms of endearment.

My gaze whips to Grant, who lowers his coffee cup just slightly. And that’s when I see it. The flicker of something dark. Something possessive.

Oh, shit.

Kingston notices the tension spike.

“Well, well well,” he crows out. Then he just slaps Grant on the shoulder, still grinning.

“Better be careful, Coach. I hear flight attendants are real heartbreakers.”

Grant’s smirk instantly disappears. I don’t get a chance to shut Kingston up before Grant sets his coffee down on a nearby bench and takes a slow, deliberate step toward me.

The shift in his energy is subtle, but I feel it like a physical touch. The teasing glint in his eyes is gone. What’s left is darker. He doesn’t look mad, exactly. But there’s an edge to him now, a quiet intensity that sets every nerve in my body on high alert.

Kingston, completely into the tension flying around him grins. “Man, this is fun. Maddox, I never thought I’d see you looking this—”

“Go get your bags, Kingston,” Grant says smoothly, cutting him off.

It’s not a suggestion.

Kingston hesitates for half a second, then lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m going.” He throws me a wink before turning toward the baggage carousel.

The second he’s gone, Grant steps in closer, his voice dropping low. “You want to keep playing games, Flight?” His fingers skim the inside of my wrist, slow and deliberate. “Fine. But don’t expect me to join you if the game is multi-player.”

My pulse spikes, but I keep my face neutral. “I don’t know what you mean, Silver Fox.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “I think you do.”

I swallow hard. “If this is about Kingston, I was just—”

“I don’t give a damn about Kingston.” His voice is still calm, but there’s no mistaking the heat underneath.

A shiver rolls through me, and I hate that he sees it. I hate that I don’t push him away, that I don’t throw some snarky comeback and walk off with my head high. Because the truth is, I like this new side of him. Too much.

His fingers brush the inside of my wrist again, and this time, my breath catches. He leans in, just close enough that only I can hear what he says next.

“We both know how this ends, Flight. Keep playing hot and cold if you want but keep this between us.”

He steps back, picks up his coffee, and walks toward the carousel without another glance.

And I just stand there, pulse hammering, stomach tight, because I know—

He’s right.

And I have no idea how much longer I can keep pretending otherwise.

***

I need a drink. Or a distraction. Or possibly a full-blown exorcism. Because it’s been hours, and I can still hear his voice in my head.

“We both know how this ends.”

Low. Steady. Absolute.

The way he murmured it, his breath teasing my skin. The way he walked away—like he hadn’t just burned through every last piece of control I had left.

I pace my kitchen, phone in hand, trying not to throw it against the counter out of sheer frustration.

I should be winning this game.

Instead, I’m spiraling.

I exhale sharply and do what any sane woman would do in my position.

I text my best friend.

Thirty minutes later, I pull into Allie and Jake’s driveway and let myself in, because this house is basically my second home.

Allie is curled up on the couch in leggings and an oversized hoodie, her belly rounding under the fabric as she sips from a glass of what I assume is sparkling grape juice.

"Okay, tell me everything," she says, pushing a bowl of popcorn toward me.

I flop onto the couch, grabbing a handful of popcorn like it might somehow soak up the chaos inside me.

"You already know about Denver," I start.

She nods. "Yes. You texted me but then were kinda cryptic when we talked on the phone about it.”

I sigh. “Sorry…”

She just shrugs. “So, yes, the mystery man. The one-night stand. The one who left you breathless and twitchy for a week and was so good you wanted to talk about it but then also… didn’t. Must’ve been even better than you’re letting on."

I groan, throwing a piece of popcorn at her. "Can we not?"

She smirks. "Oh, I think we have to."

I glare, but it’s weak. Because I know exactly where this conversation is going.

I take a deep breath. "It was Grant."

Allie freezes mid-sip.

Her eyes go wide.

"Wait. Grant Maddox? As in Jake’s coach?”

I grimace, grabbing a pillow and smothering my face.

Allie screeches. "KENZIE!"

I groan into the pillow. "I KNOW."

"You fucked Grant Maddox?!"

"I KNOW, ALLIE!"

She launches a popcorn kernel at my head. "How the hell did you not tell me this sooner?!"

I sigh, dragging the pillow off my face. "Because I didn’t know it was him until I actually saw him at the rink! And then it was too late, and now I don’t know what the hell I’m doing."

Allie stares at me. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across her face.

"Oh my God," she whispers. "You like him."

I scoff. Loudly. Dramatically. "Absolutely not."

Allie just stares. Waiting.

I cross my arms. "It’s a game."

"Uh-huh."

"We’re messing with each other."

"Right."

"It’s not serious."

Allie smirks. "Then why are you spiraling?"

I grab another handful of popcorn and shove it into my mouth like it might somehow absorb the feelings I refuse to have.

Allie smirks. "I’m just saying… you don’t have to fight this."

My stomach tightens. I stare at Allie, the weight of her words settling deep in my stomach.

I don’t have to fight this.

It shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t be making my pulse do annoying, stupid things. But it does. Because what if she’s right?

I shake my head, forcing a scoff. "That’s not what this is. It’s a game. That’s all."

Allie takes a slow sip of her sparkling juice, watching me like she knows I’m full of shit.

"You sure about that?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, I’m sure. We’re messing with each other, that’s it. He’s just fun to push."

Allie’s brow lifts. "Fun to push? Kenz. You’re acting like you’re shoving a guy in the sandbox because you have a crush on him."

I grab a throw pillow and launch it at her face. She catches it, completely unfazed.

"Kenzie," she says slowly, setting the pillow aside. "You’re playing with fire."

"I know," I mutter.

Her lips curve. "And you love it."

I groan, dragging a hand over my face. "It’s just—he’s too controlled. Too put together. It makes me want to crack him."

Allie hums, like she’s pretending to be thoughtful. "Or… you want to be the exception."

My breath catches. My pulse stumbles.

No. That’s not what this is.

I shake my head, forcing a scoff.

"That’s not—" I start, but Allie doesn’t let me finish.

"You know what your problem is?" she muses, propping a leg under her belly as she shifts on the couch. "You’ve spent so much time making sure nothing sticks—no attachments, no commitments, no strings—that the second you feel an actual connection, you don’t know what to do with it."

I open my mouth—then snap it shut. Because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?

She’s not wrong. She’s never been wrong about me. And that’s the problem. My chest feels too tight. My skin too warm.

I grab my drink, swirling the ice as I glare at her. "Okay, Dr. Phil. What’s your advice?"

Allie shrugs. "Ask yourself one question. If you had nothing to prove—if this wasn’t about control, or games, or proving who has the upper hand—would you still want him?"

My fingers flex around my glass. My heart kicks too hard. Because suddenly, I don’t know the answer. Or maybe I do.

And that’s the part that terrifies me. I hate how quiet my brain is right now.

Normally, it’s filled with noise.

A steady, comforting hum of distractions—plans, flights, work schedules, which heels go best with which dress.

But now?

Now it’s just Allie’s voice echoing in my head.

If you had nothing to prove—no games, no control—would you still want him?

I hate that I don’t have an easy answer.

So I do what I always do when I don’t want to deal with something.

I deflect.

I force a smirk, flipping my hair over my shoulder as I lean back against the couch. "Okay, so let’s say—hypothetically—that I do have a little… interest in him."

Allie arches a brow. "Hypothetically?"

I roll my eyes. "Fine. Maybe I like messing with him."

Her lips curve. "And maybe you actually like him."

"That’s beside the point." I wave her off before she can get smug. "What I’m saying is… if I were to push a little harder, just to see if he cracks…"

Allie’s smirk vanishes. Her expression shifts—concern creeping in. "Kenzie. That’s a bad idea."

I grin. "It’s a fantastic idea."

"No, it’s really not." She shakes her head. "This isn’t some random guy at a bar, Kenz. This is Grant Maddox."

I wave a dismissive hand. "So? He’s the one who wanted to play."

Allie groans, setting her juice down before fixing me with a serious look. "Okay, let’s pretend for a second that I’m not completely horrified by this plan. What exactly do you think is going to happen? You push, he snaps, and then what?"

I pause. Because I actually haven’t thought that far. I just want to see him lose control.

To prove that he’s not as unaffected as he wants me to believe. But the problem is… I don’t know what happens after. And that should make me stop. It should make me rethink this.

But instead?

I double down. I smirk, reaching for a handful of popcorn. "I guess we’ll find out."

Allie groans again, throwing a pillow at my head. "Just don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face."

I laugh, ducking the pillow before standing. Because I already know how to get what I want. And Kingston just became the perfect pawn.

I should rethink this. Listen to Allie. Walk away.

But I don’t. I grab my keys, swipe on a coat of lip gloss, and smile at my reflection.

Because if Grant thinks he’s won this game? He’s about to find out just how wrong he is.

"Are you really doing this?" Allie calls from the couch, arms folded over her baby bump, giving me the exact look Jake gets when he knows I’m about to cause trouble.

I turn, my smirk playful but determined. "Of course I am."

She sighs. "And what exactly is ‘this’?"

I grab my bag and shrug. "Just a little night out. No big deal."

"Right. And let me guess—you have zero idea where Grant will be tonight?"

I feign innocence. "Zero clue."

Allie rolls her eyes. "Kenzie."

I grab my jacket and blow her a kiss. "Love you, Mama Bear!"

"Don’t do anything stupid!" she calls after me.

But it’s too late. Because the second I step outside, into the cool Nashville night, I pull out my phone and fire off a text.

I pause.

I should correct him. But I don’t, just like I didn’t last time. Because I know exactly what’ll happen when Grant hears someone call me that.

I slide my phone into my clutch, my stomach flipping.

This is what I need.

A distraction. A pawn in my game. And if Grant Maddox happens to be at The Foundry tonight?

Well.

Let’s see if he still thinks he’s in control.