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I don’t know, but what I do know is the designs I’m working on now, the ones tucked away in my sketchbook like secret love letters aren’t close to being runway material. No, they will never end up in a bridal magazine. But now…does that even matter to me anymore?

Roman bought me that sewing machine to keep the dream alive. Would he be disappointed if he knew I wasn’t clawing my way back to Fashion Week? But it does beg the question. Am I chasing something new… or just reshaping myself to fit into this man’s world? The same way I did with Cass.

Who even are you anymore, Gabby? What do you want?

“You know which book we’re reading, right?” Melanie’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Yeah, I saw it on Maeve’s coffee table. Looks... pretty spicy.”

She grins. “That’s how we like it.”

I laugh. These women are bold, unapologetic, utterly themselves. There’s something magnetic about it.

“Okay, we better get moving. Want a lift?”

“I actually drove,” I say, remembering I’d only come to wait for Roman and ride home together.

“Perfect. See you there.”

As the women file out, their laughter trailing behind them, I hang back, digging through my bag until my fingers close around my phone.

I shoot Roman a quick message, letting him know I want to go to Kilting Around.

He probably won’t see it right away, not with the post-game meetings and interviews, but I send it anyway.

Outside, the night air is crisp and buzzing with residual adrenaline from the win.

I blend into the crowd waiting outside the circle, the hum of conversation and flashes of camera phones filling the space.

One by one, the players emerge, each one met with shrieks and swoons.

The girls—some WAGs, some hopefuls—flock to them like moths to fire.

Some of the guys indulge, pairing off with easy smiles and practiced charm, but most just nod, wave, and head toward their rides.

Then he appears.

Roman.

Ballcap pulled low, gaze down, doing his best to stay invisible, which, of course, only makes him more magnetic. It takes exactly three seconds before a swarm of women breaks through the crowd, blocking his path, reaching, giggling, pushing phones into his hands for selfies.

He handles it like he always does. Calm, polite, smiling just enough to keep the peace. He signs, nods, poses. But he doesn’t linger. He doesn’t flirt. And he doesn’t leave with any of them.

A few minutes later, he breaks through the chaos. His head lifts, and the second his gaze lands on mine, his whole face transforms. A grin spreads across his lips, easy and unguarded, and it hits me like a sucker punch to the chest.

Because being the only woman in his line of sight is intoxicating. Dangerous.

God help me, I like Roman.

Way more than I should.

“Hey,” he says as he reaches me, and there’s this second, this pause, where I swear he’s about to kiss me.

My breath catches, but it doesn’t happen.

Of course it doesn’t. PDA isn’t our thing.

I usually wait in the car, hidden away like a well-kept secret.

A convenience. Standing out here like I belong is very out of character.

He must be wondering what the hell I’m doing.

Honestly, so am I.

Maybe I want more.

Maybe I’m done pretending I don’t.

A small, reckless part of me wonders if this moment, this tiny, very public deviation from our routine, is me subconsciously drawing a line in the sand. Seeing what he’ll do. Testing the waters of something more… visible.

Then another part of me, the wounded one, whispers that this visibility could shine a beacon back to Cass. That if I let myself be seen like this, he might come looking. Might try to stake his claim.

But really… so what if he does?

The man already stripped me of everything. My home, my job, my clothes—hell, even my sewing machine. There’s nothing left for him to take.

Except maybe Roman.

And Roman isn’t mine to lose.

Unfortunately.

“You okay?” Roman asks, his voice low and familiar as we walk toward the car.

“Yeah. I’m good.” I layer my voice with brightness, even though I’m still trying to catch my breath. “Great game, by the way.”

He flashes those dimples, the ones that should come with a warning label, and my knees genuinely wobble.

“I thought it might be nice to get out of the house,” I add, playing it cool. “You should spend some time with your teammates. Celebrate.”

His stride slows. His eyes scan my face like he’s searching for something. Then he scrubs a hand along his jaw, thoughtful. “I see those guys enough as it is,” he mutters. “Getting you home and naked is my idea of a celebration.”

My laugh slips out, light and flirtatious, but underneath it all, those words land in the space where Theo’s had been lurking all night. The whispers. The doubt.

Still, I nudge him playfully. “I like that too,” I tease, bumping my hip into his. “But you need some guy time. I’ve been kind of... hogging you.”

His expression shifts. Just a flicker. But I catch it. A shadow behind his eyes, something unspoken that flickers and fades before I can name it.

“Roman?”

He blinks, then smiles like his world is right again. “Yeah. Getting out is a good idea.” His grin is easy, effortless. “Nachos sound great. Just don’t tell Coach.”

I laugh, but it catches a little in my throat. Because something in his voice lingers, something quiet, heavy. Like there’s more he’s not saying. And maybe I don’t want to hear it.

Maybe I’m afraid that deep down, a part of him agrees with everything I’ve been too scared to say out loud.

That the quiet life we’ve carved out together isn’t enough.

That he missesthe old world.

That sooner or later, he’ll want it back.

And when he does…

Where does that leave us?