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CHAPTER TWELVE-FINLEY

We landed in NOLA a few hours ago, but I haven’t seen Koa yet.

Which is probably for the best. I’m not entirely sure my legs wouldn’t buckle if he so much as looked at me.

Last night still has my body humming like I’m some kind of instrument only he knows how to play.

But it’s not just the sex.

Or whatever you call what happened in the shadows behind the snack shed.

It’s the way he touched me.

Like I was already his.

Like he’d claimed me.

Like there was no going back.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because I don’t know if he meant it that way. If he meant to look at me like that.

I don’t know if he regrets it. And I sure as hell don’t know where we go from here.

Dane and Carolina are at some fancy dinner meeting with the team we’re supposed to play while we’re in New Orleans.

Something about networking and building friendly league rapport.

I tuned out halfway through the explanation, mostly because Koa had walked by the RV shirtless, wearing those goddamn short ass rugby shorts with his thick, tattooed thighs on display, and my brain had promptly short-circuited.

We’re here for five days this time. Not two.

That’s cool with me.

That means more content, more behind-the-scenes footage, more players goofing off in tight shorts and sweat-slicked jerseys.

More Koa.

And yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Dangerous territory.

But screw it.

At least I get to stretch my legs and work in a city with amazing food, incredible music, wild history, and gorgeous architecture that makes every shot look like a damn movie trailer.

So far, so good.

The fan pages for the Carolina Rovers are exploding.

My latest post—slow-mo of Koa walking off the field, shirt off and wiping sweat from his jaw with it, muscles rippling—has gone insane.

Shares, likes, flame emojis, thirst comments in three languages.

And every single one of them feels like a dagger.

"God, look at those abs."

"He could tackle me anytime ."

"Imagine that mouth on your neck."

I want to reply. I don’t. But I want to.

Lady, I don’t have to imagine it. I’ve felt it and all I can say is this.

Hands. Off.

My jaw clenches every time I read another comment from some faceless woman drooling over him like he’s public property.

Which is dumb. Because he’s not mine.

Not officially.

Not in a way that counts.

Not in a way that gives me any right to feel this sick twist of jealousy in my gut.

We had one passing moment.

One incredible, soul-shaking, body-melting night.

But I’m not stupid. I know how things work.

If I let myself slip into some fantasy where Koa Jackson is more than just the guy who made me come so hard I forgot my own name, I’ll ruin everything.

This job.

This team.

This carefully balanced bubble I’ve built for myself.

I left everything I knew. My whole life back in Jersey to start over here. But I know if I can’t keep my emotions in check, I can’t keep this position.

Simple as that.

But turning off my feelings? Not exactly my superpower.

I’ve never been the cool, collected type. I’m the one who laughs too loud, flirts too shamelessly, cries at commercials, and falls too fast. Always have been.

And now?

Now I’m falling for a man who feels too big to fit in my world.

Not just his body— though Jesus, that body .

Not just his career.

Or the fact that he could probably bench-press the RV.

It’s the way he takes up space in my mind.

The way he walks into a room and my pulse stutters.

The way his voice sounds like gravel and sin when he says my name.

He doesn't just occupy my thoughts.

He owns them.

And even though I keep telling myself to keep it casual, to play it cool, to let last night be enough…

I want more.

More of his hands on me.

More of his mouth.

More of the way he looked at me like he was seconds away from sinking into me and never leaving.

God, I want him again. And not just the taste I had last night.

I want it all.

I want him deep.

Hard. Possessive.

Like I’m not just a woman he finger fucked against a wall, but something he can’t live without.

And I’m not ashamed of it.

Of the fact I’m human and I enjoy sex.

I want Koa so badly I can taste it.

But this is where it gets tricky.

See, I want him to want me back.

Not just in the shadows.

Not just when no one’s looking.

I want to matter.

Which is dangerous .

Because Koa is not the kind of man you fall for lightly.

He’s the kind of man who could destroy you.

And the worst part?

I'd probably thank him for it.

Lost in my thoughts I startle when there’s a knock at the side of the RV.

I jump, heart hammering, breath catching in my throat.

Because of course there’s a freaking knock right now when I’m thinking things I have no business thinking while the sun is still out.

I’m nervous.

There’s only one man who knocks like that.

I brace myself, tug my tank top down even though it’s not riding up, and open the door.

It’s him.

Koa.

Still sweaty from training, shirt clinging to his chest, tattoos glistening beneath the late afternoon sun, and eyes locked on me like I’m the last thing on earth he should want—but the only thing he can’t stop chasing.

“Hey,” I say, voice too casual, too high.

He doesn’t answer.

Just looks at me.

Long. Intense. Hungry.

I’m very aware that I’m rumpled.

Dressed in a pair of too-tight jean cutoffs with a flowery tank top and built in bra, but it offers the girls no support.

“We need to talk.”

I nod and step back to let him in, but he doesn’t move.

“No. Not here.”

My breath catches. “Okay. Um, where?”

“There’s a walking trail behind the field,” he says, jaw tight. “I need a shower first. Meet me there. Ten minutes.”

And then he turns and walks away.

Just like that.

And damn, my legs do go a little weak.

If he’s showering, then I need to at least change.

I slip on a loose fitting milkmaid dress.

It shows off my cleavage without emphasizing my belly and hides my hips. I love the style. It’s casual and flirty.

The material is light, and the shade is a pretty pink that actually looks nice with my red hair and ivory skin.

Plus, it won’t cling to my skin in the steamy Louisiana heat.

Ten minutes later, I find him standing beneath the shade of a wide tree, away from the parking lot.

Away from the rest of the team.

Away from everything.

He’s pacing. Hands on his hips. Shoulders tense.

Droplets of water cling to his dark hair, and I take a moment just to drink him in.

He’s wearing light linen slacks and a white shirt. And fuck, he looks delicious.

When he hears me approach, Koa turns—and that look on his face?

It’s pure thunder.

“Hey,” I murmur, and offer a stupid wave.

His glittering gaze rakes over me from head to toe, and my lungs stop working for a moment.

I swear, his chest rumbles with whatever sound that is. Part moan, part growl.

My panties are already soaked.

“I need to say something,” he says, voice low and steady, like he’s holding back an entire hurricane.

“Okay.”

His eyes lock on mine, and he steps in close.

Too close.

“I can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. I won’t.”

My heart stutters.

“I don’t know what it meant to you,” he continues, “but for me? That wasn’t a one-time thing. That wasn’t casual. That wasn’t just sex.”

“What was it then?”

He leans in, voice going rough.

“You let me touch you, Red. You let me come all over you. Everything is different now. Do you understand?”

I swallow hard, every nerve ending tingling.

But I shake my head.

“Different how?”

“First, I need to know,” he says. “Was it just heat for you? Just the moment? Or did it mean something?”

He’s giving me a choice.

Giving me a way out.

But as I look up at him, this man who touched me like I was his whole fucking world, who’s now standing in front of me like he’ll break if I say the wrong thing, and I realize something else.

I don’t want out.

“I don’t do casual well,” I whisper. “I never have. And last night? That wasn’t casual, Koa. That meant something . Didn’t it?”

His jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“Yeah, Red. It did.”

Then he reaches for me. It’s rough, possessive, urgent, and he crushes his mouth to mine.

Koa’s kiss sparks something inside of me.

Not just butterflies or tingles.

No, this is something deeper. Hotter. Wilder.

Like my every cell is suddenly alive, tuned to the exact frequency of him.

His mouth.

His heat.

His hands that cradle my jaw like I’m something precious and breakable—which is ironic, considering I’m already falling apart in his arms.

When he slows the kiss, when his lips pull back just a breath, I chase him.

Like a puppy begging for a treat.

A hit. A fix.

Which, let’s be honest—he is.

And that’s when he drops the bomb.

“Go out with me,” he says, voice low and rough, still tasting like want.

I blink up at him, dazed. “What?”

“Dinner. Right now. You and me.”

I stare, trying to process.

This man just kissed the soul out of my body, and now he wants date night?

“You’re okay with that?” I ask. “With being seen with me?”

His brows knit, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?”

And there it is. That edge. That fierce, alpha male protectiveness he tries to keep buried under all that brooding silence.

So. Damn. Hot.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, my voice small. “You’re a professional athlete. And I’m just a chubby Jersey girl who runs a camera and gets winded taking the stairs.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

Because his expression darkens.

Not in a scary way.

In a holy shit, this man might punch the air in outrage kind of way.

He stares at me like I just insulted someone he loves.

“Don’t say that,” he snaps, voice sharp.

My eyes go wide. “Say what?”

“Like you’re less.” He steps closer, body tense, chest heaving. “You think I give a single fuck about some label you’ve slapped on yourself? You think that’s what I see when I look at you?”

I swallow hard. “What do you see, then?”

It’s like time stands still as I wait for him to speak.

He crowds his big body against me, hand sliding to my hip, gripping it like he owns it.

Like he wants to.

His voice drops.

“I see the woman who’s been in my head for weeks. The one who talks back, who makes me laugh when I’m in the foulest mood, who filmed me mid-sprint and said I looked like a pissed-off centaur. Who completely throws me off balance in the best fucking way possible.”

My lips twitch despite myself.

“I see curves I want to bite, a mouth that makes me insane, and a heart that’s too fucking big for her own good.”

His thumb strokes the bare skin beneath the elastic bodice of my dress, and I feel myself melt into him.

“I see mine , Red.”

My throat goes tight. “You can’t just say that.”

“Why not?” he shrugs. “It’s true.”

I want to believe him.

And now I’m breathless for an entirely new reason.

“Dinner, huh?” I manage, my voice a shaky whisper.

He grins—slow and sinful.

“You need to eat. I think we need to talk. To be together.”

“So, no fingering me behind another snack shed?”

“Damn it, Red,” he growls and adjusts himself.

“What? I just want to prepare myself.”

I shrug, playing like this is nonchalant for me. It isn’t. he knows it isn’t.

“I need to be with you, Red. Dinner first. We’ll see what happens after. Call it a compromise.”

“I suppose we do have to eat. Keep up our strength.”

He hisses a slow breath, and I laugh.

Something inside of me loosens.

And just like that, my answer is yes.

Sure, I may not know exactly where this thing is going.

But I know exactly where I want to be.

With him.