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“I’m considering my career,” I corrected, even as something twisted in my chest. “The Bandits or the Mustangs, or wherever we get drafted, would be amazing. And even better if we get to play together in the pros.”

Gryff watched me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Again...but?”

“No buts.” I took a bite of my sandwich, chewing longer than necessary. “Tell me more about what the scout said.”

He let me change the subject, launching into details about combine expectations and draft projections. I listened and nodded in all the right places, but part of my mind kept drifting to Tempest, to mud fights and coffee on the deck and the way her laugh made everything else fade away.

LA was a long way from Denver. A long way from her.

“Earth to Flynn.” Gryff snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You in there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I shook my head to clear it. “Just thinking about the drills Dad wants us to run.”

“Sure you were.” He smirked. “Anyway, they want to fly us out to LA after the combine to see the facilities. All expenses paid. How cool is that?”

“Very cool,” I agreed, and tried to mean it.

Because it was cool. It was everything we’d worked for. Everything I’d dreamed of since I was old enough to hold a football. Of course I knew we might not get to stay in Denver forever. This was home, but I was ready to go wherever offered me the best deal and let me play a good game.

And I’d lied about no more buts. It suddenly felt like I might be leaving something behind that I hadn’t counted on.

The donkey’s bray from the backyard seemed to answer my unspoken question.

Some things were harder to walk away from than I’d ever expected.

By the time we finished the combine drills, sweat had soaked through my second t-shirt of the day, and my muscles burned in that satisfying way that meant progress.

Dad had been merciless, running us through cone drills, ladder work, and explosive starts until even Gryff, who never complained about training, was groaning.

“Good work,” Dad said, checking his stopwatch. “Your three-cone time is improving.”

“Thanks.” I gulped from my water bottle, willing my heart rate to slow. “Still need to shave off another two-tenths.”

“You’ll get there.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Get cleaned up. I’ve got something to do at the university tonight.”

As he headed inside, Gryff collapsed dramatically onto the grass. “I think my legs have officially detached from my body.”

“Lightweight,” I teased, though my own quads were trembling.

“Worth it though.” He grinned up at me. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“That thing where you’re physically here but mentally you’re somewhere else.” He pushed himself up to sitting. “Or with someone else.”

I ignored him, pulling out my phone instead. No missed calls, but a text notification caught my eye.

Tempest: Hope your dad didn’t murder you over his herbs becoming a donkey buffet.

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

“See? That right there.” Gryff pointed accusingly. “Your whole face changes when she texts you.”

“Shut up.” I turned away, already typing a response.

Me: I’m alive, barely. Dad actually thought it was funny. Says the herbs needed pruning anyway.

I hesitated, then added one more thought.

Me: Sorry my baby sister harassed the hell out of you.

Her response came almost immediately.

Tempest: No apology necessary. She told me about her romance novel collection while we waited. Your sister is... interesting.

I laughed, which earned me another knowing look from Gryff.

Me: That’s putting it mildly. She likes you though.

Tempest: How can you tell?

Me: She grilled me about you after you left. That’s practically a declaration of love in Jules-speak.

Gryff hauled himself to his feet. “I’m gonna shower. Tell Tempest I said hi.”

I flipped him off without looking up from my phone, where another message had appeared.

Tempest: Do you think your dad will be okay for a few more days? Abuela gets back this weekend, and I’m *almost* sure I can talk her into donkey duty until the sanctuary can take him back.

Me: He’s actually warming up to the little troublemaker. Found him sneaking apple slices to him earlier.

Tempest: No way.

Me: Way. But don’t tell him I told you.

I hesitated, then pulled my head out of my ass and typed back.

Me: Tomorrow after Shakespeare? For more donkey-sitting purposes, of course.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared. My heart did something stupid while I waited.

Tempest: It’s a date.

Then immediately her next message appeared.

Tempest: I mean, not a date date. A donkey-sitting arrangement. You know what I mean.

I grinned at her flustered backtracking.

Me: I know what you mean. But just so you know, if you ever want to make it a date date, I wouldn’t object.

This time the three dots appeared and disappeared several times. Finally she replied one more time.

Tempest: See you tomorrow, Kingman.

Not quite a yes, but definitely not a no. Progress.

I headed inside to shower, unable to wipe the smile off my face. The LA Bandits, the combine, even the mud on my shoes, none of it seemed to matter as much as seeing Tempest tomorrow.

The longer I let this go on, the more screwed I was. And I didn’t even care. These past two months were way more fun than two weeks I’d ever had with any other woman.