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TEMPEST

T he September morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows of our Woodland Hills home, casting golden patterns across the granite countertops.

Flynn stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the same intense concentration he brought to studying play sheets.

He wore nothing but sweatpants slung low on his hips, his hair still rumpled from sleep, his broad shoulders flexing with each movement.

I’d never get tired of this view.

“Stop staring at my ass and check if my phone is buzzing,” he said without turning around. “Gryff said he had some last-minute adjustments to our ride today.”

“Your ass is part of my pre-game ritual,” I countered, but picked up his phone from the counter. “Nothing from Gryff. Just Jules asking if the Sports Network cameras ever show the family section, because she wants to make sure her makeup is perfect when they pan to her.”

Flynn’s dad and sister were flying in for the game and scheduled to land in a few hours. I was anxious to ask Jules how her first semester of college was going.

Flynn snorted. “Tell her to focus on cheering, not preening. This isn’t a fashion show.”

I sent Jules a different, kinder message, then leaned against the island, sipping my coffee and soaking in the moment. It was all so... domestic, and I was loving it.

Flynn’s eldest brother, Chris, gave us the house as Flynn’s welcome to the big leagues gift. Which still absolutely floored me. He’d given one to Gryff too, right across the street. They’d said it was a family tradition.

Our house, still new enough that the phrase sent a little thrill through me, was the perfect blend of both of us.

My colorful throw pillows on his sleek leather couch.

My book collection filling the built-in shelves he’d insisted the place needed.

Photos of both our families mixed together on the walls.

And outside, a backyard that would soon welcome an incredibly special donkey.

“Nervous?” I asked as Flynn slid a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me.

He shrugged, but the movement was too controlled to be casual. “First official game as a Bandit. First time the fans paid actual money to see what I can do. First time playing where it actually counts in the pros.”

“You and Gryff were literally born for this,” I reminded him. “The Bandits are lucky to have both Kingman twins on their roster.”

“Lucky or smart,” Flynn grinned, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

My phone chimed with an incoming FaceTime call, the screen displaying “AbuelaNovela.” I propped it against the fruit bowl and accepted.

“Buenos días, mis amores.” Abuela’s face filled the screen, resplendent as always in full makeup despite the early hour. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Which one?” Flynn asked, leaning into frame. “My first real pro game or Tempest’s book release on Tuesday?”

“Both, of course,” Abuela declared, waving away the question. “They are equally important milestones.”

The camera angle shifted wildly as Abuela adjusted her phone, then steadied on a familiar gray face with perked ears.

“Burrito,” I exclaimed. “Hi, baby.”

The donkey brayed at the sound of my voice, pushing his nose closer to the screen. Flynn laughed and waved.

“He misses you,” Abuela said, reappearing in frame. “But the transport arrangements are all confirmed for next month. Your paddock installation is complete?”

“All done,” Flynn confirmed. “The yard is officially Burrito-proof. Or at least, that’s what the contractor promised. I have my doubts about any enclosure being truly Burrito-proof.”

“He has grown into quite the little escape artist,” Abuela agreed fondly. “Now go. Prepare. Conquer. We will be watching the game and sending all our energy.”

After a long, very wet, extremely hot, very orgasmic shower, I sent Flynn off to the stadium, and got ready to attend my very first football game.

Flynn had gotten me more Bandit’s t-shirts, jackets, hats, and even some socks to wear than any one person needed in their lifetime.

But I chose the jersey with his name and number and paired it with some jeans, and a cute pair of sparkly ballet flats.

The family section at Bandits Stadium was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Here, in this reserved section of luxury boxes, the families and partners of players were treated like minor celebrities themselves.

“Tempest, Over here.” Vanessa Martinez, waved me over to where she sat with several other women. Vanessa’s husband played tight end, and she’d appointed herself my unofficial guide to PAL life.

PAL I’d learned stood for Partners and Lovers, the Bandits’ more inclusive version of the traditional WAGs, Wives and Girlfriends, designation. I’d been surprised and grateful for how welcoming they’d all been, especially once they’d realized I was Miranda Milan.

Jules, Artemis, and I headed over, while Coach Bridger went over to chat with Flynn and Gryff’s agent, Mac Jerry.

“You all are just in time,” Vanessa said as I slid into the seat she’d saved. “They’re about to announce the starting lineup.”

Beside her, Jade Wilson nudged my arm. “I finished your book last night. That scene in chapter seventeen? Girl. I had to take a cold shower.”

I laughed, no longer embarrassed by such comments. “Wait until you read the next one. I had some very thorough research assistance.”

“I bet you did,” Jade winked. “Your man seems very... dedicated. ”

“Ew,” Jules faux gagged. “Don’t ruin Miranda Milan books for me with that kind of information.

“Speaking of,” Vanessa interrupted, pointing to the field where the defensive starters were being announced.

The stadium erupted as Flynn’s name boomed through the speakers.

Number 50 jogged onto the field, helmet in hand, looking every inch the warrior heading into battle.

My heart swelled with ridiculous pride. He might not be able to see me from the field, but I stood anyway, cheering as loudly as I could.

“The rookies usually look terrified,” observed Priya Singh, joining our little group with her adorable baby. Her husband was the Bandits’ star kicker. “Your man looks like he was born for this.”

“He was,” I agreed, watching as Flynn took his position for the national anthem. “Football’s in his DNA.”

“Just like writing is in yours,” Priya said. “Anymore scenes like that one in chapter seventeen and I’m going to end up pregnant again. My hat’s off to Flynn for being your research buddy.”

“Oh gawd, it’s never going to stop, is it?” Jules shuddered and stood up. “I’m going to get nachos and rinse my brain in cheese sauce.”

I groaned as the women laughed. Somehow, in the past few months, I’d gone from hiding my identity to openly discussing my “research” with PALs I barely knew. The universe had a strange sense of humor.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed, “please direct your attention to the jumbotron for today’s ‘Family Focus’. ”

I froze as our little group appeared on the massive screen. The other women waved, so I followed suit, and the camera zoomed in on me.

The crowd cheered—whether for me or simply because it was expected, I couldn’t tell. But as the cameras lingered, I smiled and waved, embracing the moment instead of shrinking from it.

“You’re famous now,” Vanessa teased as the screen changed to find other player’s families.

“Hardly,” I laughed. “But it’s still surreal sometimes.”

“Get used to it,” Jade advised. “Between Flynn’s career and your books, you’re going to be in the public eye a lot.”

She was right, of course. In the months since graduation, I’d done more interviews, book signings, and public appearances than I could count.

My fifth book was coming out in a few days, and according to my publisher, the pre-orders alone were almost a guarantee for it to hit several bestseller lists.

FlixNChill was already casting on the series adaptation.

And through it all, Flynn had been my steadfast support, just as I tried to be for him.

Different worlds, merging into one shared life.

As the kickoff soared through the air, I settled in to watch the man I loved do what he was born to do, surrounded by women who were quickly becoming loyal friends rather than mere acquaintances.

Women who saw me as more than just “Flynn Kingman’s girlfriend.

” Who respected my career as much as his.

For a girl who’d spent most of her life hiding, it felt remarkably like freedom.

Tuesday morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Flynn’s voice downstairs. Book release day. No matter how well received the rest of the books had been, I always had a niggle of nerves every time a new book came out.

It wasn’t that I didn’t think people would like it, but especially now that the public had an actual face to put with the name, this one in particular felt very... exposing.

I padded downstairs to find Flynn in a suit, phone pressed to his ear, gesturing animatedly as he paced the kitchen.

“No, we need at least five dozen,” he was saying. “And make sure they’re the special edition hardcovers, not the regular ones... Yes, I know they cost more, that’s the point... Just get it done, please.” He hung up, turning to find me watching him.

“Were you ordering books?” I asked, amused.

“Maybe.” He grinned, that boyish smile that still made my heart skip. “The team wants signed copies for everyone. Including Coach, which is mildly terrifying considering what happens in chapter twenty.”

I groaned, remembering the particularly steamy scene I’d written involving a coach’s desk. “Oh god. I didn’t think about that.”

“Too late now.” Flynn crossed to me, wrapping me in his arms. “Happy book birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.” I accepted his kiss, then pulled back to study him. “Why are you in a suit at seven a.m.? Don’t you have practice?”

“Later.” He guided me to a chair, then pushed a mug of coffee into my hands. “First, breakfast. Then I have a surprise.”