Page 3

TWO

JETT

“Here’s your key card,” the hotel clerk says, sliding it across the smooth wood. “You can also unlock the door to your room via the app on your phone. Just sign in with the email and password on your paperwork, and you’ll be good to go for the week. Enjoy your stay, and good luck on Sunday, Mr. Kingsley.”

I give him a tight nod. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I say, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder and heading to the elevator. We arrived in Tampa this afternoon and went straight to media training for hours, so I’m already exhausted.

Super Bowl week is a beast of its own. We made it last year, and no matter how prepared I thought I was, the lead-up to the actual game was still a shock. You don’t just get to focus on the battle ahead. There’s so much media, fanfare and a strict schedule that it’s almost impossible not to get sucked into the glitz and glamor of the event. If you’re not doing an interview or some kind of mandatory appearance, you’re studying game tape and repeating run-throughs until you feel like you’re going to collapse where you stand. That’s why we’re here for an entire week instead of just a day or two like any other away game.

I press the button to go up, looking down at my paperwork to double-check what floor I’m going to. My eyes feel like they’re going to close right here from how tired I am, and all I can think about is taking a hot shower and getting into bed. I have an interview with ESPN at eight in the morning, so if I play my cards right, I can get a full night of sleep before the craziness of the week sucks me in and spits me back out after the game.

The metal doors slide open and I step inside, pushing the number twenty-two on the illuminated display before backing up to the wall and resting my head against it. I close my eyes, exhaling a relaxed breath and enjoying the first moment of silence I’ve had all day. Just as the elevator begins to close, I’m startled by a loud, feminine voice.

“Hold the door!” a woman yells, her hands waving wildly above her head as she runs toward me with a giant rolling suitcase clattering behind her. Reaching forward, I wrap my fingers around the metal and force the doors back open as she sighs in relief. I step aside as she walks past me, blowing a strand of wild brown hair out of her eyes. Her fresh scent permeates the air around us and I can’t help but inhale deeply. She smells amazing.

“Oh my God, thank you,” she says, clearly out of breath from the way she rushed in here. “If I had to wait for another elevator, I would’ve been late to meet my client.”

“No problem,” I reply, taking a step backward and rolling my neck from side to side with a tired sigh. The plane ride from Boston to Florida wasn’t super long, but the non-stop going since we touched down in Tampa has me feeling like I got hit by a bus. “What floor?” I say, since I’m closer to the buttons than she is. I may be exhausted, but I’m still a gentleman.

“Twenty-t—” she says, cutting herself off as she smiles my way. “Looks like we’re headed in the same direction.” I look up, finally locking eyes with her, and I’m almost knocked straight on my ass. Where I was ready to fall asleep on my feet just moments ago, I now feel adrenaline coursing through me as I stare into the most unforgettable pair of bright green eyes I’ve seen in my entire life. Memories of my childhood play like a highlight reel in my head, and I can barely even form words as I attempt to sputter out a reaction.

“B-Bailey?” I choke out as my mind tries to convince me I’m wrong. But I know I’m not. I may not have laid eyes on this girl in thirteen years, but Bailey Hart isn’t someone you just stop thinking about because she’s no longer in your life. In fact, she’s popped into my mind more times than I care to admit since the day I said goodbye to her for the last time. A day that still sits firmly as the worst one I’ve ever experienced.

She squints, looking at me as if she’s trying to figure out how I know her. I guess that’s fair. I was over a foot and a half shorter, with big teeth and gangly limbs the last time she saw me. At twenty-five years old, I’m six- foot-five, two hundred and fifty pounds, with a thick layer of stubble hiding my sharp jawline. The braces I wore from ages thirteen to fifteen straightened my crooked teeth, leaving the boy she gave her first kiss to in the past, along with every other perfect moment we shared during the summers my parents and I spent at our beach house—before life went to shit.

“Jett,” I say, unable to pull my gaze away from hers.

C’mon, Bay…remember me. Please.

She takes a few seconds to register, but I see the moment when realization dawns on her. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops in disbelief. “Jett James?” she whispers as though she can’t believe it’s me. Which… same , honestly. I’ve thought about her so many times over the years. I've scrolled social media for hours, looking at each and every profile picture for girls around our age named Bailey Hart, but unfortunately, I never found her. And obviously, she didn't know my full name either. My parents always called me by my first and middle name, and I never felt that it was important to share my last with her. I can't tell you how many times I’ve regretted that over the last thirteen years.

“Yeah,” I say, surprised by the conflicting emotions I'm experiencing right now. Shock is at the forefront, but I'm also feeling other things that I can’t really sort through at the moment. All I know is that I don’t want to stop looking at her. She’s fucking breathtaking. Long, thick lashes highlight her bright emerald eyes. The smattering of freckles that used to be so prominent across her nose when she was younger peeks out from under her makeup, and an adorable cupid’s bow leads down to her full, pouty lips.

I remember those lips.

“Holy shit,” she says on a laugh. “How are you?” She abandons her suitcase, walking my way and wrapping me in a tight hug. I'm stunned at first, but it doesn't take long for me to return the embrace. My heart hammers inside my rib cage, and I feel a missing piece of me snap right back into place as her warm body presses against mine. Although we only spent six summers together, Bailey was the best friend I’ve ever had, and I lost so much more than just my parents the day I left the beach house for the last time. She has no idea why I never got a chance to see her again, but I'll make damn sure I get the opportunity to explain everything. There is no way in hell I'll go without her now that she’s back in my arms again.

“I’m great,” I reply on a breath, doing everything I can to keep from getting too emotional. I’m not even sure why I am, but seeing her after so long just makes me feel like I’m home. I was only twelve when I lost everything that was important to me, and Bailey was a part of that. I know I’ll never get my parents back, but having her right here is definitely eliciting memories of a time when I had no clue what real loneliness felt like. “What are you doing here?”

She pulls away but keeps her hands on my forearms, which are still loosely wrapped around her. I don’t know why, but letting go doesn’t feel right, so I’m going to keep the connection as long as I can. With any other person, this would feel weird. But not with her. Even when we were kids, Bailey was always very physically affectionate. It wasn’t abnormal for her to give me a random hug or hold my hand while we were playing on the beach. As a little boy, I probably should’ve thought it was gross, but I never did. Up until that very last summer, I never even saw her as anything more than a best friend—someone I could tell anything to and know she wouldn’t judge. I liked the relationship we had, so if she wanted to be close to me, I welcomed it. She was always a comfort to me.

Then I had to go through the hardest time of my life without her.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’m actually working for one of the wives of a Boston Blizzard player for the entire week.” She steps out of my embrace, reaching back to grip the handle of her rolling suitcase. “I’m an esthetician, and she needs someone to take care of her skincare and makeup while she’s here in Tampa.”

My eyes go wide at the mention of my team. Just as I go to open my mouth to ask who, a quiet ding fills the air and the elevator doors slide open. We both look over to see we’ve arrived on our floor. I know that four full levels of this hotel have been blocked off for the Blizzard and their family members, but it’s still a coincidence that the person she’s here for is staying on the same one as I am. I can’t help but think that fate has brought us back together.

I step aside, extending my arm out so she can walk ahead of me before following her into the empty hallway. “Who are you here to see?” I ask.

She scrunches her nose, shaking her head. “Her name is Dia. Her husband is playing in the Super Bowl. I’m not really into football, but I guess he’s a pretty big deal. Are you a fan?”

I chuckle. The last time she saw me, I’d never even touched a football aside from the occasional game of catch with my dad. It wasn’t until I moved to Texas after my parents died that I joined the local Pop Warner team. I struggled with a lot of anger during the beginning stages of grief, and since my uncle was the town’s high school coach, he thought putting on a helmet and hitting some kids might help me work through some of it. He was right. From the very first play, it became a part of me.

“Dia Davis?” I ask.

Her brows bunch in confusion. “How did you know that?”

“Everybody knows Dia,” I reply on a laugh. “She’s the queen of the Blizzard wives. What room?”

She looks down at the paper in her hand, then glances up at me with skepticism written all over her face. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you the location of my client. I’m going to get in trouble for sharing sensitive information.”

I roll my eyes playfully, swiping the pink Post-It from her hand. Her jaw drops in surprise, and she reaches out to take it back, but I turn my body away so I can read it. She yanks on the sleeve of my t-shirt, grunting as she tries to move me. Suddenly, it’s like we’re kids again, and I’m taunting her just to get a reaction.

“Jett James, you haven’t changed one bit,” she says, pulling at my arm. “Still such a grabby little asshole.” Her fingertips dig into the heated skin of my bicep, and I flex, making the muscle go hard under her touch. She looks up, her wide green eyes meeting mine.

“I’ve changed a little bit,” I say with a cocky smirk. Her cheeks flush as she drops her hands to her hips, waiting for me to return the paper. I do, but only because I already saw the room she’s supposed to be at. Checking the sign on the wall in front of us, I turn left, crooking my finger in an attempt to make her follow. “It’s this way.”

“I swear to God, if you act like some weird fanboy over this girl’s husband, I’ll tell them you followed me up from the lobby and make them call security on you,” she mumbles, making me chuckle again because she has no idea how close to Dalton Davis I actually am. My teammates are my brothers. Other than my aunt, uncle and two cousins, they’re the closest thing to a family I have.

We continue down the hall, stopping in front of the door marked 2211. I should let her be the one to knock, but this is too much fun. Rapping my knuckles against the thick wood three times, I glance back at her and smile as she shakes her head in disapproval.

“I’m getting fired,” she says quietly as the door swings open, and we come face-to-face with my running back. Dalton is shirtless, looking fresh from some form of a workout, with his dark brown hair sticking in every direction as though somebody’s fingers had just been running through it. Faint traces of dark lipstick are smudged across his face and neck, and he clutches a pillow strategically in front of his lower region.

Classic Dalton. Horny fucker.

He clears his throat. “Hey, Kingsley. What’s up, man?”