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Is my “new friend” Tatum’s ex? Yeah. Did telling him I made a new friend ease my guilt of hiding that from him? Not really. But he’s been doing so well this season, and I don’t know what her angle is, and I don’t want to distract him with that piece of information until I do.

Is it going to come back and bite me in the ass?

More than likely. But I’ve always been the type to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

My brother watched the gym every time I went, looking for patterns or anything that could be deemed as devious behavior. She’d stand outside almost every time.

I clued Nelson in on what was going on, to which he decided he was also not happy about. I should have clued him in weeks ago. Apparently, crossing the guys off the college list doesn't make him feel any better when there’s someone threatening me.

I slapped on my Carmen San Diego hat the second I realized Nikki was up to something.

“ I’ll get what’s mine.” Kind of sounds like a scorned ex, and I’m starting to think that she’s trying to use me to get to Tate.

Which would make sense, considering she can’t get to him unless she wants to be thrown in jail.

But it’s the timing, four years later, and she’s just now deciding to come back?

Then there’s how she knew where we were.

Is she stalking him without getting too close?

But how can that be? Is someone else doing her dirty work?

I don’t have that all figured out yet, and until I do, I’ll play the unsuspecting victim card.

In reality, everything is being recorded, and my brothers know where we’re going before I even get there.

Like tomorr ow, when Tate leaves for his game in Nebraska, the woman in question and I are going to dinner.

Of course, I picked the place from the list of “approved” restaurants given to me by the peanut gallery.

Meaning Elliott can hack into cameras, and Dex can easily access them if he’s on patrol.

But right now isn’t the time to get into all that; letting my mind slide down that slope would ruin the night for us.

And that isn’t something I’m willing to do.

My hair is braided down my back, mainly to keep it out of my face as we drive.

But also because it makes me look cool with my black pants and the leather jacket I stole from his closet.

It’s my second favorite outside of his old Strikers sweatshirt.

He said it was from his first year playing in the league.

It’s way too big for me, but I can pull my knees inside it and turn myself into a rollie pollie.

It’s comfortable, and it smells like him. I make no apologies.

His hand rests on the back of my calf as we cruise around the city.

Our reservation for dinner isn’t for another hour, but unlike the first time I was on his bike, aimlessly driving is now one of my favorite things to do.

Getting to be pressed up against him with my arms wrapped around his waist as we take in the scenery?

I’ll jump at the chance to be that close to him for this long.

Quality time is my love language, and this is filling my cup to the brim. Words aren’t needed. The small squeezes he gives me here and there are more than enough. The way he brings my hand to his lips each time we stop at a stoplight brings me closer to a revelation every time.

One that feels a lot like “I love you.” One that makes holding on to him feel less like a necessity and more like a lifeline.

I fight back a shiver as the thought rolls through my head, settling deep in my heart where I know without a doubt it’s true.

I just hope he feels the same, and will still feel the same when his season is over, and I can tell him everything.

The sky above us is nothing short of a masterpiece.

It’s colored with orange, deep purples, and the exact shade of pink that coats Tate’s face when he gets embarrassed.

The sun slowly dips below the horizon, casting long, shining rays across the bay, reflecting off the water like a mirror.

From my position on the back of the bike, the warm air brushes against my exposed skin, and the heavy scent of salt from the ocean mixes with the occasional burst of citrus from the trees we pass.

The roar of the engine is steady beneath us, the familiar vibration brings me to a place of pure peace.

Boats cut lazily through the water, their shadows dark against the last burst of daylight.

The streetlights begin to turn on, one by one.

The city shines in the distance, while the palms stand tall, swaying in the breeze.

It’s the kind of view that makes you want to slow down, pull off the road somewhere, and just revel in it for a little longer.

But, there’s steak and fried rice waiting, and I’m not about to delay dinner for a sunset.

As he pulls into the parking lot, I wait for him to put the kickstand down and hop off the bike.

When he straightens up and looks at me, his eyebrow pulls high.

“Quick learner, aren’t you?” he quips, a smirk taking over his face as he offers me his hand.

I slide my hand in his as I hold his gaze.

“I’m a good student.” I swing my leg over the back and lace our fingers together as we walk inside.

The second we step through the doors, we’re smacked with the smell that is signature Hibachi.

The unmistakable aroma of seared steak, shrimp, and chicken as they sizzle on the hot griddle is thick and savory.

Soy sauce and garlic float through the air, their salty notes blend with the buttery sweetness of the vegetables and the faint nuttiness of sesame oil.

My favorite, though, is the sounds of the metal utensils tapping against the grill in a beat that could be used in a mainstream rock song.

Don’t even get me started on the onion volcano, or how they crack the egg so perfectly over the side of the spatula.

The whole experience is better than the food sometimes, I swear.

Hibachi was always what we did as a family when there was something to celebrate.

Someone made the honor roll? Hibachi. Someone won a big game?

Hibachi. Abby got asked to prom even though she purposely scared off most of the boys in high school.

Hibachi. A Knight family tradition, one I’m happy to share with a Wilder.

As we get seated, he looks over the menu.

I don’t because I get the same thing every time, double steak and fried rice with miso soup.

The superior choice, obviously. We don’t talk much as they cook our food, opting for stolen glances and soft touches here and there.

A brush of his hand against my thigh, the way his pinky will reach out and wrap itself around mine.

It’s nice. It also makes it infinitely harder not to fall deeper than I already have.

“Thank you,” I say as the chef steps away from the griddle. Tate grabs my hand as we say a quick prayer before diving in. Food on the table means it’s time for random questions. “If you could live in a book we’ve read over the past few years, what would it be?”

He puts his forearms on the table as he chews the bit of food in his mouth, his eyebrows scrunching together in thought as he thinks it over.

When he swallows, he points his fork in my direction, “The one where the girl saved the guy from the mafia men. ” I hum in agreement, that book has such a badass female lead.

She was secretly a sniper, and when her husband was taken, she went postal.

It was awesome. “What about you?” He asks.

My smile widens. There’s something about really fluffy love stories that makes my heart smile. Maybe because I’ve never allowed myself to believe that’s a possibility for me. I’ve always been told I’m too crass, too strong-willed to have that kind of relationship.

I’d always be the one “wearing the pants.” It's always bothered me to hear, but with Tate, it’s almost like we stand on even footing. We both give what we can, stand up for the other when it’s needed, and learn how the other likes to be loved.

“I like the one we just read. He was really sweet with her and didn't try to change her. She didn’t fit the mold of ‘typical’ wife, but he loved that about her. I think it was nice to see that dynamic play out in a book,” he nods as he turns back to his plate.

“What are your values? Or what do you value most in a partner?” I ask as I shove another bit of rice in my mouth. His answer delivers a sucker punch right to my guilty heart.

“Honesty.” He grabs his glass of water and takes a sip. “Above everything, I need honesty.” He clears his throat, puts his utensils down, and turns toward me. “I can handle just about anything else, but once my trust in someone is broken, it’s almost impossible to get it back.”

I swallow hard against the bile that’s creeping up my throat.

I know this is the perfect moment to tell him everything, but it would ruin our date.

It would take his focus away from soccer, the second round of playoffs start next week.

I know they can take it all this year. I don’t want to ruin that for him .

Plus, I don’t have any information to give him yet, other than it’s Nikki who knocked me over at the gym and that I hung out with earlier.

I have no motive. I don’t even know that she’s actually a threat.

I don’t want it to get in his head. He deserves this.

He deserves to be the best and not have something derail it.

Instead, I just nod as I turn back to my food, hoping my guilt isn’t clear as day. I’m not lying to him per se, I did tell him I made a new friend and that we went for coffee. I just didn’t tell him who it was. “You?”