Gray runs his fingers along the fringe of my bangs. Calming me. “Look, I know it feels like everything is happening too fast. I probably just made it worse. Shit. We don’t have to get married. It’s just I wanted to give this ring to you. To show you what you mean to me. That I have your back. Always.”

Sitting in its little black box, the ring shines, the diamonds clean as ice and winking. Gray glances at it then back to me. “It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring if that scares you. Wear it because we’re together. Wear it because I love you.” He rubs the back of his neck, his skin flushed. “That is if you want to. Hell, I’ve fumbled this whole thing—”

I cup his warm cheeks and kiss him. His lips part on a surprised breath, then he’s kissing me back, deep and needy, his arm wrapping around my waist to haul me close. We’re a bit sloppy, taking and receiving kisses as though we’ve been apart for years.

By the time we calm down, I’m a little dizzy and a lot giddy. My nose touches his, nuzzling. “Maybe we can be engaged to be engaged?”

“As long as we’re together, it can be anything you want.”

“Put it on me.”

Our hands shake only a little as Gray slides the ring on my finger. It’s beautiful. So beautiful my vision blurs, and I blink to clear it.

Gray rests his forehead against mine. “So I didn’t completely fuck it up?”

Gently, I stroke his cheek, and the diamond glints in the low light. “No, Cupcake. You’re perfect. This ring is perfect. I love you so much.”

“That’s my line,” he whispers, and then he kisses me again. We tumble back onto the grass, laughing softly. Gray maps the contours of my face with his lips, all the while telling me the same thing. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Twenty-Nine

Gray

For almost two weeks, my home has been a hotel in New Orleans. I live and breathe football now. Practice, study, drills, sleep. Press junkets and mindless interviews. That’s my life. The playoff game is tomorrow, and everyone is so keyed up we just want it to be game day already. No more wading through a sea of agents and scouts and sponsors. No more smiling for the camera as we eat our free gumbo dinner. No more reading playbooks and watching footage until it runs through our heads in our sleep. Just let us play football.

This is the worst it’s been for me. Ivy thought that by staying away she’d help me keep focused. Not really. I’ve discovered that I need her with me or I feel unbalanced. I miss her so much my chest feels hollow, yet tight.

But finally she’s on her way and is due to arrive in a few hours. I’m antsy as all hell to see her. So much so that I physically have to keep moving to distract myself. One brutal workout later, and I get a text from Sean Mackenzie asking me to meet him in the hotel bar.

I’ve been avoiding him for a while. Mainly because Ivy and I haven’t decided what to do with the pregnancy. I know what I want, but I’m not going to push Ivy. I’ll state my case, but I won’t push. Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and text Mackenzie to set up a time.

Because there is one thing I’m not okay with hiding from him any longer.

* * *

Mackenzie is waiting for me at the bar. He’s already halfway through a tumbler of whiskey. I take the seat next to him and order an ice water.

“You ready for the game?” Mackenzie says by way of greeting.

“What’s that line?” I quip. “I was born ready.”

“John Wayne.” Mackenzie nods. “Cute.”

“John Wayne, really?” I take a sip of water. “I thought it was from Big Trouble in Little China.”

Mackenzie rolls his eyes. “Stop trying to make me feel old. Big Trouble was my generation’s movie. Used to watch that movie on the couch with Ivy’s mom.”

The thought of Mackenzie with Ivy’s mom brings everything back into focus. I take a breath and brace my palms on the bar. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Ivy already told me.” His mouth twists. “Via text.”

At my incredulous face, he hands over his phone. I read the text out loud. “‘Gray and I are together now. Don’t be pissy with him. It’s serious. And I’m happy.’”

Laughing low, I rub a hand over my face and give him back his phone. “Little wuss,” I mutter under my breath.

But apparently not low enough, because Mackenzie gives me a look. “Here’s a tip. My daughter likes to cut and run when she’s overwhelmed.”

“Already figured that one out.” Ivy and I are similar that way.

Mackenzie grunts. “You shouldn’t have touched her, Grayson. You know better.”

So, Ivy gets her directness from her dad. Good to know. I straighten my shoulders and turn to fully face him. “Well, this is awkward.”

Mackenzie snorts as if to say, No shit, kid.

I take a quick drink of my ice water before forging on. “The part of me that’s talking to Ivy’s dad says I respectfully understand your fears, sir, but I assure you hurting Ivy is the very last thing I’d ever do.” My grip on my glass tightens. “The part of me that sees you as a potential agent wants to tell you to fuck off.”

He laughs outright. “Then we’re of a like mind, kid. Because part of me wants to kick your ass for even looking my daughter. And the other part wants to warn you to keep away from distractions. Namely of the female variety.”