Time stands still as we look at each other.

She swallows thickly. “You just scored the winning touchdown, a sweet pass from Jack where you ran seventy yards. There’s already a Super Bowl championship ring on your finger, and your heart is light. Your dad is clean and sober. Your girl is crazy about you. She travels with you when she can. She always knew you’d win. She’s special, a little quirky, not like anyone you’ve ever met, and before each game you look up, see her, and send her a kiss with your fingers. That’s your signal that she’s the one.”

My breath hitches. “What’s she like?”

“Smart. She has a serious career, but nothing would exist if you weren’t there.”

I press my forehead to hers. “What if we’re too different?”

“You aren’t different—not underneath, where it counts. Life doesn’t decide who you fall for. Love knows no rules at all, and your girl, she’s never boring, and you’re constantly wondering what she’s going to do next. She brings out your soft side, and no one makes you laugh like her. One day, you take her hand and beg her to be yours. You make a home with her, a wild little family of boys who play football in the yard and girls who grow into intelligent women. You can’t believe how lucky you are. You guard them with your life. The first time daughter number one has a date, you follow them to the movies until she confronts you, and you back down and hope she chooses a good man like you. Your wife kisses you when you get home, and you make another baby that night. Five kids total. Maybe more.”

The world spins, and I gasp to keep up, the air in my chest frozen. “I always thought I’d never have kids.”

“My universe.”

“Where are you?”

Her lashes flutter as her fingers skate down my back. “You tell me.”

I suck in a breath. “You’re happy. You got your doctorate. You’re famous for your research and your books. You travel the world, speaking at conferences to authors about incorporating science in their novels. You go to CERN and give them a few lessons about dark matter.”

Her mouth curves up. “What a dream.”

I brush a soft kiss over her lips. “My universe.”

“Do I have a guy?”

I nod. “He’s a handsome devil with a high-profile career. You crushed on him years ago, but he didn’t know you then. He’s never met anyone like you, and he has a past he’s working on. He tries to go slow and keep his distance, but once he sees how smart and talented and beautiful you are, he can’t let you go. He’s afraid he’ll never be enough, but he puts his heart in your hands and takes a chance.”

“Kids?” she asks.

“Five. Maybe more. He builds you a dream house right next to your barn, a three-story craftsman with a big front porch and rocking chairs. Your mama cooks for your family on Sunday. Your man spends his free time playing with the little Giselles while you sit in your office and write. At night, he carries you to bed and worships you.”

My chest twists as nerves swamp me.

Where are we going with this?

I dip my head and trail my lips down her neck. My voice has grown husky, my mouth trailing down to her shoulders. I push her shirt up and brush my fingers over her breasts. “Are you sore?”

Her response is a moan as I latch on to her, suckling the erect nipple, then trailing down to her stomach. “I’ve got to be at the stadium soon, but if you want to try that reverse cowgirl you mentioned . . .”

“Can I wear the shark mask?” she says, reaching out into the closet, snatching it, and taunting me with it.

I kick it back and pull her up, sweeping her into my arms, then stalking to my room and placing her on the bed. My breath stutters as I take her in—tousled hair, ruby lips, heated eyes. “Baby, if you want to be a shark, be my guest. I won’t be looking at your face.”

She throws a pillow at me, and I tackle her, caging her in under me as I kiss her. “How about a cowboy hat?”

“You have one?” Her eyes gleam, and I burst out laughing.

“Everyone in Nashville has one. I’ve never worn it. It’s in the closet on the left top shelf. Let me get it—if I can see in the dark!” I call back as I rise up, drop my towel, and stalk off.

“Nice ass,” she breathes.

“I know.”

When I swagger back wearing the Stetson and a hard-on to rival last night’s, she scrambles to her feet and jumps up and down on the bed, then snatches the hat off my head and slams it on hers.

Fuckkkkkkk.

I can’t believe she’s mine.

For now, a dark voice reminds me. How long will she stay?

“I’ve created a monster.”

“Yeehaw. I’m ready for a ride. Get ready, little pony!” she yells, waving her arms in a lasso motion.

“Nothing little here,” I grouse as I pull her into my arms.

“I’ll bring dinner home at seven?” I ask her later as we walk out of the Breton together. She’s heading to Vandy, me to the stadium. The valets pull up with the Hummer and Red, and I relish the slow blush that starts at Giselle’s throat and moves up to her face as she stares at the car. She’s wearing her hair in braids again, and I keep flicking at them, winding them around my fingers, itching to take them out and run my hands through her strands. In dressy slacks and a silk blouse, she looks classy and good enough to eat. I’m going to be worth shit at training camp. I take her hand, following her eyes to the hood of Red as I lean over and whisper, “I came down and cleaned the hood while you were on your laptop. There’s a dent on the top, but don’t feel bad. Quinn will take care of getting it to the shop soon.”

“Your jacket. I can get it dry-cleaned.”

I threw it in the trash this morning, but she pulled it out, hugged it to her chest, and swore she wanted to keep it. “You’re funny, baby. I can get a new jacket.”

“It’s a memory. I’m going to put it in a shadow box with a miniature Maserati inside.”

“Shadow box?”

“A display case for treasured keepsakes. Don’t you have some with sports memorabilia in it?”

No. My dad didn’t do those things. Whatever I have is kept packed away.

I grin. “I kept your underwear. Never did find your bra. Too dark, and I was afraid an owl might get me.”

“Poor Bobby Ray. I meant to introduce you to him yesterday, but it didn’t feel right.”

“Hmm, don’t want to meet the guy who almost got what I have.” I kiss her lips, and she sighs into me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders. “I can’t wait to see you later.”

“Same,” she murmurs.

“Mr. Walsh?” comes a scratchy male voice on my right, and I pivot, putting Giselle behind me.

“What?” I growl.

It’s not the guy who was here last time, but he fits the description of the man from Walmart—and I know exactly what he wants. He shuffles his feet, and I narrow my eyes, body tense and ready to take him down if he so much as moves a muscle.

He holds his hands up, his gaze darting from me to Giselle. “No disrespect, sir. I’m just a guy doing a job.”

“You’re a bad guy!” Giselle snaps and steps around me to confront him. “And don’t think I don’t remember you, Harold Pittman. You used to work at the body shop on Main. It took me a while because you look different, but I figured it out.”