My heart still thundered unevenly in my chest. He was right there and so fucking pretty. Familiar in a way that made my heart squeeze.
Tiller grinned which made me want to climb him like a tree. Preferably naked.
“Fine. Mopellei’s wife is pregnant.”
I thought of the Canadian quarterback who I still held a stupid grudge against for getting Tiller hurt—yes, I knew it wasn’t his fault—and his friendly wife.
“That’s exciting,” I admitted. “Zauna always gets heart-eyes when she’s around the other players’ kids. She’ll be a great mom.”
I was excruciatingly aware of the physical distance between Tiller and me. My fingers itched to touch him, and I had to hold my body still to keep from swaying toward him.
Meanwhile, Tiller had no such awareness. He tossed the mail down on the counter, strode over to me, grabbed the back of my head in one giant paw, and kissed the ever-loving fuck out of me.
Right in front of Sam.
It took about one nanosecond for me to forget about Sam, salad tomatoes, where I was, my own name, and anything else not related to Tiller Raine’s tongue in my mouth. When he pulled away, I was pretty sure I was a puddle of goo on the floor.
“Alrighty then,” Sam said in a voice laced with dry humor. “That happened.”
“Um…” I tried getting the goo back together and reassembling some form of human brain with it. “Um.”
Tiller smiled affectionately and leaned back in to kiss me next to my ear. He whispered, “I’ve been waiting all day to put my hands on you. I couldn’t wait a second longer.”
I blinked up at him like he was Elvis Presley found alive and well and sitting on forty some-odd years of new music. At least that’s what I assumed I looked like. Surprised stupid and pretty fucking happy.
“Do you want me to pretend to go in the other room?” Sam asked. “Because I can do that.”
Tiller laughed and let me go. “No. Sorry. It’s fine. How’d it go on the Kelsey job? Did you find a new carpenter?”
As they started talking about Sam’s current construction project, I wandered around in a lovestruck daze, cutting veggies and preparing the big salad. I daydreamed about what it would be like to live this life for real. To have my good friend and my… Tiller here with me all the time. I mean… I already had them, but it was different if Tiller and I were a thing.
Which we weren’t.
But this was a daydream, and good shit was allowed to happen in Vegas. I went along on my merry way, tossing in red onion slices, fresh mozzarella, and marinated olives until the huge bowl was full. I moved on to making the dressing in the blender as their conversation moved to football.
“They going to put you in?” Sam asked.
I felt Tiller’s eyes on me. “Yeah.”
“You okay with it?”
“Depending on what the specialist says, I guess so. Coach was pretty insistent that the team needs me.”
And Tiller would never dream of letting the team down.
My back teeth ground together, but I kept my mouth shut. Not only was it not my place to interfere with his career, but he also hadn’t asked me. I’d known this was coming, and I was doing my best to be okay with it.
I was for damned sure not okay with it.
Sam glanced up at me. “We going to the game?”
I swallowed thickly and looked back down at the blender controls as if they contained the secret to world peace, eternal life, and flawless laser hair removal. “Ah, no. Actually, I booked a flight back to Aster Valley.”
The silence in the room was so thick, I thought it might strangle me. And, quite frankly, I deserved it.
Because I hadn’t actually booked shit. I’d made it up on the spur of the moment when I thought about sitting in that stadium box watching Tiller get smashed to bits by another linebacker. I may not have been the world’s biggest football fan, but I knew the Steelers’ secondary well enough to know they ate cement blocks for breakfast just like the guys on their defensive line. And one more hit like the one he got against the Raiders and he could kiss his hotshot career goodbye forever.
Because of my dad and his incessant need to win.
“Really?” Tiller asked. I couldn’t quite figure out his mood from his tone, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to look at him. I’d probably break. I’d blubber out an apology and promise to come to every football game played on earth for as long as I lived.
“Mm-hm.” I busied myself adding more fresh parsley through the little hole in the top of the blender lid.
“Are you going to talk to the Civettis about the lodge?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me, but now that he mentioned it… that would be a good excuse for my trip. I shrugged. It wasn’t a lie if I actually did it.
“Wow. That’s… No one would do it better than you would, Mikey.”
I couldn’t read his eyes. “I mean, it’s all up in the air…” As in, I’d just invented it. “Who knows if or when it would even happen?”
He cleared his throat and nodded. “They’d be fools to turn you down. Have they made an offer on the property yet?”
Every question made my guilt flag flap more briskly in the lying-liar wind.
“I’m, ah, not sure?” I glanced over to see Sam’s knowing gaze piercing me. I shot him a look that warned retribution if he narc’d on me. “Anyway,” I said, looking everywhere but at him, “let’s eat.”
After dinner, Sam and Tiller went into the movie room to watch SportsCenter before our scheduled movie night. I snuck off to my room to do some quick emailing to see if I could arrange a time to talk to the Civettis.
I had mixed feelings about it. When the Civettis had originally floated the idea, I’d assumed it was too good to be true. Then, when Pim had confirmed the Civettis’ conversation in the diner, I’d realized maybe there was something to it. But the truth was… I hadn’t wanted to truly consider a life away from Tiller. I still didn’t.
My hands shook as I typed my request for a meeting. Even if the Civettis didn’t have any serious interest in me, it was a good excuse to go to Aster Valley and avoid the game. I wasn’t Tiller’s boyfriend. Not really. And if I went to that game, in front of my family no less, I’d be an obvious nervous wreck. There’d be no way my mom and brothers wouldn’t notice. My mom probably wouldn’t care. She adored Tiller. But my brothers? They’d notice and care very much. More than that, they’d tell Dad.
And Tiller would be shipped out, especially if his hand didn’t fully recover and his stats started to suffer from his injury. Being traded while down with an injury would be a huge step down in his career. Speculation would run rampant about the exact nature of his hand and the possibility he’d never be the Super Bowl–winning, Heisman-winning man he’d been before the bad hit.
I couldn’t let that happen.
My stomach wobbled with nerves. I wondered what would happen if I made a plea to my dad, if I told him this time was different. Unlike with Nelson, I had real feelings for Tiller. Surely my father would understand that? But what if my floating the idea was enough to make him take action against Tiller? Even if he didn’t trade him, he could treat him like shit on the field.