I teased.
He shrugged, but light danced in his eyes. It was infectious.
“What else?” I asked.
“Cooking,” he said. “Chopping wood.”
I laughed so loud I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to not make a scene.
“What’s so funny?” he asked through his smile.
“Not what I expected you to say.” I beamed up at him. “A mountain man.”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But my family has a house by the lake. And my brothers and I would chop wood for the winter, and take turns cooking for our parents.” He spun us before drawing me in closer.
The picture he painted was much closer to the Nixon I’d associated with my time in Vegas—humble, a bit broody, but calm and confident at the same time. Not the one who posed for the cameras or made speeches at press conferences.
“Sounds amazing,” I said.
“I’d love to show you sometime,” he said, and I stiffened slightly in his embrace.
We’d never talked about the future. Not in any true depth. Too many unanswered questions revolved around the life we’d live once the baby came.
“If you’d like,” he hurried to add, clearing his throat. “When the season is over, and classes are done, and you have time…”
Was he rambling? I gazed up at him, biting back my smile.
“What?” he huffed as he stared down at me.
I shook my head before resting my head against his chest as we continued to slowly rock back and forth to the beat of the music. “Seeing your home by the lake sounds more fun than this party,” I teased.
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled. “Thanks for enduring it with me.”
I squeezed him lightly because I honestly didn’t have the right words to say. Something was shifting inside me, more than the baby that was made from pieces of us. Something hopeful and warm and inviting. Something with a line this side of dangerous and twice as reckless than I usually danced on.
“I don’t like some of the things here,” I said. “The dating-a-celebrity game,” I clarified. “Like a sport with money being the sole motivator, not actual affection…”
He nodded, going slightly still under my touch.
“But?” he asked when I didn’t continue.
I shifted so I could meet his eyes. “But, I am starting to like Nixon Noble.”
The smile that shaped his lips was real and raw and open, and it sent a wave of warm chills over my skin.
“I’m starting to like you too, Liberty Jones.”
An hour later, when the party was done, and we were home, I laid in my separate bedroom, replaying those words over and over in my head and wished like hell they didn’t make my heart soar as high as they did.
Because it would only have that much farther to fall in the end.
7
Nixon
There was something about the first home game of the regular season that always gave me goosebumps, and today was no different. There was a palpable energy in the air as we waited at the field’s entrance, anxious to be unleashed.
Ahead of us, the cheerleaders ran through the tunnel as smoke blew from the metal arches, and then the refs headed out.
It was time.
“And here they are, led by head coach Paul Goodman—” the announcers started.
“Let’s go, boys!” Coach yelled as he started to jog for the entrance.
We took off after him.
“Your! Raleigh! Raptors!” The speakers blared as we came through the tunnel. The crowd rose to a roar—the pyro flared from the arches, filling my nose with the acrid scent of fireworks—and my heart fucking soared like it had wings of its own. The sun beat down, shining off the gold stripes in our helmets, and the turf felt solid beneath my cleats. I loved playing at home.
There was no beating this moment—when the season was fresh, the possibilities were endless, and we were undefeated. Well, maybe a Super Bowl win would beat it…and maybe this was our year.
We ran to the fifty-yard line as the music blared, then turned for the sideline. The crowd didn’t die down until Roman, Hendrix, and I headed out for the coin toss. There were four gold stars under the C just below my right shoulder, two beneath Hendrix’s and three beneath Roman’s. We were the heartbeat of this team.
The cameras got out of our way as we stood across from Miami’s captains, and the ref started in on his pregame speech. Miami called heads, then the silver dollar spun in the air and landed on the green just in front of our feet.
“It is tails,” the ref