Eden.

  Just thinking her name does something to me. Spending time with her, letting someone see every cracked and unfinished part of my past without flinching—it lights me up from the inside out. It’s strange how something so simple can feel so powerful. Conversations that stretch longer than planned, silences that don’t need filling, laughter that comes easy. Someone who can relate to my childhood. Someone to share a meal with without expectations…. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until it was back in my life.

  My friends are wrong about Violet, about what they think my love for her was. That chapter of my life is complicated, and it always will be. But they’re right about something else. Something new. Someone new.

  Eden isn’t here to replace anything. She’s not a rewrite—she’s a reminder. My new friend is helping me piece myself back together in ways I didn’t know I needed. She’s giving me back something I thought I’d lost for good. The dreamer. The guy who used to smile without forcing it. The version of me who believed the future could actually be exciting instead of heavy.

  For the first time in a long while, I feel aligned with the path I’m on. Not because everything is perfect, but because it finally feels real. And that feeling—that quiet thrill of becoming myself again—is something worth embracing.

  One day soon, I need to come clean to my friends about my past. Maybe then they’ll truly understand. I let the rejection fester, and instead of fighting like I wanted to, like I knew I should, I let her walk away.

  I’ll tell them soon. Just not today.

  “So, Saturday,” Knox says, clearing his throat. “One o’clock. I’ll order in food, so you only need to bring yourselves. Everything else will be taken care of.”

  “Order extra,” Reid tells him. “That way, you and Corie can eat it for a few days and not have to cook.”

  Knox points at him. “Good plan.” Everyone chuckles, even me, and some of the tension fades away.

  Chapter Eight

  Eden

  * * *

  It’s a little after four when I make my way downstairs. I decided a deep clean was in order today, because you can only sweep, mop, and dust the exact spot that doesn't need it so many times. Instead, I stripped the beds in the guest rooms, those that no longer get used now that the guys are wifed up. Those are Foster’s words, not mine.

  Anyway, I stripped the beds, vacuumed the mattresses, washed the bedding and the curtains, and moved every single piece of furniture to sweep and mop. I wiped down the walls and baseboards, then put them all back. I’ve tackled every room upstairs—except for Foster’s. I need to ask him if he’s okay with me doing the same in there.

  Once in the laundry room closet, I put all the cleaning supplies away before washing my hands and stepping back into the kitchen. Foster walks in at the same time.

  “Hey.” I smile at him.

  “Done for the day?” he asks, placing his laptop next to him on the couch.

  “I am. Do you mind if I deep-clean your room next week? Vacuum the bed, wash the curtains, move all the furniture, that kind of thing?”

  “What? No. You don’t need to be tugging on all that heavy furniture,” he says, furrowing his brows.

  I laugh. “Foster, that’s what I do. It’s literally my job.”

  “It’s not your job to move heavy furniture.” He frowns as he stands from the couch and moves toward me.

  “So that’s a no?”

  “It’s not a no, but it’s an ‘I’ll help you.’”

  “I did just fine today on my own.”

  His face pales. “What? That’s what you’ve been up there doing all day? Moving heavy shit?”

  He’s truly upset about this, and he shouldn’t be. Taking the remaining steps that separate us, I’m standing before him. Reaching up, I rest my palm against his cheek. “It’s okay, big guy. I’m fine, as you can see. I know what I’m doing.”

  His hand covers mine, and I expect him to pull my hand away, but instead, he surprises me when he leans into my touch. “Not here. Not for me. I hate that you could have been hurt.”

  I smile and swallow back a laugh because he’s being ridiculous. “I’m perfectly fine, and next week, if you insist, you can help me with your room.”

  “That’s the only way it’s getting done. No more, Eden, you hear me?”

  “Chill out, Iron Man,” I tease. “I was in no danger of hurting myself. I might be tiny, but I’m stronger than I look.” My words do nothing to take the scowl away. “How about I make you some dinner before I head home?” I offer, pulling my hand from his cheek. He keeps his hand on my wrist, not letting me go.

  “No. Not after all you did today.” His tone is clipped, but I know he’s not mad at me. He’s mad at the situation, for reasons I don’t understand. I was literally just doing my job.

  “You don’t even know what I did today.”

  “You moved heavy shit while I sat down here on my ass, watching game clips.”

  Ah, so that’s the issue. He feels guilty? He shouldn’t. This is what I do. We’ve become… friends, or closer, and he feels guilty. “So, we both did our jobs, then?” I say, tugging my hand free and crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Eden.”

  The way he says my name, it’s not quite a warning, but it feels like one. So, of course, I sass back. “Foster.” I mimic his tone.

  He stares at me for several long seconds, and I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. You’re not cooking.”

  “Fine. I want pepperoni and bacon.”

  “Fine.” He smirks as he goes back toward the couch, grabs his phone, and calls in the order. He gets a large pepperoni and bacon, and a large meat lover’s, with a family-size order of breadsticks.

  “Are you feeding anyone other than the two of us?” I ask him.

  “No, why?”

  “Foster!” I laugh. “That’s so much food.”

  He shrugs. “Everyone loves leftover pizza.”

  “That’s a lot of leftovers.”

  “I didn’t want you to be hungry.”

  “I can’t eat an entire pizza by myself.” I chuckle.

  “Then you can take it home, and you can have leftovers.” He plops down onto the couch and pats the cushion next to him. “Let’s watch something while we wait.”

  “What are we watching?” I ask, kicking off my shoes and sitting on the couch. I leave the cushion next to him open because he’s being all cute and protective, and I’m already crushing on this man. I don’t need his nearness to tempt me, as if one couch cushion is a lot of space to keep us apart. It’s a big-ass couch, but still very little space.

  “I’ve been watching film all day, so anything besides football.”

  “Foster Vaughn! Don’t let your coach or your teammates hear you say that,” I tease.

  “Trust me, they’d understand.” He stares at the television as he scrolls through our options. “Scary? Action? Rom-com? What are you feeling, Eden?” he asks.

  “I really don’t care. I don’t watch much television.”

  “No?” He turns to face me. “What do you do other than work and visit the children’s home?”

  “I like to read.”

  He nods. “What’s your favorite genre to read?”

  My face heats. I don’t know why. I’m not embarrassed, but damn, I don’t usually have this conversation with a sexy-as-sin professional athlete either. “Romance.”

  “What’s this about?” Even though we’re a cushion apart, his long arms can reach me as his thumb lightly feathers across my cheek. “Why are you blushing?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t usually talk about the books that I read with anyone but Carrie.”

  “Do you blush with her?”

  “No.” I shake my head, and his hand falls away.

  “Maybe I should read one.”

  “What? No. That’s a terrible idea.”

  “Why? Because I’m a jock, I can’t read?”

  “No. I know you can read, Foster, but you don’t need to read what I read. Be your own man,” I say, huffing out a nervous laugh.

  “I am my own man. And I want to read one of your books. I need an author’s name and title,” he tells me, his phone poised and ready to enter the information. “I need your favorite.”

  He stares me down until I cave. “Fine, but listen here, mister. We don’t discuss it. I don’t care what you think, or how you feel about what happens—just no. I’ll give you the author and the title, but you keep your comments to yourself.”

  “But what if I need a book buddy to talk to about it?”

  “Find one. Not me.” I point to my chest. “This is a terrible idea,” I mumble.

  Foster laughs. Not just a chuckle. No, this is a whole-body, shaking-the-couch, contagious kind of laugh, and it’s endearing. He’s even sexier with his eyes lit up with happiness. He finally composes himself and nods for me to go ahead.

  “Harper Fleming. Love Binds Us.”

  “That sounds kinky.” He winks.

  I shrug, and his grin grows even wider. I point an index finger at him. “Not a word.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says as the doorbell rings. “That’s dinner.”

  “That was fast.”

  “About thirty minutes, give or take.”

  Damn, it feels like seconds, maybe a couple of minutes tops, since he called in the order, but I guess when you’re too busy trying to distance yourself from him and protect your reading privacy, time flies.

  “Let’s eat in here. I’ll grab some plates and napkins. What do you want to drink?” Foster asks as he places the pizza on the coffee table.

  “I can help.” I stand and follow him into the kitchen.

  “Plates are in the pantry.” He nods toward the pantry as he takes a stack of napkins from the holder on the island. “But you already know that.” He chuckles and opens the refrigerator. He starts rattling off options.

  “Just a soda for me. I have to drive home.”

  “Right.” He nods, grabbing me a soda and a water for himself.

  “Do you even drink soda?” I ask him.

  “Nah, not usually. I do like sweet tea, though.”

  “Why do you have it?”

  “Guests. I don’t have them often, but when I do, I like to offer them drinks. Although since the guys have been settling down, our get-togethers are usually at one of their places. They’ve been on me to buy a house next to them.”

  “Are they all neighbors?” I think he mentioned that to me once before.

  “No, but they live close. Within walking distance in a gated community. It’s nice, but the houses are massive, and I don’t need a mansion for just me.”

  “Says the man who lives in a two-story four-bedroom condo, with an attached garage.”

  He chuckles. “Trust me, Eden, this place looks like home for peasants, compared to their houses.”

  “If you say so. My entire one-bedroom apartment would fit into your living room.” I follow him back to the couch, where he tosses two slices of pizza and a breadstick onto my plate, before doing the same for him.

  “All right, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He points the remote at the television, and a popular rom-com fills the screen.

  I smile behind my bite of pizza as we settle in to watch a movie.

  “Now what do you want to watch?” he asks.

  “I should head home. Get out of your hair.”

  “You should stay. We should watch another movie, and I’m pretty sure I have ice cream in the freezer.”

  I gasp. “Is that on the meal plan, sir?”

  He chuckles. “It’s the offseason, remember? I can indulge from time to time.”

  “Oh, like that half a pizza and three breadsticks you demolished?”

  He lifts his T-shirt to show me his abs. “I think I’m good,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower octave, while I try like hell not to swallow my tongue, because damn… abs for days on this one.

  “Yeah,” I agree, turning my gaze back to the television. “I think so, too.” I know so, but I can’t tell him that. Damn, am I drooling? I fake a yawn to check.

  “Come on. One more movie. Unless you have plans.”

  “No plans. I’m going with Carrie tomorrow to get a pedicure, but that’s it. What about you?”

  “It’s Knox and Corie’s wedding anniversary. He’s demanded our presence tomorrow for dinner. Not that all of us wouldn’t have agreed to be there anyway. It’s at one, though, so it’s really lunch, but that’s a technicality.”

  “Some could call lunch dinner.”

  “Do you?”

  I grin. “Nope.”

  “Phew, okay, we can still be friends.” He winks.

  “Is that what you call this? Call us? Friends?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  “Yeah, I mean, I know you work for the agency, but you don’t work for me directly, right? Friends hang out, share meals together.”

  “Meals you make or buy. This seems one-sided.”

  “Hey, you brought breakfast this week.”

  “I did, but I had to get here almost an hour early. If I told you I was bringing it, you would have protested.”

  “So, I’m old-school.”

  “That would be sweet if we were dating, but we’re not. I clean your house.” I mean, let’s call a spade a spade here. Besides, saying the words out loud, reminding myself that this crush of mine can’t go anywhere, is what I need to do to keep my heart in check.

  “We talk, and we share meals, and we go places together. We’re friends.” He says it as if his word is gospel, with no room for argument. It’s fine, as long as I keep reminding myself that this crush won’t go any further.

  I stand to clean our mess, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist to stop me. “Sit, Eden. You’re not working. It’s after hours, and I want to watch a movie with my friend.” The look in his eyes, paired with the gentle timbre of his voice, has me parking my ass back on the couch. This time, I’m sitting a little closer than before. He adjusts his position and ends up even closer.

  It’s fine.

  Everything is fine.

  I’m a big girl. I can handle sitting next to him. He’s just a man.

  A sexy, sweet, kind, funny, caring man.

  Shit.

  Another movie starts, and I force myself to relax and enjoy it. This is the best-case scenario. I get to spend time with him with no pressure, no expectations, and no chance of getting my heart broken.

  Not fifteen minutes in, a chill washes over me, and I shiver. Foster hops off the couch and races upstairs. He’s back in no time with the softest blanket I’ve ever felt and tosses it over my lap. He doesn’t stop there. He, too, slides beneath the cover, putting us in even closer proximity. The left side of my body is aligned with his right.

  Everything is not fine.

  His masculine smell washes over me, and I make a mental note to look at the cologne he wears. Then again, maybe it’s his body wash? Laundry detergent? Whatever it is, it’s heavenly, and I find myself leaning into him.

  That’s how he ends up wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him. No words are exchanged as I rest my head against his chest, and we watch the rest of the movie.

  This time, when the credits roll, I’m not quick to stand. I need to. I need to detach myself from him and go home, but I linger just a few seconds longer than required. When I tell myself this is the final second, he runs his hand gently down my back.

  “Good movie,” he rumbles, his voice thick. Sexy.

  “Yeah,” I agree as I sit up. He doesn’t try to stop me, and I’m torn. Part of me is glad, and the other wants him to carry me to his bed and have his way with me.

  It’s past time for me to go, with thoughts like that racing through my head.

  Standing, I clean up our mess, place all the leftover pizza into one box, and slide it onto a shelf in his massive fridge. By the time I make it back to the living room, he has the blanket folded and tossed over the back of the couch, and he lifts his arms and runs his fingers through his hair.

  “It’s late. You could stay.”

  Oh, how I wish I could stay. “Thank you, but I don’t have far to go. Besides, you need your beauty sleep for your big day tomorrow.”

  A deep rumble of laughter fills the air around us. “Just hanging out with the guys and their families.”

  “Either way, we should both get some rest. Thank you for dinner and the movies. It was a nice night.” I step into him and wrap my arms around him in a hug. Foster doesn’t disappoint as he hugs me back, his strong arms locking around me.

  “Next time,” I say, pulling out of our embrace, “dinner is on me.”

  “We’ll see.” He chuckles.

  I point at him. “I mean it.” I give him a stern look before picking up my shoes and walking toward the door. I make quick work of shoving them into my bag and sliding into the others.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he rasps right behind me. His hand finds its way to the small of my back. “Text me and let me know you got home okay.”

  “It’s not that late,” I tease.

  “Eden.”

  “Fine, Mr. Vaughn, I’ll check in when I get home,” I say over my shoulder, reaching for the handle of the door.

  He leans forward, placing his lips next to my ear, and murmurs, “Good girl.”

  Shit.

  My entire body shivers. I don’t know if it’s from his hot breath or his words. Either way, it’s way past time for me to go. With a turn of the handle, I step out onto the front porch. I want to look back, but I keep moving toward my car, not giving in to temptation.

  “Text me!” he calls, and I turn at the last second on instinct, and see him standing on the front porch, barefoot, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes laser-focused on me.

  “Night, Mr. Vaughn.”

  “Good night, Eden,” he rasps.

  I don’t remember the drive home. However, as soon as I’m in my apartment, I reach for my phone and text him.

  * * *