Page 34 of First Down Promise

Back at the hotel, I changed into an oversized soft sweater with a relaxed neckline that hangs off one of my shoulders and lightweight lounge shorts with a frilly hemline, and I’m too cozy to change now. So, I slip on a pair of slides over my calf-height fuzzy socks.

Maybe I’m overthinking this. He might want to hang out, but I rack my brain, trying to recall another time he wanted to see just me. One of the guys was always around too, and it doesn’t escape me how intimate a private hotel suite might be. Perhaps something embarrassing happened, and I’m his best option. I swear, if he just wants to say hi, I’ll scream bloody murder until the entire team comes out of their rooms.

Before I turn toward my hotel room’s door, I unbraid my hair so it lands at the small of my back in crimped waves. I also swipe on a bit of lip gloss and tap my cheeks for a little color.

Exiting my room, I slip my phone and room key into my pocket. I stare at the ceiling as I make my way down the hallway. The second floor is quiet, with Do Not Disturb hangers on some of the doors. Josh is five floors above mine, and most of the team is staying on the seventh floor. Pete included. Judging from Josh’s room number, Pete’s room is on the opposite end of the hall.

I arrive at the elevators, and before pressing the up button, I glance at each side of me to make sure no one is around. The elevator dings a moment later, and I exhale that the elevator is empty. If one of the players had been in the elevator, it would have raised some eyebrows, and I would have needed to come up with a reason to see Pete.

I enter and press seven, followed by the door close button. I should come up with a reason for being on their floor if I do accidentally bump into Pete or someone on the team, but as I search every corner of my mind, I come up empty-handed.

The elevator stops its ascent, and I suck in a breath because someone affiliated with the team could be on the other side of the elevator doors. But as the doors part, no one is there. It hasn’t really hit me yet that I’m about to go to Josh’s room. Stepping past the elevators, I glance down both hallways to see if they’re clear, and I freeze in my place.

What if the guys are hanging out, and Josh invited me to be nice? Pete had called me after the game and said he was beat, but Coop and Dane could be decompressing with Josh.

My shoulders slump because, of course, Josh would think to extend an invitation to me just to be nice, but I continue toward his room, anyway. This floor is also quiet, with the team recovering in their rooms after a brutal win and an early departure time in the morning. Knowing Pete is supposed to be on the other end of the floor makes me feel like I need to tiptoe down to Josh’s in case he doesn’t know about this invite.

Approaching the end of the hall, I brush my hair behind my ears and recall the mile-wide smile Josh gave me on the field earlier. It wasn’t an oh, hey kind of smile. It was a there you are one. I think. I swallow my butterflies and knock on the door gently.

Heavy footsteps approach from the other side of the door, and Josh answers with damp hair, wearing only a pair of gray joggers. Oh dear God. I’ve seen Josh shirtless more times than I can count, making me too familiar with the dusting of chest hair that trails down his abs, but the green and blue bruises on his side are new.

“Hey, you found me,” he says. He nods toward the room, moving out of the doorway, and I step past him as he shuts the door behind me. No Coop or Dane in sight.

His room is more luxurious, not that I mind my room. It was kind of Pete to buy me a flight to Wisconsin and book me a room. The hotel is fairly booked up, so I ended up with a humble king-bed suite. It’s a shoebox compared to Josh’s mini-apartment with a small kitchen and living area. Past the living area is a wide archway where a neatly made king bed sits. I’m the last girl he’d message for a hookup, so why am I here?

I clear my throat, turning to face him. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Did a cold plunge before we left the stadium, followed by a hot shower…took a handful of ibuprofen,” he answers. The routine makes me laugh under my breath because Pete usually has a similar one.

“I hope you don’t mean literally.”

“No, not really, but definitely prescription-strength. It’s finally kicking in,” he says as he plops down on the couch. “Want to sit? Make yourself at home.”

“Okay.”

I sit in the lounge chair opposite him and kick off my slides.

“What were you up to?” he asks, stretching his long arms along the back cushions of the couch. His knees are spread, and he could easily take up the whole couch if he wanted to. His spread legs almost look like enough of an invitation, but I keep my ass firmly planted.

I put my hands on my knees and lift my shoulders. “Um, nothing really. Just relaxing after the game.” I gesture at my barely coordinated outfit and rest my hand on my knee again. Josh just smiles softly and runs his hand over his damp hair. “Why’d you invite me up here?” I quietly ask. “Like, I kind of feel like I shouldn’t be in here…with you.” I glance up, and his dark eyes are focused on me. “Alone,” I add in a whisper.

“You’re not here with the squad.”

I fidget with the lace trim along the hemline of my lounge shorts, keeping my eyes low. “But I’m still on it.”

“I’ve known you almost as long as I’ve known Pete. You’re not random,” he says. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can go.” My heart sinks within me, but my gaze shoots up to try to read his expression.

“I didn’t say that, Josh.”

“Good.”

I plant my palms flat on my thighs, unable to find a comfortable sitting position. That damn lap of his looks too enticing, but I wouldn’t want to cross a boundary.

“So, what? You just wanted to hang out?” I ask.

“No, I wanted to talk to you.” My heartbeat pounds too loudly in my ears, but I try to keep a straight face. “I saw you…in the stands. You know that. We made eye contact. I don’t know if it’s CTE setting in or what, but I thought you were wearing my number.” He pauses and exhales a deep breath. “Then, I realized how badly I wished you were repping eighty-one instead of eleven.” He runs his hand over the stubble on his cheek. “And fuck, the way you smiled at me.”

“What about it?”