When I was little, I watched my parents interact with each other, as I’m sure most kids did. I remember them holding hands sometimes, and quick kisses on the lips and cheek. I remember my dad’s arm around my mom and her head on his shoulder when we would snuggle on the couch to watch a movie. They loved each other. I know they did. But standing here, watching Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, I’m wondering if I even know what that means.

As soon as my foot hit the last stair, Nate snapped his fingers and said he’d be down in a second, before deserting me and running back up the stairs. I shrugged it off and followed the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, only pausing when I heard a soft whisper, followed by warm laughter.

So now, here I sit, perched on the edge of a floral print couch, watching two people I know virtually nothing about, float across the cherry hardwood floors in the gentlest sway I’ve ever seen. Their noses are kissing, their eyes shining into each other’s souls as thier lips move in a beautifully private conversation. They’re oblivious to my spying eyes - as they should be in an ambrosial moment like this.

His arms are wrapped tight around her, her palms resting on his chest as if she can’t fathom the thought of not touching him.

My chest tightens. The sight is too tender, too raw and real.

The love between these two strangers is pouring off them in sovereign waves, and I’m about to drown.

When her smile widens as he leans in, I turn away, not wanting to steal any pieces from her. That’s when I see Nate standing behind me, a soft, adoring smile on his face. But his eyes aren’t on his parents; they’re on me.

I turn back toward the kitchen, not understanding why, but needing nonetheless to try to experience such a passionate, unyielding love - if only ever by sight.

But when I turn, finding Mr. Monroe running his fingertips down his wife’s temple, watching as he gently sweeps her dark hair behind her ear, all the blood in my body runs cold and I fly off the couch.

Nate sees it, the moment I’m about to bolt.

He’s quick.

I don’t get a step away before his hands are cupping my cheeks and he’s kissing me, soft and slow. Slow and soft.

The muscles in my body start to warm, slowly releasing tension with each stroke of his tongue against mine, and suddenly I’m melting against him.

“Kids?”

We break apart when his mother calls out.

With a wink, Nate reaches for my hand, which I high five and walk past.

As soon as we come into view, a beautiful smile takes over his mother’s face. She wipes her hands against her apron and steps in front of me.

“Hi, Lolli. It’s nice to meet you,” she beams.

And I smile back, a completely genuine smile I didn’t know I had, not missing she called me Lolli, and not Kalani, as her son does.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Monroe.”

“Oh, no…” She laughs and walks around the kitchen island. “Call me Sara.” She pulls out several coffee mugs. “And this guy…” she hip-checks her husband as he sets some creamer down beside her, “is Ian. We’ll expect nothing else.”

“Alright,” I laugh and hop up onto the bar stool across from where they stand. As soon as my butt hits the stool, the name clicks and I gape at Mr. Monroe.

“Ian Monroe?” I raise an eyebrow and Nate chuckles beside me.

“Uh-huh.” His dad narrows his eyes in a playful challenge, one I’m betting he thinks I’ll fall flat on. He’s so wrong.

“Wow.” My eyes widen. “Two-time College Bowl MVP.” I nod my head, impressed by the memory. “You still hold the record for the most sacks in a college championship game.”

With a shake of my head, I laugh, continuing, “That last sack, when you made Henry Michaels fumble the ball and Tommy Brown picked it up, running it back for a game-winning defensive touchdown…that’s movie shit right there.”

“You a stats girl?” Ian tilts his head, gauging me.

“I’m a defense girl.” I shrug. “And I remember the good stuff. Store it in my brain for times like these,” I tell him, tapping my head with my pointer finger.

His dad grins from ear to ear, his chest puffing out slightly.

“Oh, holy hell…” Sara mutters. “She’s perfect.”

My eyes fly to her and her stunned face slowly transforms into a big, bright smile that radiates through her eyes.

Nate leans over and kisses my temple, a proud grin on his face.

I don’t miss the quick glance both his parents throw his way as he does it.

“We heard you were a fan of the game, but that...” Sara laughs, handing me a mug.

“Fan doesn’t quite cover it.” I grin. “But yes, I love football.”

“Why is that?” Mr. Monroe – Ian - quips, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Fans fade for hundreds of different reasons.” I take a slow sip of my coffee, savoring the rich creaminess, all the while biding time.

“Me and football, we go way back. I was literally on the field in the womb.” I laugh lightly, looking out the large window that overlooks the hillside. “Football’s more a way of life than anything else, in my eyes anyway. I love the hot summer days and cool winter nights. The ambience of the crowd is enough to excite you sometimes, and the smell. But the dedication behind each player,” I smile, “that’s my favorite part. It’s a controllable magic, driven by pure determination that most people take for granted.” I shrug, facing forward again.

All three sets of eyes are on me, all wearing completely different expressions, each one overwhelming in their own way.

I clear my throat. “Well, all that and a bunch of muscles in tight wrapping,” I joke, bumping Nate’s shoulder.

Nate groans, Ian grins, and Sara throws her head back with a laugh.

Crisis averted.

“I bet that will be a treat come college, grown men in tight pants,” Sara winks at me. “For you and me both.”

“Not funny, woman,” Ian scowls at his wife. Walking up behind her, he wraps his arms around her possessively and pulls her against him. She laughs, dropping her head back, allowing him to kiss her forehead, and Nate’s arm chooses that moment to snake around me. I force myself to keep my breathing steady.

Sara smiles at me, her eyes dropping to Nate’s hand around my body, catching his fingertips brushing up and down my ribs, then back to mine with a newfound softness in them. “Would you stay for dinner?”

Before I can decline, because I was planning on it, both Nate and Ian answer for me. “She’ll stay,” Nate says, as Ian blurts out, “’Course she will.”

My mouth drops open, and I look to Sara, who’s laughing lightly. “How the hell do you survive with two Alphas in one pack?”

She steps away from her husband, placing an oven mitt over her right hand. “I had Kenra to help me balance ‘em out.” She pulls a heavenly smelling dish from the oven. “Now I’m outnumbered and losing my mind.” She laughs, smacking Ian’s hand when he tries to pick an olive off the top of the cheesy concoction.

“Just so we’re clear,” Ian raises an eyebrow. “I am the Alpha.”

“Got it.” I hide my smile while Nate rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, we’re sitting around a picnic-style kitchen table, eating Nate’s mom’s ‘Chicken Enchilada Pie’.

“So,” Sara begins, and my mind starts screaming, telling me it’s time to bow out, but I force a welcoming smile instead, “you have a very beautiful name.”

“Thank you.” I cut a glance at Nate, unsure of what to do here. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not so sure I can get through a ‘let’s get to know you’ conversation, as simple as it may be.

His eyes lock on mine, and he brushes his thigh against me, somehow easing my mind in the process. When a deep breath leaves me, he drops his head, grinning into his plate as he goes in for a bite.

Shithead.

“Um,” I clear my throat, turning back to Sara. “My parents spent a lot of their time in Hawaii. I guess, on their first trip back after finding out I was on the way, the first person to greet them off the plane was a beautiful woman with dark hair and light eyes named Kalani. They said it was a sign. The fact that I was born with dark hair and light eyes was somehow confirmation it was meant to be.” I laugh lightly, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork. “Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that I look just like my mom. My parents were total hippies,” I tell them, rolling my eyes, earning laughs all around.

“Do you not share that?” Sara tilts her head, her soft eyes shining in my direction. “Not believe in fate?” Her question is genuine, so I answer.

“Not really, no. That would mean that all the bad happens so, in the end, one good thing can. I don’t see how so many negatives could ever be worth one positive.”

“Sometimes the answers aren’t so simple,” Ian offers softly. “Sometimes we go through things we shouldn’t so, in the end, we come out stronger.”

“But are we?” I hold his gaze. “Stronger? Or are we so broken that at the first sign of ‘good’, we latch on in hopes to forget the bad? To erase it as if that makes it any better? That’s not being strong, that’s confirming you’re weak.”

“It’s called healing, Lolli, not forgetting. Not erasing. There’s always an up after a down,” he says quietly, and Nate squeezes my thigh under the table. “It just takes some of us a little longer to find it, that’s all.”

Aaand bonding time is over.

I laugh it off. This is just a conversation, right?

So why do I want to scream?

With a polite smile, I stand, and nod at both Ian and Sara. “Thank you for dinner and everything today, but I should go.” I turn to Nate. “I’ll call Parker and wait outside for him.”

Nate’s eyes narrow and I can see he’s about to argue, so I narrow mine in return, sending him a silent message.

You really want to do this right here, right now?

He knows exactly what I just thought, and he doesn’t give a shit.

His sexy, troublemaking, panty-wetting smirk takes over his handsome face, and he stands to tower over me, forcing my head to lift.

“I’m taking you. Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you out front,” he tells me, before spinning and leaving me standing there.

Stubborn, sexy bastard.

Ian’s roar of laughter has my head swinging in his direction. I glance at Sara and find her trying to hold back her snickers.

“My internal monologue doesn’t seem to work when it comes to him.”

Sara grins, placing her hand over Ian’s. “I have the same problem.”

Right.

I go to lift my plate from the table.

“Please,” Sara’s hand comes out, her smile only growing, “leave it.”

I wave at Ian, who’s still wiping tears from his eyes and head for the door.

Once I step onto the porch, my feet carry me to the swing. Running my fingertips over the blanket, I smile, dropping myself down slowly. The moment my eyes close, I hear footsteps, and the open again to find Ian standing before me.

“Care for a swing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I don’t much feel like sharing this place with Nate’s dad, but it’s his house, and his and his wife’s swing, after all. “Sure.” I incline my head and pat the seat next to me.

He gives a few pushes before speaking. “About two years ago, I was on a business trip in California.” Shit. “I ran into an old friend from college while I was there,” he says softly and my body grows tense. “He played for the Tomahawks, my friend.”

“He must have been a good football player,” I respond, not looking at him.

I see him nod in my peripheral. “He sure was. His coach told him he was a Ferrari with nitrous - inconceivable and priceless.”

I bust up laughing, a breaking feeling hitting my chest at the same time, because those words are to a T. “Arthur Miller, running back. First round draft pick.”

Ian nods. “Arthur Miller. He was on his way to his coach’s, or former coach turned owner’s, funeral the day I saw him.”

I nod, my eyes searching for imperfections in the wood grains on the porch ceiling.

“He doesn’t realize, does he?”

“I’m no liar, Mr. Monroe.” I purposely go with his last name. “If he ever asked, I’d tell him, but it’s completely unnecessary and insignificant. I don’t like people knowing about my life because it’s my business. I’ve shared things with him I haven’t shared with anyone – not that that’s your business - but some things aren’t factors in who I am, and that’s one of them.” I shrug. “So, I now own half of a professional football team. So, my grandfather has two Super Bowl rings and was inducted into the Hall of Fame. Who cares that my parents owned and operated the number one sports photography company in the country. While those things are awesome, they’re mine.”

He’s quiet for a minute or two, before he turns to me.

I meet his stare head on.

“You’re right, Lolli.” His eyes soften as he nods, but it’s quickly replaced with a huge grin. “I like you,” he says, making all the tension roll off me and a laugh escape.

“Five minutes, Dad, and you’re already hitting on my girl?” Nate walks up with a bag of what I’m assuming are my wet clothes in his hand.

Ian relaxes against the wood, laying his arm across the back of the swing. “Your girl, huh?” He bumps my shoulder and I roll my eyes.

“He keeps saying that,” I grumble, making both the heaven-sent, handsome, freaks of nature laugh.

“You are my girl.” Nate grins.

“No, I’m not. I’m my own girl.” I jump up, frowning. “Take my ass home.”

Ian, who is laughing his ass off, yells out, “Night, Lolli. Come back soon.”

I don’t bother turning around, but wave over my head and walk down to the last step, freezing there when I realize I have no shoes on and there’s a huge puddle at the bottom.

Nate notices and jogs over to me with an electric smile, thrusting his arms out.

“You really want me to jump into your arms with your dad watching?”

He nods, his grin growing, and I can’t help but laugh.

I place my hands on his shoulders and he gently lifts me off the ground, my legs wrapping around him for support. I bury my face in his neck so his dad doesn’t see the jolt of lust that has instantly taken over me. My body better get a grip and quick, because this shit’s ridiculous.

When I’m set gently into the seat, a soft kiss placed to my forehead, I have the strangest, most unwelcome, foolish thought. A girl could get used to this.

A few hours later, after tons of snacks and nonsense, Nate starts to rub at his eyes.

“Alright.” He throws down his cards and drops onto his back against the carpet. “You win. I quit.” He throws an arm over his face.

I uncross my legs and sit back onto my knees. “How convenient of you to concede when I’m seconds away from ‘Uno’.”

“Any other girl would let me win.” Angling his head toward me, he offers me a bemused smile.

I laugh, popping a Skittle in my mouth. “That’s because they have an ulterior motive.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me on top of him.

Laughing harder, I peer down at him as he absentmindedly runs his fingers through the tips of my hair.

“And you don’t?” he stares at me.

“All I want,” I lick my lips and watch his eyes dilate, “is to win.” I smile and start to pull back, but he’s quicker, and rolls us until my back is against the carpet and he’s hovering over me.

He plays with my hair some more, while looking into my eyes. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“None of your business.” I grin, placing my hands on each side of his ribs.

“You’re still meeting us at Wicker for lunch, right?”

Right, lunch. Parker and Mia mentioned it.

I nod.

He smiles, his hand sliding across my cheek to tuck my hair behind my ear as he tends to do, only this time, he holds steady. The gentle caress of his fingers behind my ear has me leaning into his embrace.

His eyes raid mine as he flattens his palm against my cheek.

There’s something in them. Something flowing through him, radiating off him, that he’s trying to show me or wants me to catch, that I can’t quite reach. His deep brown eyes hold a promise that I can’t figure out, and I don’t dare ask.

And when he lowers his head to kiss me, gentle and slow, a crack between my breasts has me gasping, followed by a tightness in my ribs I don’t quite understand.

He pulls back, kissing my forehead gently, before jumping to his feet. I take his extended hand and allow him to pull me off the floor.

“I’ll pick you up at noon.”

I nod.

He walks out the front door. “Goodnight, Kalani.”

As soon as I hear him pull out of the drive, I throw on some sweats and my running shoes, and walk outside, not bothering to grab a sweater, my phone, or lock the house. Sure, it’s past midnight, but what do I care?

My brain is on overdrive and I need to shut shit down.

I run until the only thing on my mind is the pain in my calves and feet.

Until my limbs are physically incapable of carrying me any further.

Until I’m numb.