I am a nervous wreck.

No, seriously, I feel all hopped up on caffeine and I haven’t drunk a drop since this morning’s first and only cup of coffee. Cade has been a perfect gentleman during the entire sometimes-frustrating-because-of-awful-five-o’clock-traffic drive to the stadium, not asking me any questions about my past with Jordan, which I appreciate. He’s accepting of the entire situation, though he did express worry as we approached the will call window.

“You sure those tickets are going to be there for us?”

“Yes,” I say with as much positivity as I can muster. Deep down, I’m scared the lady at the window is going to laugh when I give her my name and tell me, “As if.”

But she doesn’t. I say my name, show her my ID and she hands over an envelope with my name handwritten on it in an unrecognized scrawl. “Go through that entrance,” she tells me, and points toward a gate that has hardly anyone near it but two big burly security guards.

I show one of the burly dudes our tickets and he gives me a skeptical look, even though his eyes are covered by mirrored sunglasses. Cade doesn’t say a thing, and I’m thankful he’s not making a big deal out of this.

But oh my God, it feels like such a big deal. I haven’t seen Jordan in the flesh since we were nineteen. We’re twenty-five now. It’s been six years. Six long years. And though I saw him for a few minutes on that FaceTime call and I see him pretty much every Sunday or when I’m watching ESPN, which is more often than you’d think, it’s not the same as actually being with him.

“Tuttle’s been the quarterback for only two seasons,” Cade says as we make our way to the private suite where we’re going to watch the game. The hallway is mostly empty, and I know we missed the start of the game, which bums me out. “He replaced Drew Callahan when he was picked up.”

“I remember Drew Callahan.” Gorgeous. Excellent QB. “Did the Niners trade him?” I am totally faking. I know exactly what happened. I just don’t want to seem like a total Jordan Tuttle stalker.

“No way. Callahan was amazing,” Cade says wistfully. “Had a couple of injuries and he decided that was enough. He retired early, and now he’s a commentator on the Football Network.”

“That’s awesome,” I murmur as we keep walking, drinking in our surroundings. Our footsteps echo down the hall and I can hear the roar of the stadium crowd in the near distance, the announcer telling them something I can’t quite make out.

“Do you come and watch the games?” Cade asks, sending me a suspicious look.

Right. If I went to the Niner games all the time, I would totally look like a Jordan Tuttle stalker. But luckily enough I can answer…

“No. My dad took us to a couple of the games when they were still at Candlestick Park, but that was forever ago.” Back when he would get free season tickets from one of the guys he worked with who didn’t want to go to the “boring” games. We made a day trip of it, Dad taking us kids while Mom stayed home since there were only four tickets. It was a lot of fun, but we were only able to do it twice.

“That’s cool, that you were able to go to Candlestick,” Cade says. The stadium had been torn down years ago.

“It was a lot of fun,” I agree, feeling nostalgic. Everything about the last few days has me feeling nostalgic, like I’m taking a stroll down memory lane.

“Oh look, here’s the suite,” I say, my voice coming out high pitched. I’m terrified, my hands shaking as Cade pushes the door open for me. I walk in first, gazing around the cavernous room filled with people. There’s a table to the right covered with food, a bar set up to the left with two men serving drinks.

And ahead of us, a giant window that looks out onto the field, stadium seating directly in front of it.

“Wow,” Cade says with a low whistle as we both stop and stare. The first quarter is almost over, and we can see the players out on the field. He’s staring at them in wide-eyed wonder, looking like an excited little boy, and I can’t help but feel the same way.

I’m going to see Jordan tonight. Face to face. In the flesh. We’ll be in the same room. Sharing the same air.

God, I feel a little faint.

“Hello, are you guests with us tonight?” A very tall, very pretty blonde woman stops in front of us, a friendly smile pasted on her face. “May I see your tickets, please?”

“Yes, we are.” I hand the envelope over and the woman checks our tickets, then hands the envelope back over, which I stuff in my purse.

“Perfect. I’m your suite’s 49er Ambassador for the evening, and I’m so happy to have you. As you can see, we have our buffet.” She waves her hand like a game show hostess showing off the prizes. “And there’s plenty to drink, including alcoholic beverages. All of it is complimentary.”

“Thank you. It looks great,” Cade says with an enthusiastic nod.

“Don’t forget to check out the stadium seating so you can watch the game up close. We hope you have a great time,” she says, her smile growing, showing off a straight row of perfect white teeth. “Enjoy your evening!”

The moment she walks away, Cade has his hand on my elbow, guiding me toward the buffet table. “Let’s get some food,” he suggests. “I’m starving.”

I’m too nervous to eat, but I grab some crackers and cheese, a little dab of hummus and some carrots. We head over to the bar and the cute bartender hands me a glass of white wine with a wink and a smile. I go and stand with Cade in the corner of the room, watching as he downs chicken wings slathered in buffalo sauce and dipped in ranch.

“Are they any good?” I ask, wincing when he almost drops the half-eaten wing on his shirt.

“Delicious,” he says, setting his beer on the table beside us so he can wipe his mouth with a napkin. At least he grabbed a napkin. The last guy I dated—and we went on exactly two dates—was anti-hygiene. As in, he didn’t believe in deodorant because it was poison, he confessed to me he rarely bathed, and he basically lived in a dump with five other guys. He was a total dirt bag.

Lena has told me I make bad choices when it comes to men. I thought Cade would meet her approval and he did—to the point that she likes him more than I do. I still feel guilty about her lunchtime confession. And I hate that she saw Cade kiss me on the cheek after I asked him to go to the game. I don’t know how long she was listening to our conversation, or if she actually heard me talk to him about tonight’s game. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her the rest of the afternoon since we were so busy with appointments.

I’ll have to talk to her tomorrow and clear the air. Hopefully she’s not mad at me…

“You’re not eating,” Cade says, knocking me from my thoughts.

I glance down at my still pitifully full plate “I’m not very hungry.”

“Too bad, what with all the free food they’re offering.” He downs his beer, polishing it off. “Want another drink?”

“Um, no thanks.” I want to tell him to slow down on the drinking, that he’s driving tonight, but I keep my mouth shut. The evening is young, and I don’t want to be a nag. It’s not like I’m his mama.

He tosses his plate in the trash and heads for the bar, and I watch him go before dropping my gaze to my plate filled with food I’m never going to eat. So I toss it in the trash too.

The bar is crowded. I know Cade is going to be waiting a while, so I make my way to the stadium seating, smiling politely at everyone I pass. I don’t know a single soul in this place. I have no idea who any of these people are, though some of them look important. Rich. Most of the men are wearing their Niner gear, though there are a couple of guys in full blown suits. Many of the women have massive diamonds in their ears and their giant boobs stretch their blinged-out Niner shirts tight across their chests. They examine me as I walk past, making me self-conscious.

I feel like the odd woman out in my Atlas Wellness Center polo and my faded black pants and my black Nikes. At least the polo is red, right? I’m sort of wearing Niner colors…

There’s an empty seat at the far end of the first seat row and I settle into it, my eyes never leaving the field, searching out the number eight on a red-and-white jersey.

He got to keep his number. Eight is great, after all. I still have Tuttle’s old high school jersey. I bet I could fetch a lot of money for it if I put it on eBay…

Like I would ever do that.

Ah. There he is. Out on the field, his butt looking extra fine in those gold uniform pants, not that I’m checking him out or anything. I watch him get in a huddle with his teammates and I wonder what they think of him. Do they respect him? Back in high school, he earned respect without hardly doing a thing. Like him or hate him, most everyone was at the very least drawn to him. He had a certain kind of magnetism that can’t be described.

I bet he still has it. That gravitational pull that makes everyone want to be near him. The same pull that makes every woman he encounters want to be with him. I’m sure it’s still there. That’s not something that’s just…snuffed out like a lit match. It burns forever within him.

And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m dying to see if there’s a spark still between us.

The first half of the game, neither team scores. I suppose you’d think the game is boring when there are no touchdowns, or even a field goal, but that makes the impending first touchdown count even more. So no, this game isn’t boring. I’m praying Jordan throws a touchdown for the Niners as they start the second half, and I’m squirming in my seat once Jordan and the rest of the offensive team comes out onto the field.

“This game is insane,” Cade says with wonder, his gaze glued to the field.

I say nothing, but he’s right. It’s so insane, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.

Tuttle gets into position. Is it fair that all his muscles seem to flex and work as he pulls his arm back, looking for his receivers out on the field? A sigh escapes me before I can stop it and I clamp my lips shut. When is life ever fair?

Not when it comes to me and Jordan Tuttle.

Jordan throws the ball, and it spirals through the air until out of nowhere—intercepted! The commentators are yelling, the entire suite erupts in jeers and screams, and all I can do is sink lower in my seat.

My gaze flies to Jordan, and I can see the anger and frustration in his posture, blazing in his eyes, even from where I’m sitting.

“Man, is he nervous or what? He’s not on his game tonight,” Cade says.

Again, I don’t answer. I’m too busy chewing my nail.

This could end up being a long and terrible night.

“A few of the players are going to join us after the game, so please do stick around.”

I hear the 49er Ambassador say this to everyone as she moves about the suite with that giant smile pasted on her face. The game just finished, and oh my God, they won, but barely. It had been such a fight, especially during that tortuous second half. I could tell Jordan was so freaking pissed.

If he’s anything like his high school self, he will still be pissed. And disappointed despite the win. He was always hard on himself.

He learned that from his asshole father.

“You’ll want to stay, right?” Cade asks me. “To see your ex? Or is he even going to show up?”

“I want to stay,” I tell him quietly, trying my best not to betray my nerves, because they’re fluttering like a million and one butterflies in my stomach, dipping and swirling and reminding me that I drank two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and my head is a little spinny.

Jordan will show up. How I know this, I’m not exactly sure, but I have complete confidence that his butt will be in this suite within thirty minutes, mark my words. There’s a reason he gave me those tickets and wanted me to watch his game in the fancy suite. It wasn’t out of the graciousness of his heart.

He brought me here on his turf and knew I wouldn’t be able to resist his request. Maybe he wants to show off, rub it in? Let me know what I’ve been missing all these years? Remind me of just how successful he is and I’m a complete idiot for dumping him?

Or maybe those are my own thoughts, my own insecurities shining through.

The suite clears out pretty quickly. There are two guys in suits who are sticking around, clutching watered down drinks as they talk in low murmurs, their expressions intense. And there’s an older couple still standing in front of the giant window who are practically vibrating with excitement, making me think they must be related to one of the players. There are a few women here too. Beautiful women of various shapes and sizes, all of them eyeing each other up like they’re in some sort of competition.

And maybe they are. God, maybe they’re all waiting to see…Jordan? No, they can’t all be waiting for him.

Right?

“I hope they don’t take too much longer.” Cade stifles a yawn, his eyes droopy. “I’m exhausted, and I have to be at work at seven tomorrow. Have an early appointment.”

Oh wow, I feel terrible for making him stick around. He does have a life, after all. But I kind of need him by my side too, for emotional support. I’m working hard at playing it cool, calm and collected on the outside, but inside? I’m a total wreck. I’m so nervous I feel like I could hyperventilate.

“Do you want to go ahead and leave?” I offer like an idiot, praying he says no.

He sends me a relieved smile instead. “Maybe? Yeah, we probably should. Sorry we can’t meet your ex, but I’m tired. We still have a long drive home too.”

Disappointment crashes within me as I let Cade take my hand and lead me out of the suite. My mind is racing, screaming at me to stay. Stay. STAY. But I don’t protest, I don’t tell Cade to stop, I just follow after him like a good little girl.

What the hell am I doing?

We’re barely down the expansive hallway when I see them. Two giant men headed in our direction. I know without a doubt who one of them is.

Jordan.

And to his left, walking directly toward me? It’s our old friend from high school, Cannon Whittaker.

“Amanda Winters, is that you?” Cannon holds his hand at eyebrow level and squints at me like I’m a shining sun too bright for him to stare at. Without thought, I let go of Cade’s hand, making my way toward Cannon, keeping my eyes averted so I don’t have to look at Tuttle.

I am a coward, but at least I’m aware of my faults.

Cannon’s arms open and I throw myself at him, giving him a long hug. I haven’t seen him in person since the summer after we graduated high school, and he looks great. Somehow, he’s bigger and taller, though his dark blond hair is shorn close, like usual. He definitely looks more grown up now, and I squeeze him as close as I can, though really it’s like hugging a stone wall.

“It’s so good to see you.” My voice is muffled against his hard-as-a-rock chest.

“It’s great to see you too.” He shifts away from me, his hands on my shoulders, his gaze taking me in. “You look amazing.”

“You are too kind,” I say with a laugh, suddenly feeling shy. And inadequate in my rumpled work clothes. I can feel Jordan watch me, his glowering presence making my legs wobble, the intensity of his gaze making me feel faint. Thank God Cannon still has a grip on me or I’d probably collapse to the floor.

“Mandy.” Jordan’s deep voice rumbles along my nerve endings, causing me to shiver, and Cannon turns me toward him just before he releases me, like they planned it beforehand. I’m face to face with Jordan Tuttle for the first time in six years—six freaking years!—and I do the dumbest thing ever.

I stick my hand out for him to shake it.