Chapter Three

The day was bright and clear, an almost perfect day, if not for the humidity. But it was mid-August, and the humidity was to be expected. At least it was tolerable. Mostly. And Savannah had dressed for it, in a loose pair of bright blue linen shorts and a crisp blue-and-white striped sleeveless shirt with tiny buttons marching down the front. Her brightly-colored toenails, their color almost perfectly matching her shorts, peeked out from the open weave of the wedge sandals on her feet. She looked cool, comfortable, and poised…

And completely out of place.

She shifted on the overstuffed patio chair and glanced around at the small crowd dressed in loose t-shirts and gym shorts or cargo shorts. When Aaron had said 'the guys', he hadn't been kidding. Only a few other women were there—three, to be exact, and they were obviously the wives or girlfriends of some of the players. Aaron had smiled when she walked over—without Tessa, who had backed out at the last minute, the traitor—and motioned for her to join him. He had made quick introductions and she was only able to catch half the names, not that it mattered because it didn't seem like anyone else was really paying attention. Then Aaron had been distracted by something else and he walked away, disappearing into the house.

Savannah had stood there for a full minute, feeling like an outsider. Then she mentally shrugged and headed to the cooler, helping herself to a wine cooler before moving over here to the patio.

Where'd she been sitting by herself for the last fifteen minutes.

She wiped the condensation from the bottle then took a small sip, her gaze still wandering. Tessa would die when she found out what she was missing. A dozen men, their athletic bodies on clear display, mingled amongst themselves, laughing and joking. And every single one of them was drop-dead gorgeous.

Served Tessa right, she thought.

One of the women walked over, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, a young boy in tow. The boy was maybe three or four, his face scrunched in a comical expression of stubborn anger. The woman pointed to one of the empty seats, her fingers moving in rapid sequence as she spoke.

"You know better, young man. Now sit. You have a time-out."

The boy made a loud huffing sound and crossed his skinny arms in front of his chest, pointedly looking away from the woman. She stepped in front of him and leaned down, her fingers moving again. "Noah Robert Day, don't even try that with me. Now sit."

The boy hesitated, obviously on the verge of mutiny, then reluctantly climbed into the chair with another odd-sounding sigh. His legs swung back and forth, his lower lip pushed out in a classic pout. His gaze darted to hers, looked away, then shyly darted back as a tiny smile curled his pink mouth.

Savannah bit down on the inside of her cheek and looked away from the little charmer.

The woman—obviously the boy's mother—rolled her eyes then tapped the boy on the shoulder and made a few more signs with her fingers before dropping into the seat beside him with a loud sigh.

She looked over at Savannah and smiled. "He's entirely too much like his father."

Savannah smiled and nodded, not knowing what to say. Since she had no idea who the boy's father was, she couldn't really comment. But she could at least make an attempt at conversation. "How old is he?"

"He just turned three in April. And he's definitely learning to push his boundaries." The woman's laugh was gentle, like she had expected nothing different from the cute boy next to her. Savannah felt a small pang in her chest when she saw the pure adoration and love in the woman's eyes as she glanced at her son. What was it like, to feel that much love for your child? What was it like, to be totally responsible for the life and well-being of someone so young?

She had no idea, and nothing in her life had even given her a small taste of experience she could draw on. Her own parents had loved her—in their own way. But they'd been so caught up in their professional lives, bouncing her back and forth between them, that she sometimes felt as if she had been nothing more than an after-thought. She certainly didn't remember ever seeing either one of them look at her the way this woman was looking at her son.

The woman turned her gaze to Savannah then leaned forward, one slender hand held out. "I'm Courtney Day. Harland's wife."

Savannah accepted the woman's hand. "Savannah Weber. And I don't know anyone here, so I have no idea who that is."

Courtney laughed and sat back in the cushioned seat, shifting to tuck one slender leg under her. She nodded to the boy next to her. "Well, this little guy here is Noah. And Harland is the one standing over there next to the cooler."

Savannah looked over her shoulder, her gaze resting on the three men standing where Courtney had pointed. All three were a little taller than average. One of the men had dark blonde hair, shorter in the back and a little longer in front, so it fell across his forehead and into his eyes. The second man had thick black hair and the most startling pale blue eyes she had ever seen. The third man looked more serious than the other two, brooding and somehow dangerous. Or maybe it was just the assortment of tattoos covering his arms that gave her that impression. Yes, that must be it, because the man's face lit up in a devastatingly sexy smile when a lithe woman with gorgeous red hair walked up to him and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek.

"That's Haley, Zach Mummert's girlfriend. The guy with the pale eyes is Jason Emory. And the one with the crooked smile looking this way is my husband."

Savannah turned back around, her gaze shooting to the young boy who was starting to squirm in the chair.

"Yes, he looks exactly like his father. Doesn't seem fair, since I did all the work." A sweet smile lit Courtney's face as she ran her hand over the boy's head. Then she focused her curious gaze on Savannah. "How long have you and Aaron been dating?"

Savannah nearly choked on the wine cooler. She dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand and quickly looked around, hoping nobody—particularly Aaron—had heard the question. "Um, we're not. I'm just the neighbor."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just thought—well, that's what I get for being nosey, isn't it?"

Savannah waved off the woman's apology, chalking it up to a natural assumption. That's all it was, right? Yes, of course. There was no reason to think that maybe Aaron had said something to this woman to make her think that they were dating, so there was no reason for her heart to be skipping in her chest the way it was.

What was the word Tessa had used? Obsessed. Savannah still thought that description was a bit excessive, but she was starting to wonder if maybe her crush wasn't getting a little out of control.

Except she was twenty-nine—entirely too old to have a crush. What she had was a bad case of pent-up sexual frustration. Yes, that was definitely it, because she could feel her face heating from simply thinking about it.

"So how long have you known Aaron?"

"Hm?" Savannah pushed the heated thoughts from her mind and forced her attention back to the other woman. "About a year, I guess. Since I moved in."

It looked like Courtney was ready to say something else but she was interrupted by a cheerful squeal as Isabelle came running toward them. Or rather, toward Noah. She skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees, her thin arms wrapping around the little boy in a big hug. "Noah!"

The little boy uttered a strangled squeal of his own, hugging Isabelle back. Then the smile abruptly died on his face, replaced by the saddest frown Savannah had ever seen. He shook his head, his tiny fingers moving as he stared at his mother.

"No, you can't get up yet. You have another minute left in your time-out."

Isabelle's disappointment mirrored the little boy's and Savannah had to choke back a laugh when she dropped into the seat next to Noah and patted him on the head. "Poor Noah. It's no fun getting punished, is it?"

"Like you would know. You get away with everything."

The comment was filled with bitter resentment that matched the expression on Brooke's face. The teenager stepped around them and plopped onto the wicker loveseat, slouching down so far that she was in danger of falling off. She crossed her arms in front of her and shot her sister a dirty look.

"I do not!"

"Do so. And you're a little snitch, too. It's all your fault I'm in trouble."

"Don't blame your sister, Brooke. She's not the one who was trying to sneak out last night." Aaron's voice came from behind Savannah. She turned, surprised to see him standing so close, his hand resting on the back of the chair right behind her shoulder. He glanced down at her, offered her a weary smile, then looked back at his daughter.

Savannah studied the two girls through the thick tension hovering over the small group. She wouldn't have thought to look, to note the differences and similarities, if not for the conversation she'd had with Courtney.

Isabelle favored Aaron, from the shade of her black hair to the shape of her chin and jaw, the squareness not nearly as rugged as her father's and softened by her full mouth. Her eyes were the same brown as Aaron's, fringed with thick, dark lashes.

Brooke had those same dark lashes but that's where the resemblance stopped. Her hair was thick like his, with soft waves that Savannah would pay a ton of money for. Her hair wasn't black but a deep blonde that would glow even more golden in the coming years. Her face was more heart-shaped, her upper lip just a little fuller than the bottom, even with the pout she now wore. Her eyes were a different color, dark blue with a hint of green, their shape more exotic. And she was already blooming at thirteen, her body hinting at the curvy beauty she would become as she got older.

Did she resemble her mother? Did Aaron see his ex-wife every time he looked at his older daughter? Or did she resemble someone else, an aunt or a grandmother or a distant cousin?

Her study went unnoticed as Brooke huffed her anger in one impatient breath filled with the attitude that only a teenager could achieve.

"Whatever." Brooke waved her hand in a dismissive gesture then slid down even further, staring at the toes of her flip-flops. She brought one hand to her mouth and absently chewed her thumbnail, acting like she didn't have a care in the world. The expression on her face—a mixture of anger, resentment, and sadness—said otherwise.

"Don't whatever me, Brooke. I'm not in the mood for the drama today."

"Fine. Then let me go back to my room instead of staying out here."

"No, I don't think so. I think making you stay out here is a better punishment. Less for you to get into that way."

"That's not fair!"

"This has nothing to do with being fair, and everything to do with learning about consequences."

Brooke opened her mouth then must have gotten a good look at the stormy expression on her father's face because she snapped it closed again. She rolled her eyes then went back to chewing her thumbnail, effectively dismissing everyone around her by turning to the side.

The tension was finally broken by Isabelle, who asked if Noah's timeout was over. Courtney's nod was followed by a squeal of excitement when Isabelle helped the young boy off the chair then grabbed his hand and tugged him across the patio to the yard, chattering away.

Courtney stared after them, then shook her head with a small laugh. "She does know he can't hear her, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't think she cares."

Savannah stared after the two children, giving herself a mental slap as the pieces fell into place. Courtney's finger movements. The odd grunt and squeal from Noah. He was deaf. Of course. Now it made sense.

Her silent revelation went unnoticed as Courtney pushed to her feet and faced Aaron. "Did you need help bringing anything else out?"

"No, I've got it. You sit down and relax. Better yet, go give the boys a hard time. Tell them if they call me Pops one more time, I'll be forced to show them all up."

Aaron and Courtney were already walking away, leaving her sitting there in confusion, wondering what she had missed. Pops? Who were they referring to? Certainly not Aaron. She shifted in the chair, her gaze colliding with Brooke's, surprised at the cold curiosity she saw in their depths.

Savannah quickly stood and made her way to the house, not wanting to be subjected to Brooke's negative attitude any more than necessary. No, that didn't make her a coward—it made her smart.

Aaron turned at the sound of the sliding door closing, a tired smile teasing one corner of his mouth. The smile faded too quickly, though, leaving him looking tired and drained.

And lonely.

"I thought you were Brooke and was getting ready to tell you to get back outside."

"No, just me." Savannah moved through the large country kitchen and leaned against the granite-topped island, studying Aaron's profile as he pulled containers from the refrigerator and piled them on the counter.

He really did look tired, she thought. Not physically, like he'd been up for thirty-six hours straight or anything like that. This was more of a…she frowned, searching her mind for the right word.

Weariness, maybe? That was better, but still not quite right. What she saw in him—what she felt—went much deeper than weariness. It was like his soul was spiraling deeper and deeper into a dark hole of misery, becoming more lost with each passing day.

And good God, she needed to stop listening to Tessa's stories about her aunt.

She gave herself a mental shake and pasted a bright smile on her face. "So. Who's Pops?"

Aaron turned, surprise flashing in his eyes. Another smile teased his mouth, this one staying in place a little longer. "That would be me."

"You? But why?"

"Just the guys being funny." He closed the refrigerator door then leaned against it, crossing his arms in front of him. Savannah forced her gaze away from the defined muscles in his arms—not just his biceps, but his forearms and wrists as well. And since when did wrists even have muscles?

Since when did she even notice?

She ignored the way her heart pounded in her chest, ignored the flush of excitement tingling at the back of her neck. What had they been talking about? Oh, yeah—his teammates being funny.

"Why is that funny?"

"Because I'm old."

"What! You most certainly are not."

Aaron's grin widened just the smallest bit, the scar that ran from the corner of his mouth down to his chin making the grin slightly crooked. "I'm the oldest guy on the team so yeah, I'm old."

"Being the oldest doesn't make you old. That's just being ridiculous."

The grin faltered and died as he pushed away from the refrigerator and stepped toward her. No, not toward her—toward the stack of plates resting on the island right in front of her. He reached out and fingered the rim of the top plate, his arm so close she could feel the heat of it brushing against her own flesh.

"Yeah, well. Lately I feel ancient, so maybe they have a point."

Sympathy welled deep inside her. "Brooke still giving you a hard time?"

He grunted then leaned his elbows on the counter, the motion bringing him even closer to her. Savannah told herself not to read into it, forced herself to pay attention to what he was saying instead of staring at the contours of his full mouth as he spoke.

"That would be an understatement. I could handle her giving me a hard time. Hell, I could even understand. But this—" He sighed and shook his head. "This is something more. I don't even know what this is."

"I know this isn't any of my business, but have you thought about maybe getting counseling for her? For both of them, really. The past few months can't have been easy."

"I have. I mean, they do. Once a week. But it's not doing any good from what I can see. With Isabelle, yeah. But Brooke?" He shook his head again, agony flashing in his eyes when he looked at her. "I don't think it's helping."

"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help."

Another sad smile crossed his face. He straightened then turned to lean his hip against the counter. "Thanks, but it's not your problem. I'm starting to wonder if I made a mistake bringing them here, you know? Maybe Brooke would be better off with her grandparents. Hell, maybe both of them would. What the hell do I know about being a father?"

Savannah stepped closer, capturing his gaze with her own, letting him see the truth in her words as she spoke. "You don't mean that, Aaron. From everything I've seen, you're a great father. It'll work out. You just need a little faith."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done."

"Well, I believe in you." Savannah rested her hand on his arm, felt the muscles tighten and bunch under her palm. She had only meant it as a comforting touch, a gentle reassurance to reinforce her words. But something shifted, stirring the currents around them, making the air thicker and heavier. Aaron glanced at her hand then looked at her, his eyes deep and fathomless. Her face heated—from embarrassment at what he might see on her face, from the flash of desire that danced across her skin—and she tried to move her hand, ready to mumble an apology and step back.

His hand closed over hers, big and rough but achingly gentle as he held it in place. He shifted, turning toward her, his body so close, his questioning gaze holding her immobile so that not even hurricane-force winds could have dislodged her. And then he dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers.

Once. Twice. Soft and gentle. Hesitant. Seeking.

Her breath left her in a sigh, breaking whatever restraint had been holding him back. Aaron's hand cupped the back of her head as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping past the seam of her lips and dancing with hers. Slow, tantalizing. Full of promise.

Stars exploded behind her lids as her pulse soared. She had time to wonder if maybe she was going to pass out, then her mind went wonderfully, blissfully blank as she surrendered to the sensations crashing over her.

Savannah curled her hand in his shirt, felt him shift so she was braced between Aaron's hard body and the side of the island counter. And thank God, because there was a very real chance she'd turn into a boneless puddle of need if not for that support.

She dragged her other hand along his arm, her fingers tracing the line of muscles of his biceps and shoulder and chest. Down his side, feeling the ridges of his rib cage and the dip of his abdomen. Her fingers curled around the hem of his t-shirt, her knuckles grazing smooth, heated flesh as she pushed the soft material up. Aaron groaned, the needy sound empowering her, stoking the flames of her own need. She wanted to feel. Touch. Taste—

"Hey, Aaron, where's the—oops." An embarrassed breath, then a deep chuckle. "Way to go, Pops."

Savannah jerked back, the strange voice acting like ice water. She pulled her hand from Aaron's shirt and pushed him away, wondering if it was possible to die from embarrassment and then wishing it was.

"I—I'm sorry." She muttered the apology and hurried toward the door, ignoring the sound of Aaron calling her name, ignoring the curious gaze of the man with the pale blue eyes as she pushed past him and hurried across the yard, back to her house.