Dating the Defensive Back (The Nash Brothers Book 1)

Frozen Broccoli Will Do

I suggested dinner with my brother and Rachel on Sunday night while they were still here, but Grayson had some appearance he had to do.

He didn’t invite me along.

I went to dinner with Beckett, Rachel, and the girls solo.

Maybe Grayson was tired of putting on the act with them or something. He was a little distant at the charity ball, and it seems like he’s been ultra busy over the last two days.

Maybe it’s my imagination.

Or maybe having Beck here made him feel just how real this has gotten for both of us.

We haven’t talked about the viral video. He hasn’t brought it up, and I haven’t, either. But it’s the elephant in the room.

Of course I saw it, but I also saw that he was talking to my brother. Of course he had to say that to him. I just can’t imagine why he’d say it loud enough to be caught on camera, and worse, I can’t imagine who would’ve posted it.

Someone who’s trying to hurt Grayson, for sure, and maybe even someone who’s trying to hurt me.

The only thing I can come up with is some jilted ex, but as far as I know, Grayson doesn’t have any of those.

So I’m back to square one.

I’ve fielded three calls so far since the ball asking if I can cater private parties, and all the attention is exciting—but it’s also going to keep me incredibly busy.

I don’t want to turn anyone down.

I need a bigger kitchen. I need help.

Now that Beckett and his family are on their way to Hawaii, I’m thinking it’s time to move back into Grayson’s place.

But he hasn’t invited me.

They just left this morning, and I thought we were beyond the point where I’d need an invitation.

Still, it feels awkward to show up without one. I decide to text him and fish for one.

Me: Hope you had a good Monday. Beck is on his way to Hawaii, and I miss you. And I have some exciting news.

His reply doesn’t come until after dinner.

Grayson: Hey, sorry, I’ve been at workouts all day and I’m beat. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?

Grayson has a month and a half left of his offseason before training camp begins, and to him apparently that means it’s time to start putting in the work.

But it feels like it means he’s putting our relationship on the backburner, and I’m scared we’re at the point where he’s ready to run.

I don’t know how to save things before he bolts.

I’m scared he’s already bolted.

He always made me feel like I was worthy—like I was loveable. But in just two days, I’m back to feeling the same way I’ve felt my whole life: nothing more than leave-able.

I refuse to take this lying down.

Instead of responding with a text, I dial his number.

When he answers, it’s loud in the background. “Hey.”

“Where are you?” I ask, and I know my voice comes out more demanding than I mean for it to, but I can’t help myself here.

“The Gridiron.”

“Oh,” I say flatly.

“I’m with the guys. It’ll probably be a late night,” he says.

“Okay. Well…bye.” I hang up.

I can’t be mad he’s bonding with his teammates. That’s where he should be since the season will get underway soon.

Still, it feels like there’s more at play here, and I don’t like the feeling pulling at me.

I’m in bed when I hear the doorbell.

At first, it scares the shit out of me.

I’m home alone, after all, and I’m not used to guests coming over at this late hour. I glance at the clock.

Okay, fine. It’s nine thirty-seven. Still. It’s dark outside, and I’m not expecting anyone.

I creep quietly toward the door when I hear the doorbell again, followed by banging on the door.

“Ava? Answer the door!”

I rush over when I hear his voice, and I toss the door open. “Grayson?”

It’s dark, and I flick the outside lights on. He squints at the brightness, and that’s when I see the blood trickling down from a cut just under his eye and what looks like the start of a black eye.

“Holy shit! What happened? Are you okay?” I’m throwing out the questions as I yank him inside. The car that dropped him here takes off as I slam the door.

“You should see the other guy,” he jokes, but this is not a laughing matter.

And…is he slurring?

Is he drunk?

Did he get into a drunken bar fight with a teammate?

“Who’s the other guy?” I ask, my blood turning cold as I usher him inside.

“That assclown Graham,” he mutters.

Shit. I need to get him out of here. If Austin comes home with Kelly and finds Grayson here, it’s going to get ugly…and it’s not something I have any interest in being in the middle of.

I take him to the kitchen sink first, and he perches on the counter while I find some supplies to clean him up.

Once I gather my stuff, I move back toward him, and I move in between his legs. His hands find my hips, but I’m not exactly in the mood right now.

I use a washcloth to gently clean his wound. He winces as I dab at the cut. It’s minor, but it’s obvious Austin punched him. I can’t help but wonder why.

Getting into a fight with a teammate is bad news. I can’t help but wonder whether he’ll be fined or suspended or worse.

“What happened?” I ask softly as I clean him up. His eyes fall tenderly to mine when I glance up into his, but I force myself to concentrate on what I’m doing.

He sighs. “It was him.”

“What was him?”

“He posted that video of me talking to Beckett. Or, rather, he gave it to someone else to post.”

My hand slips a little at his confession, and he winces when I scrape the washcloth against the cut. It’s small, and it’s not like it’s gushing, but it’s right under his eye, and it can’t feel good. With his blood thinned from the alcohol, it’s bleeding more than it probably should be.

“I confronted him at the bar, he didn’t like what I had to say, and that was it. He got mouthy with me, so I gave him a right hook. And if I wasn’t a few gins short of a bottle, I might’ve had the reflexes to duck his return.” He shrugs and twists his lips wryly at the end.

I roll my eyes. “You punched him first? That was stupid, Grayson.”

“What he did was pretty fucking stupid, too.”

“He’s your teammate, and you were out with players. You don’t think this’ll get back to the front office? You think you’re untouchable because you’re the coach’s brother?” I ask, my tone demanding because, frankly…I’m angry.

“I’ve got a better shot at getting out of it than that asshole. And he had it coming.”

“Be that as it may, you need to control yourself,” I say. I finish cleaning the wound and toss the washcloth in the garbage can. I put some gauze and a bandage over the cut.

I head over to the freezer and fish around until I find a bag of frozen vegetables. I end up with broccoli. I think you’re supposed to use peas on what’s going to become a black eye, but I’m a pastry chef, not a nurse, and this is all I’ve got.

“Here,” I say, and I shove the vegetables at him. I don’t get close enough for him to set his hands on my hips again.

“I’m not hungry, and these are frozen.”

I roll my eyes and set my hand on my hip. “Put it on your eye, asshole.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says quietly—almost meekly. He does as he’s told since I’ve never called him an asshole before.

But if the shoe fits…

“How do you know it was him who posted the video?” I ask.

“He was standing behind me when I said that shit to your brother. I didn’t see him until it was too late. And you know I didn’t mean it. I had to keep up the act for Beckett.” He lowers the broccoli, and I push his hand back up.

“Keep it there,” I say.

“It’s cold,” he whines.

“Too bad. Why would he post that video?”

“He’s got it out for my family. I told you that from the beginning.”

“But why would posting a video that had the potential to hurt your reputation help gain him a starting position?” I ask.

He shrugs. “No idea. Because he’s delusional? But also…because he can. He knows he’s not going to get in trouble since it would only look like Lincoln’s playing favorites.”

“Kelly needs to know what he’s like.”

“I think it’s too late for Kelly, if I’m being honest. She doesn’t see the side of him we do. He reserves that for us.”

“If she knew he posted the video, she’d run far, far away.” I purse my lips resolutely.

“Would she? Because I know you two are best friends, but if she’s falling for him…” He trails off there. He doesn’t need to finish that thought. I know where he’s going, and it’s not pretty. It’s not something I want to think about.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Let’s get you home.”

He nods. “Don’t put on more clothes on my account.”

I glance down at my pajamas—a tight tank top and short shorts.

“I definitely need someone to stay with me tonight,” he adds.

“Grayson, you completely ignored me for the last forty-eight hours, and you expect me to just forget all that and sleep over like everything’s fine? It’s not fine.” I push a finger into his chest, and he holds up a hand.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Let’s talk on the way home, okay?”

I sigh but relent since his words make me think there must be more going on than I realize.

I pack a quick overnight bag even though I’m not entirely sure I want to spend the night, and I slip a sweatshirt over my tank top. We’re in the car a few minutes later—thankfully before Kelly gets home with or without Austin.

“You said you wanted to talk on the way home,” I say, pulling out of the driveway. “So talk. You’ve been distant for two days, and I want to know why.”

“Ellie has a plan for me to mitigate damage. I’ve been thinking it over.”

“Ellie has a plan?” I repeat. “What does that have to do with why you’re pulling away from me?”

“I’m not pulling away from you,” he argues as I cruise down the block toward the stop sign at the end. “I’m deciding if I want to take her advice or not.”

“Then let’s talk about it. What’s this big plan?”

“A fake engagement,” he blurts.

I slam on the brakes. “A fake what?” I screech as I come to a stop in the middle of the block. It’s nighttime, and it’s not a busy street. There aren’t any other cars. I stare at him as I try to make sense of what he just said.

“I had a similar reaction, if I’m being honest, though yours is even better than mine was,” he teases.

“And you’re thinking about it?”

“Listen, it scared the shit out of me when she first told me, and I know we’re not there yet. But an engagement, fake or otherwise, would throw the focus off that video, which would help me win over the media. They understandably lost all trust in me with those words I said when I thought I was having a private moment with your brother. I’m already on thin ice here since I’m playing on my brother’s team with my other brother, so I need a win.”

“I need a win,” I repeat. “How fucking romantic, Grayson.”

“This isn’t my proposal.”

“No, you’ll do that in front of a huge crowd to ensure everyone sees it,” I nearly spit at him.

But really…what am I so mad about?

Would it really be so bad to wear his ring on my finger?

No. Absolutely not. It would be freaking amazing. It’s exactly what I want.

But I want it because he wants it. I don’t want it because of some ploy to win over the media. That’s just…ridiculous.

On the other hand, my stock is rising. People are interested in the woman with Grayson Nash, and they’re interested in my pastries—something I haven’t actually had the chance to tell him just yet.

And if my name is in the news again, that means this little side business I’m sort of starting up without even intending to will potentially also be in the news again, which means I’m another step or two or three closer to that dream bakery I’ve always wanted.

I blow out a breath as I creep toward the stop sign. “I’ll do it.”

He starts to choke, and I can’t help but laugh once I glance over at him and see he’s okay.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll do it,” I repeat. “Ask me publicly, and I’ll say yes.”

“What? Why? What? You seemed so…pissed off a second ago, and now you’re okay with it?”

“I’m okay with it because of the thing I was excited to tell you that you still haven’t inquired about,” I say. I turn left.

“Oh, uh…right. I’m sorry. I’ve been preoccupied and busy getting into barfights. What was the news you wanted to tell me?” he asks.

“I’ve had three calls asking me to bake for various events since the ball,” I announce rather proudly.

“Holy shit, Av. That’s incredible. Congratulations.”

I smile tightly. “Thanks. I was hoping I could use your kitchen. And, you know…you. For extra hands.”

He nods. “Of course you can. I’m happy to help however I can, even if it’s just to entertain you with sex in between batches.”

I chuckle a little at that. “So, just to be clear…we’re okay? We’re back on the same page?”

“We were never not on the same page, baby. I just needed a minute after Ellie’s big plan. Engagement isn’t a small thing, fake or not. I still am not entirely convinced it’s what I want out of my future after watching my parents go down in flames, you know?”

Disappointment lances through me. I don’t say anything, and he keeps jabbering semi-drunkenly on, oblivious to the fact that I have real feelings pulsing through me.

Scary feelings.

Feelings that I do want that out of my future. I want marriage. I think I want kids—someday. I want it all, and I deserve it all.

But I want it with someone who is seven years older than me, and isn’t sure it’s what he wants.

And I have no idea how to be on the same page when I’m not even sure we’re reading the same book.