Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 12 TESSA

I haven’t heard back from Stephanie since I ignored her text about when a good time to stop by is, so hopefully she caught the hint that I’m not ready to explore a relationship with her.

I don’t see Tristan as much as we each start setting plans into motion for the craft fair. He’s running around getting donations and starting work on his father’s garage extension, and even when we do meet for our nine fifty-seven window chat, he’s a little quiet, a little more reserved. I have a feeling it’s because the Super Bowl is coming up.

He should be playing in that game.

I watched his season, and he was on fire. I can’t help but wonder what his plans are for the game. I don’t have plans myself. I might watch with my mom in the family room, or I might skip it and take a look at what needs to be done for the fair so I can set up a plan for the week.

A few nights before the game, I use our time at the window to find out what’s going on with him. “Are you okay?”

His brows dip as his eyes flick to mine. “I’m all right. Why do you ask?”

I lift a shoulder. “You’ve just been quiet the last few days.”

He presses his lips together and nods.

“Is it because of Sunday?” I ask quietly.

He stares down at his feet stretched out in front of him a long time before he answers. “When we first lost to the Titans, my immediate feeling was that I wanted them to lose the Super Bowl. I hated that they were advancing and our season was just…done.” He snaps a finger to demonstrate how quickly those dreams were snuffed out. “But now, part of me wants them to win, to know we were beaten by the best there is, you know? Except now…I don’t want to actually see them win. I don’t really want to watch the game at all.”

“You don’t?” I ask, surprised.

Sue and Russ Higgins are known for their Super Bowl parties. In fact, except for last year when the Aces won the big game and Tristan gave his parents tickets, according to my mother, they’ve hosted a huge party at the Pizza Joint since Tristan was first drafted into the league.

His shoulders drop a bit as he shakes his head. “I should be there. I don’t want to watch some other team playing my game.”

My chest aches for him. This game is clearly everything to him. He doesn’t seem to be getting a whole lot of personal fulfillment from his wife, and I don’t really know what his friend situation is like, but I’d imagine he mostly hangs out with other players on his team.

I wish there was something I could do. And then I realize…there is.

The game starts at five-thirty, and I’ll need to whip up a plan to cover four hours in the winter in Iowa.

I have an idea.

“Sunday at four-thirty,” I blurt.

His brows dip as his eyes turn toward me.

“Be ready,” I warn. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

“You are?” He raises his brows.

I nod. “I am.”

He chuckles. “Well, okay then. I will be ready.”

The old theater in Davenport has one screen that shows movies that were popular ten or twenty years ago. Tristan’s parents used to love to go to the Sunday at five o’clock screening, and that was where they were on many occasions when we took advantage of his empty house back in the day. If something from a decade ago is showing this weekend, chances are it’ll be something we might’ve watched back in junior high or high school…one more way to stoke those old flames.

I keep busy with craft fair planning the rest of the week, and when Sunday rolls around, I find myself a little nervous.

I didn’t call it a date.

He’s married.

But still…it kind of feels like a date.

It’s not a date.

But it’s sort of a date and it’s definitely with someone I want to date.

My mom already told me she’ll be at the Pizza Joint watching the game, so the house will be empty. Part one of my plan only actually accounts for about three hours, while the game will take around four hours. I have a part two plan, too.

I stew way too long over what to wear, and ultimately I go with jeans and a loose black shirt with a thick sweater over it. It’s more cute than sexy, it’s comfortable, and it hides the little bump I’m sporting well.

Speaking of the bump, in just a few days I get to find out if it’s a male or female bump. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m not ready.

I pack up my supplies for part two of our non-date, and then I head next door. I ring the bell, and Tristan answers. He wears jeans and a charcoal sweater, and he looks delicious enough to eat. His hair is styled in that splendid mess he spends hours on, which tells me he put in the effort for this not-a-date-but-really-a-date. He’s clean-shaven, and it totally changes his look from the scruffy bad boy I know he’s not to the sweet cinnamon roll I know he is on the inside.

“Hey,” he says. “You driving or am I?”

“Me,” I say, and he nods.

“Let’s go.” He locks the door behind him, and we walk next door to my Ford Escape.

He hops in the passenger seat, and even though it’s a small SUV, he looks too big for it at his height. He pulls the seat back to give himself more room, and I can just hear my mom when she gets in the car later this week to accompany me to the anatomy scan: Who sat here last and why am I laying down?

I glance over at him. “You okay?”

He nods. “Just curious as to where you’re taking me.”

“Buckle up, my friend.” We listen to Stone Temple Pilots on the way toward Davenport, and he guesses where we’re going as we pass the time on the twenty-five minute drive. I already bought the tickets and picked out our seats, and my gut was right—we’ve seen the movie before together.

When I pull into the parking lot of the old cinema, he chuckles. “Are we here to watch tonight’s classic?”

I glance over at him, my eyes gleaming with a smile. “Just wait until you see what’s playing. I’ve got a purse full of snacks and we’re also getting popcorn, naturally.”

“No holes in the bottom of the popcorn bucket this time, I suppose,” he mutters regretfully, and we both laugh as our memories head to the same place…the time at this very theater when I gave him a hand job through a popcorn bucket.

It was just the thing teenagers did back then. A rite of passage, or something like that.

We head in and get our popcorn before grabbing our seats just in time for the previews. There’s only two other couples in the theater, and we’re all fairly spread out. Everyone else is probably watching the big game, set to start in another half hour.

I can picture myself sitting beside him at every upcoming feature film advertised to us…but I won’t get to.

He’ll go back to Vegas.

I’ll be here having a baby and figuring out where my life goes from here.

His phone dings with a text, and he checks it and responds before clicking off his volume. He glances over at me. “Sorry.”

I shake my head. “No need to apologize.”

“It’s my group chat with my buddies back home. They’re all trash talking the Titans already. I imagine they’ll keep it up the whole game, so I muted the chat.” He sighs. “We’re all a little different, I guess. They’re all watching the game together while I don’t care to watch.”

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to watch, and I don’t blame them for wanting to. I imagine it’s a very personal experience for each of you.” I whisper.

He nods, and then he reaches over to squeeze my thigh. “Thank you.”

My brows dip. “For what?”

He nods toward the screen. “For this. For the distraction. Sorry if you wanted to watch the game.”

“Not as much as I wanted to do this with you,” I say softly, and he squeezes my leg again before he lets go and reaches into the popcorn bucket.

The movie starts, and the second he figures out what it is, he turns to me and grins. “No way!”

I giggle. It really is the stars aligning that The Hunger Games is playing. We read that series together in junior high, each of us sitting in our window and reading a chapter or two a night, sometimes aloud and sometimes silently, and then we’d talk about what we read. It was like our own little book club.

When the movie came out, we were first in line to see it. We went three or four times over the summer—whenever we could talk our parents into the drive into town, and it was our favorite movie.

“This is the best. I haven’t watched this movie since—” He cuts himself off.

Since I left . If I had to complete his sentence, that would be it. The last time I watched this movie was in his family room a few nights before my dad forced me into a car that took me to Chicago with no way back.

“Me either,” I whisper.