Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 9 TESSA

Later never comes as the house keeps us occupied the majority of the day. We go to his parents’ house for dinner—with my mother, too—and then he has to pack for minicamp. He decided to leave tonight and get a hotel in Chicago for his early morning flight, so we’re saying hasty goodbyes before he heads out the door.

“Come with me,” he says softly.

I glance down at my stomach. “You know I wish I could, but the doctor said I shouldn’t fly after twenty-eight weeks due to the placenta issue.” I’m over twenty-nine weeks now, so we’re in that zone. “Besides, you’ll be busy all weekend.”

“You’re right,” he says. He zips up his duffel bag and pulls me into his arms. “I love you.” He embraces me tightly, warmly, and he backs up to press a gentle kiss to my lips. He backs away, and he kneels to the ground. He rests both hands over my stomach. “And I love you, too.” He presses a kiss there, and heat presses behind my eyes.

I’ll never get over how much he loves us both, how he’s there for us both when I thought we’d never even see each other again.

“We love you, too,” I say, and the heat spills over my lashes and onto my cheeks. I swipe at the tears. “We’ll miss you.”

He kisses me again. “I’ll miss you, too. I’ll be back late Sunday night. Just please, please be here when I get home. Keep your phone out of toilets, and try to get off pelvic rest by then.”

I giggle. “I promise. And hopefully I’ll be released from rest at my appointment on Tuesday.” I squirm a little. “Though if I do something deserving of punishment…” I trail off.

His eyes heat as he brands me to the spot where I stand. “Want more already?”

I lift a shoulder. “It was…different. Hot different. Good different.”

His eyes flash with hunger. “Then you better behave yourself.” He shrugs and winks. “Or don’t.”

I think I might choose option two.

And on that note, after he takes off, I head home and open up Instagram. I check Stephanie’s account and scroll through, looking for any signs at all of a tattoo. I don’t see any.

I pull open her contact on my text messages. I don’t know how quickly the Fallon Ridge Police Department works, but maybe I can work faster.

Me: Are you free for lunch this weekend?

It’s probably a terrible idea, but I hit the send button before I can stop myself.

She writes back nearly immediately.

Stephanie: Yes! Would love to see you. Could use some craft fair ideas. Tomorrow at noon? There’s a diner in Geneseo, midway for both of us, or I could come to you.

Me: Geneseo sounds good. See you then.

I’m certain Tristan’s going to punish me for this idea…and I’m sort of relishing the thought of it.

I catch my mom in the kitchen before she leaves for work the next morning.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Couldn’t get comfortable,” I admit.

She kisses my cheek. “Can I make you something for breakfast?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to interrupt your schedule. But do you want to go to Davenport tonight to shop for the baby? I want to get decorations for the nursery, and they have some baby stores I want to look at.”

“Of course,” she says. “I’d love to.”

“I also wanted to mention that I’m meeting Stephanie for lunch today,” I blurt. I guess I don’t want to go meet her without somebody knowing.

“You are?” she asks, her tone surprised.

I shrug, playing it off because I’m not ready to tell her what I think she might be doing until I have some solid evidence. “She’s planning a craft fair for her town, and I thought it might be nice to offer some feedback about how ours went.”

“That’s so nice of you,” she says.

We make small talk before she heads to work. I take my time with breakfast and showering, and then it’s time to meet Stephanie.

I find myself nervous as I navigate toward Geneseo, and when I pull into the parking lot, I immediately spot her car.

She’s already inside, waiting at a table for me even though I’m five minutes early.

I spot her immediately, and I try to reconcile whether the girl in the video is the same girl sitting at the table. It’s hard to tell, but what I could see of the ends of her hair looks the same. I guess the same could be said for lots of women, though, and it’s possible the girl in the video wore a wig or used filters.

She waves me down with both arms like I can’t see her, and I’m disappointed that she chose a booth rather than a table with chairs. How the hell am I supposed to get a look at her neck when she’s got a tall booth behind her?

I’ll find a way, and it hits me like a bolt of lightning as I approach the table. I dramatically rub my pregnant stomach. “Thanks for grabbing a table. I’m so sorry, but would you mind if we sit in chairs instead of a booth? Sliding in is getting harder and harder.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, and she taps her forehead. “Silly me. I didn’t even think about that!”

“It’s no problem.” I offer a wide smile, and we call the hostess over to reseat us.

I follow behind her, staring at her neck, and I guess I’m following a bit too closely because she stops suddenly, and I bump right into her on accident.

I push her hair to the side as I do it, trying to get a glimpse under her hair as I take advantage of my proximity. No dice. I can’t see a thing.

“Sorry,” I mumble when she turns back to give me a look for bumping into her.

“It’s okay,” she says with a smile.

I stare at my menu once we’re seated. How the hell am I going to get her to show me her neck?

I think about going to the bathroom and just sweeping her hair to the side when I get back then playing it off as a friendly gesture, but I’ve barely acknowledged her existence in the time I’ve known her. We’re not at that level of friendliness. I don’t know if I’m at that level of friendliness with any of my friends, now that I think about it. When was the last time I played with Sara’s hair?

Never.

The answer is never.

I haven’t played with another woman’s hair since…well, maybe ever.

I order a burger and fries because baby girl is hungry.

“That sounds delicious,” she tells the server. “I’ll have the same.”

“What have you been up to?” I ask, shifting into small talk.

She practically preens under my question, like all she’s ever wanted was for me to show some interest.

I’m getting highly weird vibes here, but maybe it’s just because I’m hungry.

“Working on the craft fair. How’d you get so many vendors?” she asks. She leans in. “Did you have to pay a lot of money for them?”

I shake my head. “Most donated their services.”

Her brows dip. “How?”

“Tristan,” I say. “The vendors knew with him involved, they’d be getting tons of press coverage. And they weren’t wrong.” I lift a shoulder, and her face sours a bit.

“Of course,” she mutters.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

She purses her lips. “You’ve got it so easy, that’s all. An NFL boyfriend to help coax along your little fair? Makes things a little simpler, you know?”

I resist the urge to tell her she knows nothing about me and that it actually hasn’t been all that easy. But I don’t know what she’s going through, and I’m a little afraid I’ll just set her off.

“I could talk to him and see if he could help sponsor your event, too,” I say, mostly as a way to ward off more questions about Tristan. He won’t be interested in helping her, particularly not if our suspicions about her are correct, but if it shifts us to a new topic of conversation where I can work in a way to get a look at her neck, I’ll say just about anything right now.

Her eyes light up, and I’m not convinced he was right when he said she’s more interested in me than in him. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” I say, reaching over and patting her hand across the table.

Her eyes move to where our hands connect, and she eyes that connection for a beat.

The strange vibe surrounding us seems to intensify, and when her eyes lift to mine, I see something there—something a little terrifying.

I pull my hand away quickly and busy it by picking up the little sandwich board on the table advertising the specials while I pretend to study it.

“You’ve really just got it all, don’t you?” she murmurs. “The rich, athletic, hot boyfriend, the baby, the father…”

I don’t know if she means the father of the baby or our father, but I don’t ask, and further, I’m not sure she meant for me to hear it at all, if she meant to say it aloud.

I sit silently, my brows knit together with my eyes still down on the specials as I wait for her to finish her thought, but she never does. When I glance up, she’s studying me. She knits her brows together the way I’m doing. I tuck some hair behind my ear after I set down the specials probably out of some nervous habit, and she does the same.

She seems to be mirroring the way I’m sitting. She looks at how I’m folding my hands, and she mimics it.

Is she…trying to be me?

I get her wanting the things I have. Despite the rather rough events I’ve made it through, I’m in a place where I find myself quite blessed.

I set a hand on my stomach out of habit. I’m suddenly scared, and I guess it’s mother’s instinct to protect the baby.

She sets her hand on her stomach, too.

She’s not pregnant, and she sets her hand on her stomach.

This is getting weirder and weirder.

I shouldn’t have come. I should be at home resting, waiting for Tristan to get back from minicamp, and instead I’m crafting one hell of a reason for him to punish me when he gets back.

But I still need to see if she has a tattoo on the back of her neck. I can’t leave here without accomplishing my mission.

“Excuse me,” I say. “I need to use the restroom.” It’s a lie. I don’t need to use the restroom, but I do need a minute to text my mom to help get me out of this.

“I’ll come, too.”

Great.

Alone in a small room with a crazy person who wants to be me.

Scared is an understatement.

I smile and stand, and I hold out a hand. Maybe I can use this to my advantage. “After you.”

I follow her and watch her hair sway as she moves, but it never moves enough to see if there’s a tattoo under there.

I lock myself in a stall and force myself to take care of business, and I slip my phone out of my purse.

I shoot off a quick text to my mom.

Me: Text me with a reason to leave lunch in fifteen minutes please. Don’t ask why, will explain later.

I send it and delete it immediately as a just in case, and then I flush and exit the stall to wash my hands.

She’s already at the sink, and after I finish drying my hands, I get another idea. I reach into my purse and pull out a hair tie. If she wants to be like me…if she wants to mimic my every move…then maybe she’ll do what I’m doing and I can peep her neck.

I pull my hair up into a ponytail and fan myself. “It’s hot in here, right?”

Her brows draw together as she tilts her head. “Not really. Must be the pregnancy.”

She heads out of the bathroom first.

Damn.

Of all the times to stop doing everything I’m doing, this is the one she chooses.

Our burgers are being served as we walk back to the table, and I dig right in. I finish in record time, still trying to come up with some way to get a view of that tattoo, but I can’t think of any other way to do it.

“Do you have any tattoos?” I blurt. I pop a fry into my mouth as my cheeks redden.

Her eyes narrow at me. “A few. Do you?”

I shake my head. Why the hell did I just blurt that out? “No, but I was thinking of getting one. Do they hurt?”

“What do you want to get?” she asks rather than answering my question.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a butterfly.”

“Everyone has butterflies,” she murmurs.

“What do you have?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Why are you asking?”

I shrug, trying to keep it light as I play off my real motivation here. “Just curious. I was thinking about getting it on my wrist. Do you think that would hurt?”

“I’ve heard the wrist is less painful than, say, the ribs,” she says.

Ribs? The girl in the video didn’t have a rib tattoo. “Do you have a rib tattoo?” I ask.

She nods. “It was super painful.”

Maybe she covered it with make-up or a filter or something.

“Where else do you have them?” I press, trying to get an answer to my question. Just then a text from my mom comes through.

Mom: I need your help at the church. Molly didn’t show up to teach her religion class. Can you come fill in?

“Oh no,” I say, the frustration in my voice real as I felt like I was finally getting somewhere. I can’t just ignore this, though. I have to keep playing the game.

“What?” Her eyes are wide with concern.

“My mom needs my help at the church. I better head out,” I say, pulling a twenty out of my wallet. It’s way more than my burger cost, but I really do just want to get out of here despite not being any closer to an answer.

“But we’ve barely even talked about the craft fair,” she protests.

“Right, well—I’ll talk to Tristan and get back to you, okay?” I say as I stand.

She huffs out a disappointed fine , and she stands to give me a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, really trying to hit the apologetic angle. I am sorry—sorry that this lunch was such a freaking bust and that I just keep getting more and more weirded out by this woman.

I try to get a peek at her neck as I hug her, but I’m at the wrong angle.

I don’t see anything there, but I also didn’t get a good look, and her hair was blocking the majority of my view anyway.

I take the hell off before she can stop me.

I call my mom on the way back to Fallon Ridge.

“Do you really need me to come in?” I ask.

“No, honey, I just said that to help you out. What’s going on with you?”

My voice trembles a little as I start to recount all the things I haven’t told her yet. First the Instagram photos, then the craft fair and the nursing program, the JustFans profile, and finally, how strange she was acting at lunch.

“It sounds like she’s got an obsession with you,” she says. “Or possibly Tristan. I think you should just stay far, far away.”

“I know I should, but I also want her to stop. Maybe if I try to reason with her…” I trail off as I think that part through.

She sighs. “I know, Tessi-cat, and I don’t blame you for wanting to be nice. But think on this, too. You’re engaged to a football superstar. Millions of women want him, maybe your half-sister included…but he wants you. Protect that with everything you’ve got, baby girl.”

“You’re right,” I say, and I think she means to share that as a good thing. I take it a different way, though. “But I think what that means is that I’m going to be the target for a whole lot of hatred.”

I guess the question now is whether I buck up and get used to it as I hold Tristan’s hand through it…or whether it’s enough to scare me away for good.