The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

Chapter Eleven

“Where are you going?”

With one hand on the staircase handrail, I finished thrusting my heel into my tennis shoe and glanced up at the man standing in front of me with a wary look on his lightly bearded face. “I’m going for a run. Why?”

The big guy glanced down at the overpriced accessory on his wrist, an expensive workout watch I know he’d gotten for free because I’d been the one to open the box when he got it. “It’s five o’clock,” he said, as if I didn’t know how to read time.

I did, and I’d learned how to a long, long time ago.

He’d gotten home about an hour ago while I was upstairs going over the fifth draft of a paperback cover for an author I’d decided never to work with again. The guy was driving me nuts, changing his mind from one revision to the next, and if it wasn’t for my motto—never leave a client unhappy because they’ll tell everyone you suck—I would have told him to shove his money down his throat and find someone else.

Yeah, I was feeling on edge, and I knew I needed to get out of the house for a little while, even if it was already later than I normally would have liked to go for a run. So I’d been surprised when I first heard Aiden make his way from the kitchen into the foyer where I was trying to finish getting ready to leave.

We hadn’t seen each other much since we’d gotten back from Las Vegas a little over a week ago, but things had been fine. It was kind of weird how the trip had sort of relaxed me around him, and it seemed like the sentiment was mutual. Aiden had even started knocking on my doorframe when he walked by my room when he got home. He didn’t say much more than, “Hey,” loud enough to be heard over the music I liked to play while I worked, but it was something, I thought.

“I’m only doing five miles,” I let him know right then, grabbing my other shoe off the floor and balancing on one foot to slip it on like I had the other one. It was a lot harder than it should have been, mainly because I was too aware he was watching me, probably expecting me to fall.

“It’s going to get dark soon,” he said, as I struggled to get my heel into my tennis shoe.

“I’ll—damn it—I’ll be fine.” I started to fall over, flailing an arm out for balance, and instead, getting a big hand catching my elbow to keep me steady. I flashed him a sheepish look and let some of my weight lean on him as I finally got my heel in. “Thanks.” I took as step away. “Anyway, it shouldn’t take me more than a little over an hour. I’m still running a little slow, but I won’t be gone long.”

Aiden blinked those great, dark eyelashes at me before reaching up to scratch at his chin, those lean cheeks puffing just slightly. Resignation, that clear, clear emotion that seemed to melt its way down from his hairline and over that perpetual wrinkle between his eyebrows and the sides of his mouth, had me blinking.

“Give me a minute,” he sighed as he moved around me and jogged up the stairs, two at a time, the house shaking in response. Briefly, I feared for the life of the stairs. Then I realized what he was doing.

Was he…?

“You don’t have to come with me,” I shouted, taking a moment to absorb those perfect glutes and rock solid calves defying gravity as they made their way up the stairs. Why would he even want to come along, anyway? The memory of what he’d said in Las Vegas when I took off on my own suddenly came back to me. You aren’t the only one who takes their promises seriously.

“I’m not asking,” he yelled back just as he reached the clearing.

Torn between thinking it was nice and cute that he didn’t want me going out for a jog alone at dusk, I remembered how important it was for him—for big guys in his position in general—to keep their cardio to a minimum. They couldn’t afford to lose weight when they needed to keep their size, especially someone with a diet like Aiden’s, who had to consume more physical food than someone who ate meat to get an appropriate amount of calories and not go hungry. It was why Aiden worked out so hard during the day and made a severe effort to rest as much as he could during his off time.

Then I wondered, could he even run five miles?

I took a step closer to the staircase. “You really don’t. I won’t be gone long. I’ll take my phone.”

There was a pause, and if I really focused, I could hear his dresser drawer slamming shut. “One minute.”

This stubborn ass. “No, Aiden, stay here!”

“Thirty seconds,” the hardheaded mule replied.

Why was I even waiting around arguing with him? He really should stay home. He didn’t have any business putting strain on his tendon if he didn’t have to.

“I’ll be back soon!” I took my glasses off and set them on the table right by the door, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I wanted to buy a strap to keep them from falling off when I ran, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I’d almost always been farsighted, but I swear my vision was getting worse and worse every year. It was probably time to get a new prescription. Just as I reached the door, I heard that giant, two–hundred-and-seventy-pound body stomping around before the stairs took another beating.

“I told you to wait,” he grumbled on the way down.

I glanced at him over my shoulder and scrunched my nose. “I told you to stay. You’re not supposed to be doing a whole bunch of cardio.”

He was apparently going to pretend I hadn’t said anything. “Let’s go.”

I patted the fanny pack clipped around my waist in case he hadn’t seen it. “I have a flashlight and pepper spray. I’ll be fine.”

The expression on his face wasn’t an impressed one. “That’s nice. Let’s go.”

“Aiden, I’m being serious.”

“Vanessa, let’s go.”

He had busted out that damn tone of voice again, which only meant one thing: This was one of those times that it was pointless to argue with him. I realized that now.

Waving me to go through the doorway first, he set the alarm to stay, since Zac was napping in his room, and followed me onto the paved stone walkway leading up to the house. Facing each other, I took a long step back with my right leg and got into runner’s pose. “Aiden, I’m not joking. Stay home.”

“Why?” He mirrored my stretch, making the material of his shorts squeeze those massive thighs like a second skin. I didn’t even know a leg had as many perfect, delineated muscles until I’d seen Aiden in compression shorts.

I had to force myself to quit fondling those big hams with my eyeballs. I didn’t know what it was about muscular thighs that drove me nuts. I could live without a six-pack, but developed quads and calves were my Kryptonite. “Because you shouldn’t be running.” Before I could think twice about what was in my mouth, I said the worst thing you could possibly tell a highly competitive person. “And I don’t know if you can run five miles, big guy. Plus, your Achilles—”

What had I done?

The Wall of Winnipeg, the man who had dragged himself into becoming the greatest defensive player in the NFO, leveled a gaze at me that for the first time in the years we’d known each other, made me uncomfortable. It was unsettling. Beyond unsettling. And I wished I had something to hide behind.

“You worry about running your own five miles, all right?” he quipped in a quiet, rough voice.

God help us. I lifted my hands up, palms toward him, and shrugged, backing away in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

My middle finger twitched, but I kept it under wraps and with its brothers and sisters. We stretched in silence for the next few minutes, our quads, hamstrings, and calves getting needed attention. I did it because of my knee injury, and Aiden because his body was worth millions. Millions and millions.

The fact he was breaking the strict rules he put on himself just so I wouldn’t go out for a run alone, definitely made an appearance in my heart and head, chipping away a little more at that aggravation I’d built up with him since I had quit. I just hoped he didn’t regret it tomorrow.

“I’m ready,” the stubborn mule reported.

I nodded and kept my eye roll to myself. “The trail around here is only two miles. I’ve been circling it.”

He simply jerked his chin down and followed me toward the gated entrance. I waved at the security guard as we slipped through the side door, and soon enough, we started jogging.

As big as Aiden was, it was amazing how he didn’t lumber. He definitely wasn’t a sprinter by any measure, but he was constant, consistent. His stride was even, his breathing good, and those long legs, which had to weigh at least eighty pounds apiece, somehow made it so he wasn’t a half mile ahead or behind me. I had no idea how much distance he usually covered when he did cardio, usually on the bike or doing sprints, but I knew he kept track of that sort of thing religiously.

But he kept up, mile after mile, even as his breathing got heavier and each step became more of a fight for him. And when we rounded the last corner, about a quarter of a mile away from the house, I slowed down. Neither one of us said much as we walked side by side. I had my hands on my hips as I caught my breath, and when I happened to look over, his hands were in the same position as mine.

As if sensing me checking him out, Aiden raised those thick, nearly black slashes called his eyebrows.

I raised my eyebrows back at him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He gave me a smug and slightly sour look. We walked for a little while in silence before he asked, “When did you start running?”

Wiping at my brow, I made a face at myself. “Right before I quit.”

Aiden did a double take I couldn’t miss.

I remembered the day I’d been outside of his house and I’d seen that woman running. “I didn’t have time for it before.” And I hadn’t exactly been motivated to, but I kept that part to myself. “I want to run a marathon in a few months. I just need to get up to six miles without going into cardiac arrest afterward.”

We walked a little longer before he added, “One of our conditioning coaches runs marathons. I’ll ask him if he has any tips. You should really be following a training guide so you don’t get injured.”

“Oh.” Huh. “Thanks. It’ll still be at least a month before I can even start at the rate I’m going, but we all have to start somewhere, I figure.”

He made a thoughtful noise but didn’t say anything else as we walked the rest of the way home. I could tell he was busy thinking about something from the way the creases at his eyes intensified, but he didn’t voice whatever it was going through that big noggin.

We made it back to the house just as the streetlights switched on. Taking positions on the lawn, we each dropped into stretches. I smiled at him and he kind of quirked up his mouth a bit in a delayed response.

“Has your preseason been going okay?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I switched legs and shot him a look at his evasiveness, but he was busy inspecting the ground. “How about your tendon?”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

That had those brown eyes up. His peaceful, serious face turned mildly irritated. “Really.”

“Okay, smart-ass. I’m just making sure.” I snorted, shaking my head as I dropped my gaze to the ground.

There was a pause before he spoke up again. “I’m all right. I’m being careful. I know what’ll happen if I’m not.”

We both knew. He could lose everything.

I suddenly felt just a little bit like an asshole. “I just wanted to be sure you were doing okay. That’s all.”

Even though his face, by that point, was tipped down, I noticed the ripple in his trapezius muscles telling me what I wanted to know. He was all right, but he was stressed. “Everything is going better than anyone expected. The trainers are happy with my progress. I’m doing everything they’re telling me to.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “You know that’s one of the things I used to like the most about you. You know what you want and you’ll do whatever you have to get it. It’s really…” Attractive wasn’t the right word, and it definitely wasn’t the one I would choose to willingly say out loud in front of him. “Admirable.”

Honestly, looking back on my word choice fifteen seconds later, I knew that I’d meant what I said with the best intentions, but when I took in the lines bracketing the mouth I’d kissed a week ago, maybe it hadn’t come out that way.

“You don’t anymore?” His question was low.

Shit. “No, I do,” I backtracked and reached up to mess with my glasses, remembering right then that I’d taken them off, and dropped my hand. “I don’t know why I said I used to. I still do. You inspired me to quit, you know. I figured you of all people would understand why I did it.”

He turned his head so slowly, it was honestly a little creepy. But the way he looked at me…? I wouldn’t know how to describe it. The only thing I knew for sure was it made the space between my shoulder blades tickle.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, that hard mouth twitching as he nodded almost reluctantly. “I understand.” He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the ground, getting to his feet and pulling his heel back toward his butt. “How’s your work going?”

Oh, lord. This might be the longest and most personal conversation we’d ever had. It was kind of exciting. “It’s been steady. I’ve been able to take on more projects, so I can’t complain.” I glanced at him to see if he was listening and he was. “I actually just got invited to go to one of the biggest romance novel conventions in the country, so that’s pretty exciting. I should be able to get more work if I go.”

“I thought you do book covers?” he asked.

“I do, but they let other people have tables as long as they pay, and if I go, I might be able to get more work out of it. Half my clients are authors, the rest is a mix of whatever anyone asks me to do.”

He switched legs as he asked in a genuine voice, “Like what?”

And it was moments like these that made the distance between us in the past so apparent. “Anything really. I’ve had some commissions for business cards, business logos, posters, and flyers. I’ve made a few designs for band T-shirts. A few tattoo designs.” I pointed at the shirt I was currently wearing. It was off-white with a neon colored sugar skull and ruby red roses surrounding the crown of the head. THE CLOUD COLLISION was spelled out just below the jaw. “I made this for my friend’s boyfriend’s band. I’ve also done some work for Zac and a couple of guys on your team.” I didn’t miss the way his head jerked up when I mentioned that. “Mostly redoing their logos and doing banners for them and things like that,” I told him, almost a little shyly, self-conscious about my work.

“Who?” he asked, perplexed and more than slightly surprised.

“Oh. Um, Richard Caine, Danny West, Cash Bajek, and that linebacker who got traded to Chicago during the offseason.”

“I never heard anything about it.”

I shrugged, trying to smile to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

He made this soft, little thoughtful sound of his, but didn’t add anything. The silence that wrapped around us wasn’t awkward at all. It just was what it was. After a few more stretches, Aiden touched me on the shoulder before disappearing into the house, apparently done.

By the time I made it inside and slipped my glasses back on, I found Zac standing at the stove in the kitchen. Aiden had taken a seat at the kitchen island with a glass of water. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I filled it up with the same.

“What are you making for dinner?” I asked Zac as I peeked over his shoulder.

He gave what smelled like onions and garlic a stir. “Spaghetti, darlin’.”

“I love spaghetti.” I batted my eyelashes when he glanced at me, earning me a grin. I took a seat on the stool one down from Aiden’s.

The tall Texan let out a soft laugh. “There’s more than enough. Aiden, you’re on your own. I put meat in the sauce.”

He just lifted one of those rounded shoulders dismissively.

I got up to get another glass of water when Zac asked from his spot still at the stove, breaking up the two pounds of ground beef he’d added to the vegetables. “Vanny, were you gonna want me to help you with your draft list again this year?”

I groaned. “I forgot. My brother just messaged me about it. I can’t let him win again this year, Zac. I can’t put up with his crap.”

He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I got you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank—what?”

Aiden had his glass halfway to his mouth and was frowning. “You play fantasy football?” he asked, referring to the online role-playing game that millions of people participated in. Participants got to build imaginary teams during a mock draft, made up of players throughout the league. I’d been wrangled into playing against my brother and some of our mutual friends about three years ago and had joined in ever since. Back then, I had no idea what the hell a cornerback was, much less a bye week, but I’d learned a lot since then.

I nodded slowly at him, feeling like I’d done something wrong.

The big guy’s brow furrowed. “Who was on your team last year?”

I named the players I could remember, wondering where this was going and not having a good feeling about it.

“What was your defensive team?”

There it went. I slipped my hands under the counter and averted my eyes to the man at the stove, cursing him silently. “So you see…”

The noise Zac tried to muffle was the most obvious snicker in the world. Asshole.

“Was I not on your team?”

I gulped. “So you see—”

“Dallas wasn’t your team?” he accused me, sounding… well, I didn’t know if it was hurt or outraged, but it was definitely something.

“Ahh…” I slid a look at the traitor who was by that point trying to muffle his laugh. “Zac helped me with it.”

It was the thump that said Zac’s knees hit the floor.

“Look, it isn’t that I didn’t choose you specifically. I would choose you if I could, but Zac said Minnesota—”

“Minne-sota.”

Jesus, he’d broken the state in two.

The big guy, honest to God, shook his head. His eyes went from me to Zac in… yep, that was outrage. Aiden held out his hand, wiggling those incredibly long fingers. “Let me see it.”

“See what?”

“Your roster from last year.”

I sighed and pulled my phone out of the fanny pack I still had around my waist, unlocking the screen and opening the app. Handing it over, I watched his face as he looked through my roster and felt guilty as hell. I’d been planning on choosing Dallas just because Aiden was on the team, but I really had let Zac steer me elsewhere. Apparently, just because you had the best defensive end in the country on your team, didn’t mean everyone else held up their end of the bargain. Plus, he’d missed almost the entire season. He didn’t have to take it so personally.

It only took a second for him to see who I had on there and he flicked his dark irises back up at me. “Zac helped you?”

“Yes,” I muttered, feeling so, so bad.

“Why didn’t you put Christian Delgado on your team?”

Just the sound of his name made my upper lip begin to snarl.

But before I could say anything, Zac chipped in, “I know I told you to add Christian.”

He had. I just hadn’t because he was a scumbag. Getting up, I went back to the fridge, refilled my glass, and muttered, “I didn’t want to.”

The master of “Why?” didn’t let me down.

The fact was, I was a terrible liar, and I wouldn’t be surprised if both Aiden and Zac realized I was making things up if I did. “I don’t like him,” I answered bluntly, hoping but knowing that wasn’t going to be a good enough answer for either one of their nosey asses.

“Why?”

“I just don’t. He’s a slimeball.”

“I don’t like him much either, darlin’,” Zac claimed.

Keeping my gaze on my glass for longer than necessary, I gradually lifted my head and immediately noticed Aiden’s dark irises on me. He was thinking, and I was pretty sure disbelieving at the same time, that intelligent face making me antsy. Did he know I was hedging around the answer?

If he did, he let it go for the time being when he dropped his attention back to my phone. That little line between his brows left me on guard. The line deepened as he asked, Zac, “Why did you tell her to choose Michaels?”

Zac responded something that left Aiden shaking his big head. “Don’t listen to him. I’d help you if you asked.”

We were having another moment like the one earlier when he’d asked about my work. I thought about not bringing it up, then decided against it. “I did once. Two years ago. I asked you a question about wide receivers and you told me to look it up on the Internet.”

He winced. Aiden literally winced. And I felt just the teensiest bit guilty for reminding him of something that hadn’t been important enough for him to remember.

In the spirit of being nice since he’d gone for a run with me, I reached across the counter and patted his hand. “Hey, we have the next five years for you to help me out.”