Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

AVA

I'm glad Gabriella invited Dalton. We've been catching up for the last half hour, and being at Colby's house has been more fun than I expected, especially after the unhappy look Jett shot my way when he saw me talking to his family. It surprised me how hard it was to see his dad. I was close to everyone in his family, and his dad was always so friendly and kind to me. Giving up the idea of having a father-in-law like Dave McCombs was just another thing that ripped me apart back then. Good thing his mom didn't come along. I would've had to hightail it out of there.

When Jett came in through the back door of Colby's, my skin prickled the moment he saw me, and I can't decide whether it's a good thing or not. Like that moment on the football field, he gazed at me for a few seconds before turning away. I can't decipher what's going on with him. I wish I could make him see that he wouldn't be here now if I hadn't left to stop him from quitting, but now that he's made it pro, I don't think he understands my perspective back then.

Now Dalton's distracting me. I glance over while Jett and Colby chat, curious about the seriousness on the guys' faces. They're probably talking football, but the few times Colby looks over at Gabriella chatting with another player's girlfriend, I think maybe not. I hope Jett has brought up his thoughts on the wedding and Colby is setting him straight. If he can set aside his judgments about me planning this wedding "spectacle," maybe we can even be friends. It doesn't surprise me that the desire to be friends again warms me. I can picture chatting with him about football, getting to hear about his rise to the top, stepping into one of his long, lingering hugs, and feeling the safety and strength I always seemed to absorb from those embraces. I suppress a shiver of hope for that. That's going too far. Friends is the best we can hope for, given our past.

"I'm going to grab something to drink," I say to Dalton, standing up. I've been sitting on the stool for a while.

He hops up too, indicating the bar on the other side of the counter from us. "Let me."

He bartended through college, so I say, "Okay, but no alcohol. I have to drive back to Kemah tonight," and sit back down.

"No problem. I dated a Mormon girl for a few months and perfected my nonalcoholic offerings." He grins at me before he starts grabbing things for the drink. He has that great dimple when he smiles, and his eyes are a sparkling brown that seem to always have a cheerful glint. His smile softens when he catches me watching him, and heat pinches at my cheeks. He turns around and opens a cupboard and asks over his shoulder, "Can I surprise you?"

"Of course." Dalton and I were friends back in high school, and he was there for me in the hard few months after I came back to Houston after breaking up with Jett. He never tried to take advantage of that, just stood by me.

"I'm going to get some chips and guac." I point to the table.

Dalton nods while he pours a syrup into my drink, and I scoot off the stool to head to the table. I noticed immediately what Jett brought and wonder if he did it on purpose or if he just loves this combo that much. I made fun of him all the time for eating salt-and-vinegar chips with guacamole, told him how blasphemous that was to the guac, and he always just laughed and ate more. I can't bring that over to eat with Dalton, but I do need some guac. I fill up a small bowl with the guac Jett brought and grab one of the many bags of tortilla chips.

I set everything on the bar that Dalton's working behind and take a sip from the water bottle next to me while I wait for him to finish up my drink.

A moment later he slides a glass toward me. "It's fairly tame, as my talents go, but on a hot day like today, I feel like it's best to stay basic. Try it."

I take a sip and love it. Lemon, soda water, and a hint of mint in there, along with another flavor I can't identify—mango or pineapple or something tropical, maybe. "It's perfect," I praise him, taking another long drink.

He's just finished making his own drink when Gabriella comes over and requests something, with Colby in her wake. They begin joking about paying him for putting him to work.

"You forgot the salt-and-vinegar chips," a low voice says from behind me, and my whole body warms.

We could be sitting on that ratty couch at Jett's apartment, his arm around me, snaking me close to him as he teases me about just putting out the tortilla chips. "I'm trying to break you of that weirdness," I would say, waving my hands at the salt-and-vinegar chips.

I turn on my stool, hoping my face isn't as red as the heat building in me says it must be. He's wearing the same black joggers and Puma T-shirt that he was wearing in the family room at the stadium, and it too reminds me of game days like this that we spent together, watching game film or him just playing video games. Up close I can smell the light scent of his deodorant, the same piney, sporty scent he wore back in college.

I absently scratch at my arm, trying to think of something to say that's not going to sound flirty. After our last interaction, that's the last thing I should be doing.

" Forgot is the wrong word," I say and clear my throat. How can he make me so nervous, even after so long? Maybe I just overused my voice at the game. That sounds better than everything in me catching fire because Jett's near. I pick up the mocktail Dalton made me and take another long drink, hoping to buy some time for something to talk about with Jett other than the fact that missing him has suddenly overwhelmed me.

He smiles the slightest bit and my heart hitches. "How are your parents?" he asks, sitting on a stool next to me. "I haven't seen them in a while. My mom keeps bugging me to come by for church."

I chuckle at his raised eyebrows and the slight exasperation at his mom's lack of understanding about his career. "Sundays are probably a difficult day for you to work in a church service, huh?" I tease.

"She thinks when we have a late game, I should be able to make a nine a.m. service." He shrugs. "I probably could swing it. Maybe I'd play better. Have you gone with your parents since you've been in town?"

I shake my head and scratch absently at my arm again. "They're in Florida. My uncle is trying to convince them to retire there and move in next door at their retirement community in Tampa. They'll be there until Christmas. Mom thought I should stay at their house, but Gabriella insisted a beach house would help me stay chill while we're planning."

"Aren't wedding planners usually the calm ones at these events?" His voice is teasing, and he tilts his head, his blue eyes and their intent gaze making my stomach flip a few times.

I pull a chip through the guac and shove it into my mouth to calm things down. It's not until I bite down that I realize I grabbed one of the salt-and-vinegar chips Jett brought over instead of a tortilla chip. He smirks at me. It's all over his expression that he knows I'm flustered by his presence. I struggle to swallow. My throat suddenly feels tight. Maybe trying to eat in front of him was a bad idea .

"Yeah, I'm usually the calm one," I say when I've finally gotten the bite down.

Jett is all but laughing at me now.

I leave it unsaid that this wedding comes with some added stress. I already know Jett's opinion on that. I swallow again, my throat thick, as I think of the way he judged me for helping Gabriella make the wedding more publicized.

Unsaid or not, he scowls, and I think, Here it comes .

"Are you okay?" he asks, looking at where I'm scratching my arm. There's a bump there, like a bug bite, only … they're all over my arm.

"That's weird." I clear my throat again and then swallow.

He reaches for my arm, holding it up to look closer, and heat shoots through me at his tender touch. Then he reaches for my other arm. Like a zombie I hold it up, revealing to us both the patches of hives up and down both arms. I clear my throat again, bringing Jett's attention back to my face, which feels like it's on fire.

"Can you breathe okay?" he asks.

I nod slowly. "Yeah, my throat is just a little itchy. Maybe kind of tight. I thought I probably just yelled a lot today." Or you were making me all hot and bothered. One or the other. I reach again for my drink, but Jett keeps my hand back.

"What's in this?" he asks Dalton.

Dalton turns from handing a drink over to Colby. "There's no alcohol. I promised her." He frowns, and I also catch him biting the inside of his cheek. I don't blame him. Jett is intimidating. Six-foot-four and 220 pounds makes for a daunting stature. Add in his intensity, and it's hard to keep eye contact with him during the best of conversations. Dalton has always shrugged it off in the past. They played football together in high school, and he knew Jett well. But Jett's glare now is definitely unnerving. I don't blame Dalton for getting nervous.

"What's in it?" Jett repeats impatiently.

"Jett." I put my hand on his chest, and boy oh boy, I should not have done that. I'm basically a ball of flames right now that's about to throw herself into his arms. Playing up whatever's going on with me sounds like a very good strategy. A wave of dizziness makes me plop back into my chair, and all I can think is, this is good for my act. "Jett," I repeat, pulling my hand away. "I'm not allergic to anything. You know that."

Jett huffs. "Colby, do you have Benadryl?"

Colby nods, casting a concerned glance at me before leaving the room.

"Jett—" I protest.

"You're obviously having an allergic reaction to something." He turns back to Dalton. "What's in the drink?"

Dalton starts rattling off ingredients, all things I'm pretty sure I've had before: sparkling water, lemon juice, mint syrup, a sprig of mint, pineapple juice. Jett nods, but Dalton doesn't relax. I can almost see Jett ticking off memories of times we've had something together that contains those ingredients, checking for himself.

I try dragging in another breath, but it does seem harder. I lean to one side of the stool, almost falling off before I right myself. Jett takes my arm, pulling me to stand and holding me close to him. I sink into him automatically, my body's muscle memory reaction to a man who's shape against me is so familiar. I'm aware enough to notice that he relaxes the tiniest bit as well.

He picks up the bottle of water I was drinking before, sniffs it, and leaves it. He pulls me away from the bar, grabbing another, unopened, bottle of water as we pass the table, and then leads me to the same hallway Colby disappeared down. Gabriella follows us.

I feel more and more dizzy, to the point that Jett is almost carrying me by the time we reach a guest suite. He leads me to the bed and helps me lie down on it. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

I'm dizzy and I think I might be hallucinating the gentleness in his tone. "I'm fine," I say, but I notice my voice sounds wheezy. Jett's eyebrows crease even more.

Colby appears in the doorway, holding out a blister packet and another bottle of water. They're like two hovering Southern mamas as Jett helps me sit back up and Colby pops the Benadryl out of the plastic casing. Gabriella shifts behind them, watching anxiously.

"Chew it up," Jett says. "It'll kick in faster."

I follow his directions, grimacing at the bitter taste and washing it down with several sips of water. It's so hard to swallow, and I try not to panic. The Benadryl will help, and as I stare at Jett, I know deep, deep within my soul that he will never let anything bad happen to me, no matter what our past is. I can see the conviction in his eyes.

"Should we call 911?" he asks.

I'm feeling really disconnected from this moment, thinking about how tight my throat feels. I start noticing everything about my mouth, actually. My tongue seems twice as big and it's tingling.

"Gab invited Reeves. I'll go get him," Colby says and leaves the room. I don't know why Reeves can make the decision and the other two can't, but I close my eyes and focus on drawing breaths in and out.

"Hey, Ava, babe. Stay with me," Jett murmurs, jostling my shoulder.

"I'm awake. Just concentrating," I murmur. How can I not be awake when he's calling me babe? And I can't decide if my throat is getting tighter from emotion or the allergic reaction.

"Babe," I repeat in a whisper, letting the way he said it soothe me and keep me grounded. Everything is going to be okay. Jett is here, right by me.

He's got me. I just know it.