If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 7

Easton

“The master looks right out to Lake Michigan.” At the top of the stairs, Ellie turns left and opens a set of double doors that lead into the master bedroom of what I hope will be my future home. She strides in, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

I turn to follow, and the view stops me in my tracks. The lake stretches for miles, and the rippling water glitters like diamonds in the sunset.

I would’ve thought I’d become accustomed to views like this. After thirteen years in the NFL, the best has become my new normal. Hell, I’ve owned my penthouse in Laguna Beach for ten years, and its view of the Pacific is hands-down more impressive than this. But I’m speechless nonetheless. Something about being back in Jackson Harbor makes the last thirteen years go away. Once again, I’m just the son of a single mom, scraping by on next to nothing. Once again, I’m a kid who’s grateful he has football and a best friend with the coolest family in the world.

Once, a house like this was only a dream, and now I’m a couple of signatures from grabbing it for myself—free and clear.

“Is it okay?” Ellie asks, misinterpreting my silence for disapproval.

Nodding, I cross the room to stand by the windows. I’ve been waiting for something like this to come on the market, and came to town just to see it before finalizing my offer. “No, it’s great.” I flash her a smile over my shoulder. “Thanks for catching it for me.”

She beams. “That’s my job.”

“There are other bedrooms on this floor?”

“Yes. It’s a split floor plan up here. The master’s on this side, and then there’s an office between you and the other bedrooms.” She nods toward the door. “Let me show you the one I think your daughter would love.”

I follow her down the hall, stopping along the way to admire the massive office with its wall of walnut built-ins. I love all the wood tones in this house, from the trim to the timber beams in the family room downstairs. Right before Scarlett finally moved out, she remodeled my Laguna home into a monochromatic wash of white and gray. It felt like a high-end hotel. This feels like home.

“Big closets,” Ellie says when I follow her into the room at the end of the hall. “And she might not care about that now, but there’s a good chance she will when she gets older.”

I grunt. Abigail might only be nine, but she already cares about clothes more than I ever have. The room is a good size, and I can already picture where I’ll put her bed, a desk, and a small TV area with her fuzzy pink beanbag chairs. It might not have the massive windows that the master has, but it does overlook the water.

“She’ll love it.” I swallow, hoping I’m right. I need to get her out of L.A. The media circus that’s rained down on us since her mom’s follow-up tell-all interview has been intense and worse than anything we’ve had to deal with before. Abi wants it to end, but like any nine-year-old would be, she’s nervous about leaving all her friends.

“I’m sure it’s scary,” Ellie says softly, “picking up your whole life and moving here. But there’s nowhere I’d rather raise a family.”

Grinning, I look pointedly at the ring on her finger and grab the opportunity to change the subject with both hands. “Are you and Levi planning a family?”

Her cheeks bloom red. “Eventually. We’re not in any hurry.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine that little punk settling down. He was always up to something.” I smile, memories filling my head.

“He’s changed a lot since you moved away.” She studies me for a long beat before adding, “Everyone has.”

Hell, don’t I know it. “You’re friends with Shay?”

She nods. “I’m not as close to her as Teagan is, but we’re friends. We all try to get together for girls’ night at least once a month—though now it’s more like quarterly. Everyone’s so busy. But Shay’s been finishing up her dissertation. We have to drag her out of the house every so often so she doesn’t work herself into the ground.” She cocks her head to the side and says, “But I thought it was Carter you were so close to.”

Busted. “I was close to the whole family. They treated me like one of their own.”

“Of course they did.”

“There’s room for everyone,” we say in unison, reciting what seems to be the Jackson family creed.

“They were there for me through some tough times too.” She scans the empty room, but I get the impression she’s really just stuck in her memories.

“Carter was my best friend growing up.” I shove my hands in my pockets and make a show of checking the closet. I’ve already had a private inspector go through the house, and I knew I’d buy it before I flew here to see it. I just wanted to make sure it felt right before I committed. Maybe I also wanted to see Shay before I’m busy settling Abigail into Jackson Harbor.

And didn’t that go great?

“And you and Shay . . .?” Ellie asks.

I arch a brow, waiting for her to finish that sentence and wondering how close she really is with the Jackson sister.

She shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m being unprofessional. Your history with her is none of my business.”

Did Shay say something? I bite back the question. It won’t do anything but make me sound like an insecure teenager. But damn, where Shay’s concerned, that’s how I feel.

I glance around the room again. “So let’s do some paperwork and make this official.”

Shay

“Are you okay?”

Jerking out of my thoughts, I realize my date is staring at me, his deep brown eyes crinkled in the corners. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You’ve been poking at that pasta for ten minutes.” George Alby flashes me his panty-melting bearded smile. His signature charm only compounds my guilt. “You just seem distracted. Is it your defense? Because you have nothing to worry about. Hammer out those revisions, and you’ll have a dissertation worth publishing.”

“It’s not that.” After I failed spectacularly at quieting my brain enough to nap, George and I decided to meet for dinner at our favorite diner. The place is just off the interstate in a tiny town halfway between Grand Rapids and Jackson Harbor. These are usually my favorite nights with him—when we can be in public without hiding our relationship. Tonight, I’ve barely touched my food, and his plate is clear. I’m proving to be a crappy date.

George nudges his empty plate to the side and folds his arms on the table. “So tell me what it is.” He looks around the restaurant in amusement. “Is this a breakup dinner?”

I gape. “No, of course not! Why would you even think that?”

“It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it?” An insecure smile flashes across his ruggedly handsome features, and my heart tugs. “Until one of these universities on the other side of the country drags you away from me?”

I don’t want to move across the country. But is that because I don’t want to leave George, or because I don’t want to leave my family? He and I have never set out to have something long-term. I’m not even sure what this thing is between us. He’s more than my fuck buddy—and I’m pretty sure that label would offend him down to his bones—but he’s not quite my boyfriend either. And the fact that we agreed from the beginning to keep this relationship a secret hasn’t given us any reason to iron out what we are to each other.

I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry I’m distracted. It’s not about you.”

“Shay . . .” He takes my hand and toys with my fingers. “You can trust me with whatever’s going on in your head. I don’t scare off easily.”

But everything in my head is awful. My head is full of a laundry list of Easton’s qualities and all the ways George. . . isn’t him. “Did you know Easton Connor is moving back to Jackson Harbor?” I can tell by George’s baffled expression that he has no idea who Easton is. That makes me laugh. “Easton Connor, the quarterback? Two-time Super Bowl MVP?”

George wrinkles his nose and shrugs. He’s adorable, and normally a show of NFL ignorance would be a point in his favor, because it means never having to answer all the crazy fan questions about what it was like to grow up with Easton. Tonight it irritates me. And the fact that I’m irritated is irritating. I blame Easton for it all. He’s like a drug. He messes with my brain on a chemical level.

“Easton Connor is an NFL player who grew up in Jackson Harbor,” I explain patiently. “He was best friends with my brother Carter growing up, and he was at brunch today.”

George tilts his head to the side. “Okay . . .”

I look away. I don’t want to admit my complicated past with Easton to anyone, but sharing it with an academic who sneers at professional athletes is really high on my list of do not want. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and it’s messed with me a little.”

“You’re struggling because you’ve reconnected with your brother’s childhood best friend?” he asks. “Or you’re struggling because he used to be something to you?”

“He was never anything to me,” I blurt. Way too defensive. “Not officially, at least.”

“He hurt you?”

My eyes fill with hot tears. Totally unexpected and even more unacceptable. Stupid emotions. “I don’t know if I’d use that word.” Though with Easton, there’s no other word that comes close to what I felt. “My family never knew.”

Wincing at that painfully accurate summary, I shrug again. Excellent communicating, Shayleigh.

“No. Of course not. That’s not why I . . .” I shake my head. I’m not even sure what future he’s referring to. My career, or my relationship with him? Surely the former, right? “I’ve just been thinking about the past. I’m fine. I’m not looking to reunite with Easton, I promise.”

Standing, he pulls out his wallet and throws cash on the table to cover our meal. He leads me from my seat and cups my jaw in both hands, kissing me long and full and . . . Damn. This is why I fell into bed with him that first time. He can listen, and he can kiss. I never thought I’d find myself in a relationship like this, and yet here I am, sneaking around. It’s not that what we’re doing is against the rules, but it’s certainly frowned upon. At the very least, it will make people think twice about my accomplishment when I finally get my doctorate.

Home. The place we stay when we sleep together is hardly home to either of us.