Chapter 86


    The physical relief was so immediate that I had to stop myself from moaning in response.


    “Jesus, Catalina,” he huffed, looking back at me, horrified. “What are you carrying in here? A dead


    body?”


    “Hey, this is not a regr weekend visit to the fam, okay? Stop luggage-shaming me,” I said to the


    scowling man walking beside me. “I had to fit loads of stuff. Makeup, essories, hair dryer, hair


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    straightener, my good conditioner, lotion, all the dresses I’m taking, six pairs of shoes—”


    “Six pairs of shoes?” Aaron croaked, scowling even harder.


    “Yes,” I answered quickly, my gaze hunting for the right check-in counter. “One for each of the three


    different outfits I need, plus the pertinent three backups.” I paused, thinking of something. “Please tell


    me you packed at least one backup.”


    Aaron rearranged my bag on his shoulder, shaking his head at the same time. “No, I didn’t. But I’ll be


    fine. You, on the other hand …” Another shake of his head. “You are—”


    “Brilliant?” I finished for him. “Astute? Gifted in the art of packing? I know. And I hope you have enough


    clothes in that tiny suitcase you are carrying.”


    “Ridiculous,” he murmured. “You are a ridiculous woman.”


    “We’ll see who’s the ridiculous one when something identally happens to your shirt, tie, or suit, and


    you have to wear one of my dresses to the wedding.”


    A grunt reached my ears. “Six pairs of shoes,” the scowling man in casual wear muttered. “Ridiculous


    woman packing her own weight in clothes.” He went on, almost too low for me to make out.


    “If it’s too heavy for you, you can give it back. I was doing fine myself.”


    His head shot in my direction, giving me a look that told me that wasn’t an option.


    Sighing, I epted the help. “Thank you, ckford. That’s very kind of you.”


    “And you were not doing fine,” he countered back, making me want to take back my thank-you. “You


    could have hurt yourself.”


    Aaron veered for the left, and I finally tracked down the counters matching the airline we were flying


    with.


    I followed him. “I appreciate the concern, Big A. But I’ve got my own set of muscles.”


    He brushed over my use of his nickname. “Of course. You have to be stubborn on top of ridiculous,” he


    muttered under his breath.


    I had to hide my smile. “Said the kettle to the pot.”


    With ast sideways nce, Aaron sped out, letting his long legs carry him away with his small and


    reasonable suitcase and my ridiculously brimming bag off his shoulder.


    From my position a couple of steps behind him, I had no choice but to let my gaze travel down his


    backside. A not-too-small and certainly not-very-quiet part of me was a little in awe by how his jeans


    hugged those muscled thighs, which had once propelled him across a football field. That same part got


    a little louder when my eyes trailed up, catching how his biceps, which I knew had carried a brown


    melonlike leather ball across that very same field, were bunched as his arm held the weight of my bag.


    Ugh. It was terribly disturbing how distracting Aaron’s backside was now that I knew more of him. Now


    that I knew all these tiny little pieces of his life.


    The ones I had found out about the night of the fundraiser, sure. But also those I had dug up when I


    Googled him.


    Yes, I had fallen prey to my curiosity. But just once. I had allowed myself to do that one single time.


    And that level of self-restraint hadn’t been easy to aplish. At least not considering how everything


    out of my little Google rendezvous had been stuck in the back of my head ever since I indulged.


    Demanding to be acknowledged more often than I was ready to admit.


    My mind seemed eager on not letting go of the pictures of a younger version of Aaron—just as stoic,


    his shoulders as wide, and his jaw just as hard—dressed in a purple-and-golden uniform that made my


    heart rate grow a little quicker, only thinking about it. Or the headlines proiming that he had been a


    known name back in that day. But what I’d had more trouble forgetting were the articles—and there had


    been more than a couple dozen—praising his performance and foreshadowing the yer he would


    be. But hadn’t.


    So, why hadn’t he? Why did the press coverage of his football career go for a few years and then stop


    altogether?


    That was something I hadn’t managed to find.


    And it only fueled my itch to know more. To learn more about this man


    I had thought I had all pieced together but that I was learning I couldn’t have been any more wrong


    about.


    As if on cue, Aaron looked back at me. His brows rose on his forehead. “Is something wrong?”


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