Page 64 of Flag On The Play
It’s late, but the air is cool and the park is lit by the soft golden glow of the lampposts. Nova slips her arm through mine, her fingers laced with mine like they’ve always belonged there.
We walk slowly, no rush to be anywhere but here.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into walking through Central Park in heels,” she says, glancing down at her boots and wrinkling her nose. “If I break my ankle, you’re carrying me home.”
I smirk, pulling her a little closer. “I’d carry you even if you didn’t break anything. Princess treatment, remember?”
She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch. “God, you’re lucky you’re hot.”
“Correction. You’re lucky I’m hot,” I fire back. “Otherwise, this entire night would just be a walk with a guy you used to hate who eats lo mein like a savage.”
Nova laughs, that real kind of laugh that crinkles her nose and lights up her entire face. “You do eat lo mein like a savage. I’ve never seen someone inhale food that fast.”
“I was carb loading for this walk,” I deadpan.
“Oh, right. Because a twenty-minute stroll is such a workout.”
“It is when you’re with a woman who walks like she’s in a damn runway show,” I mutter, and she gives my arm a playful smack.
We reach a quieter stretch of the path where the sounds of the city fade into the distance. Trees hang low above us, casting shadows that feel oddly intimate. I glance down at her and find her already watching me, her expression unreadable but full of something that hits me deep in the chest.
“You look like you’re thinking,” I say softly.
“I am,” she murmurs. “I’m thinking that it’s weird how natural this feels. Like we didn’t waste years pretending we didn’t know each other. Like we didn’t miss things we shouldn’t have.”
There’s a pause, and I slow our steps.
“I think,” I say, voice a little rougher now, “that we had to take the long way to get here. But this? Right now? This feels like the part we got right.”
Nova exhales, like she was holding it, and finally let it out.
We stop walking entirely, standing under a canopy of trees where the streetlights don’t quite reach. I brush a hand along her jaw, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” I tell her, honestly. Quietly. “You matter too much.”
She tilts her head, leaning into my touch, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Then don’t.”
I lean in and kiss her, slow and soft at first, the kind of kiss that steals your breath because of what it means, not just what it feels like.
But then she presses closer to me, and I deepen it. One hand on her waist, the other sliding into her hair.
This isn’t a kiss that ends in uncertainty. It’s the kind that tells you everything. That promises more. That says you’re home, even when you're still standing in the middle of the city that never sleeps.
When we finally break apart, she rests her forehead against mine.
“That,” she says, breathless. “Was a lot more romantic than I expected from a cocky quarterback.”
I grin, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “I’ve got more plays than you think, Wilde.”
She lifts a brow. “I swear if you turn that into a football metaphor, I’m walking out of here.”
I laugh, pulling her back into my side as we start walking again.
No football metaphors. No more missed chances. Just her. And this.
Exactly where I want to be.
CHAPTER 19
