Page 11 of Touchdown Under the Mistletoe
“I get it. We all got busy,” I say.
“I want to make the most of the time we have. I have to leave on the twenty-seventh,” he says.
The twenty-seventh. That’s only a few days after Christmas. My stomach sinks with disappointment, something I have no right to feel. It’s not like I’m his girlfriend. His leaving shouldn’t affect me like this.
“That soon?” I ask.
“Playoffs are coming up. I need to get back for training. But until then, let’s actually spend time together. Like old times. We’ve spent way too much time apart already.”
“I’d like that,” I admit.
“Good. Want to go ice skating tomorrow? They set up that rink at the town’s Christmas market like they do every year. What do you say?”
I should say no. I should protect myself, keep some distance, and remember that he has a girlfriend. And I’m what? An old friend? The girl next door, who clearly never got over her childhood crush?
But instead, I say, “Yeah. I’d love to.”
“Perfect. It’s a date then. I mean, not adatedate. Just, you know, ice skating. As friends.”
“Of course. As friends.”
I get under the covers, and Travis does the same.
“Fair warning, though, it’s possible your picture will get taken.”
“You think the paparazzi followed you here? To the mountains of Montana?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Nothing surprises me these days.”
“What’s it like? Being famous? Having women swoon over you all the time. Getting recognized everywhere you go. It must be pretty amazing.”
Travis lets out a hollow laugh. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Not like everyone thinks.”
“Come on. You’re telling me you don’t enjoy the attention? The adoration? The success?”
“The attention gets old fast, trust me.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I notice how exhausted he looks. “You can’t go anywhere without someone wanting a photo or an autograph. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the fans, I really am. But sometimes you just want to grab coffee with someone without it turning into a whole thing, you know?”
“I guess I never thought about it like that.”
“And the women… Most of them don’t actually care about me. They care about Travis Steelbird, the NFL player. The guy they see in magazines or on TV. They don’t know the real me. Not like…” He shakes his head. “Honestly? I’d give it all up for real love. For someone who sees me, not the fame or the money or the image.”
I frown. “What do you mean? You have Sienna.”
Something flickers across his face, and he nods. “Right. Yeah. Sienna.”
The way it comes out feels wrong. There’s no warmth when he talks about her. Just this flat, almost resigned tone that doesn’t match someone talking about their girlfriend. And how could someone forget they even have a girlfriend? Because that’s what it sounded like when he talked about wanting real love. Like I had to remind him that he’s already in a relationship.
Then again, I could be reading way too much into it. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to see because the alternative—that he’s genuinely happy with his perfect, beautiful girlfriend—is too painful to accept. Yeah, that’s definitely it.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by a muffled thump followed by a string of notes from downstairs. It sounds like a cat being strangled, but I’m pretty sure the Steelbirds don’t have a cat.
Travis groans. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, no, what?”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s probably Grandma practicing for the annual talent night.”
I blink. “You guys have a talent night?”
