Aiden blinked those great, dark eyelashes at me before reaching up to scratch at his chin, those lean cheeks puffing just slightly. Resignation, that clear, clear emotion that seemed to melt its way down from his hairline and over that perpetual wrinkle between his eyebrows and the sides of his mouth, had me blinking.

“Give me a minute,” he sighed as he moved around me and jogged up the stairs, two at a time, the house shaking in response. Briefly, I feared for the life of the stairs. Then I realized what he was doing.

Was he…?

“You don’t have to come with me,” I shouted, taking a moment to absorb those perfect glutes and rock solid calves defying gravity as they made their way up the stairs. Why would he even want to come along, anyway? The memory of what he’d said in Las Vegas when I took off on my own suddenly came back to me. You aren’t the only one who takes their promises seriously.

“I’m not asking,” he yelled back just as he reached the clearing.

Torn between thinking it was nice and cute that he didn’t want me going out for a jog alone at dusk, I remembered how important it was for him—for big guys in his position in general—to keep their cardio to a minimum. They couldn’t afford to lose weight when they needed to keep their size, especially someone with a diet like Aiden’s, who had to consume more physical food than someone who ate meat to get an appropriate amount of calories and not go hungry. It was why Aiden worked out so hard during the day and made a severe effort to rest as much as he could during his off time.

Then I wondered, could he even run five miles?

I took a step closer to the staircase. “You really don’t. I won’t be gone long. I’ll take my phone.”

There was a pause, and if I really focused, I could hear his dresser drawer slamming shut. “One minute.”

This stubborn ass. “No, Aiden, stay here!”

“Thirty seconds,” the hardheaded mule replied.

Why was I even waiting around arguing with him? He really should stay home. He didn’t have any business putting strain on his tendon if he didn’t have to.

“I’ll be back soon!” I took my glasses off and set them on the table right by the door, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I wanted to buy a strap to keep them from falling off when I ran, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I’d almost always been farsighted, but I swear my vision was getting worse and worse every year. It was probably time to get a new prescription. Just as I reached the door, I heard that giant, two–hundred-and-seventy-pound body stomping around before the stairs took another beating.

“I told you to wait,” he grumbled on the way down.

I glanced at him over my shoulder and scrunched my nose. “I told you to stay. You’re not supposed to be doing a whole bunch of cardio.”

He was apparently going to pretend I hadn’t said anything. “Let’s go.”

I patted the fanny pack clipped around my waist in case he hadn’t seen it. “I have a flashlight and pepper spray. I’ll be fine.”

The expression on his face wasn’t an impressed one. “That’s nice. Let’s go.”

“Aiden, I’m being serious.”

“Vanessa, let’s go.”

He had busted out that damn tone of voice again, which only meant one thing: This was one of those times that it was pointless to argue with him. I realized that now.

Waving me to go through the doorway first, he set the alarm to stay, since Zac was napping in his room, and followed me onto the paved stone walkway leading up to the house. Facing each other, I took a long step back with my right leg and got into runner’s pose. “Aiden, I’m not joking. Stay home.”

“Why?” He mirrored my stretch, making the material of his shorts squeeze those massive thighs like a second skin. I didn’t even know a leg had as many perfect, delineated muscles until I’d seen Aiden in compression shorts.

I had to force myself to quit fondling those big hams with my eyeballs. I didn’t know what it was about muscular thighs that drove me nuts. I could live without a six-pack, but developed quads and calves were my Kryptonite. “Because you shouldn’t be running.” Before I could think twice about what was in my mouth, I said the worst thing you could possibly tell a highly competitive person. “And I don’t know if you can run five miles, big guy. Plus, your Achilles—”

What had I done?

The Wall of Winnipeg, the man who had dragged himself into becoming the greatest defensive player in the NFO, leveled a gaze at me that for the first time in the years we’d known each other, made me uncomfortable. It was unsettling. Beyond unsettling. And I wished I had something to hide behind.

“You worry about running your own five miles, all right?” he quipped in a quiet, rough voice.

God help us. I lifted my hands up, palms toward him, and shrugged, backing away in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

My middle finger twitched, but I kept it under wraps and with its brothers and sisters. We stretched in silence for the next few minutes, our quads, hamstrings, and calves getting needed attention. I did it because of my knee injury, and Aiden because his body was worth millions. Millions and millions.

The fact he was breaking the strict rules he put on himself just so I wouldn’t go out for a run alone, definitely made an appearance in my heart and head, chipping away a little more at that aggravation I’d built up with him since I had quit. I just hoped he didn’t regret it tomorrow.