“I know who you are, sir.” I smiled. “It's an honor to meet you.”

"The honor is all mine. You apparently mean the world to Kyle Stanton, so that means that you mean the world to me and my organization as well.”

“What?” I blushed.

“Mr. Stanton thinks it would be best if you watch the game in the owner's box—specifically in my seat,” he said. “He says that you sitting there will make him very happy, and I need him happy to ensure that we win this game.”

My jaw dropped, and I struggled to find something to say.

The doors suddenly opened, saving me from saying something silly.

I remained speechless as we rode up together.

“Kyle says that your writing is far past the level of Michael Router,” Mr. Bausch said, breaking the spell. “He says you taught him everything he knows. Is that true?”

“Something like that.” I smiled.

The elevator stopped on the top floor, revealing an opulent suite that was guarded by security.

One of the guards handed me a jersey.

“Courtesy of Mr. Stanton,” he said.

Mr. Bausch introduced me to every person we passed and then he walked me over to a seat at the front of the box. My name was written on an envelope in the seat, and an array of chocolate-covered fruit stood on my tray.

I ordered a water from one of the personal waitresses and took a seat.

As the players took to the field for the warmups, I slid my finger under the envelope’s seal and opened it.

 

* * *

 

Dear Courtney,

* * *

 

I know that you're still thinking about us and taking me back, but I felt that you should enjoy the game like you deserve to.

* * *

 

And by “enjoy,” I really mean that.

* * *

 

Do not take notes.

* * *

 

I'll have our videographers get you whatever you need, and if you want interviews from my teammates, they've all agreed to speak with you privately, away from the other journalists.

* * *

 

You should have at least two beers, tons of nachos, and whatever else that real fans do.

* * *

 

See you after the game.

(Wait for me.)

* * *

 

Kyle Stanton.

* * *

 

P.S. You look sexy as hell in red.

P.S.S. It’s a good color for you to say, Yes …

* * *

 

I blushed and looked up, wondering when exactly he'd seen me today. Then I stuffed my bag under my chair and signaled for a waitress.

“Yes, Miss Johnson?" She smiled. “What can I get for you?”

“I'd like a beer and nachos, please.”

Kyle: Now

Present Day

* * *

 

Kyle Stanton Keeps His Promise in Historic Super Bowl Win: 48-54

* * *

 

New England Falcons Beat Tampa Bay Brewers in High Scoring Thriller

* * *

 

Kyle Stanton Wins MVP Honors, Dedicates Win to “Passionate, Batshit Crazy” Fans

* * *

 

Now a Super Bowl Champion, Will It Be Enough for Kyle Stanton to Stay in New England?

Courtney: On a Wednesday

Present Day

The Late Night Show.

ESPN: Aftermath.

First Take.

Kyle’s post-win media tour was fascinating to watch, even if he only responded to the questions with, “I’m only here so I won’t get fined,” or “I’m only here because my agent is making me do this.”

Desperate for a glimpse of his pretty boy smile and trademark grin, the journalists continued to seek him out—hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would give them a hint as to whether he planned to stay in New England or move on to another city.

“Thank you again for joining us today, Mr. Stanton,” the host of Boston in the Morning shook his hand onscreen. “It was a pleasure seeing you here today, even though you didn’t say much.”

“I did say, Thank you for inviting me.” Kyle smiled. “That has to count, right?”

“Does that ‘Thank you’ mean that you plan to play for New England again next year?”

Kyle laughed and stood to his feet, and the credits began to play.

Shaking my head, I turned down the volume and tossed the remote on the bed. I made sure that all of my luggage was fully zipped and double checked all of the drawers.

Walking over to the Keurig, I made myself a cup of coffee and decided to use the remaining hours before checkout to sit on the balcony.

As I was watching a couple below, loud honking suddenly sounded from down the street.

Confused, I looked left and spotted a beige-colored town car swerving down the street.

Just like in Pretty Woman, Kyle popped up through the roof of the car—armed with a bouquet of red roses.

I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it.

“Courtney!” He called my name as the car pulled right under my window.

He climbed on top of the roof and jumped to the street.

“Shit … There’s no fucking fire escape,” he said, looking up at me. “I forgot to consider that part, so you’ll have to excuse my improvisation.”

I laughed.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, walking into the building.

I rushed inside and into the hallway—watching as the numbers above the elevator lit up.

Five…Fifteen…Twenty…

When it reached thirty, the doors glided open.

Kyle stepped off and we stared at each other for several seconds. He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me close, kissing me harder than he ever had.

When he pulled away, he pressed a soft kiss on my forehead.

Then he got down on one knee, pulling a box from his pocket.

“For the record,” he said, looking into my eyes. “This is a real proposal, not a platitude, and I mean every word that I’m about to say.”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I couldn’t help interrupting. “You don’t have to give me a speech. I would marry you right now.”

He blinked.

“I’ve worked on this speech for weeks, Court,” he said. “You have to listen to every word of it.”

I laughed as tears fell past my cheeks. “Okay, Kyle.”

He held my hand a bit tighter, keeping his eyes on mine. “For the record, I liked you freshman year of college, but you turned me down the first night we met, so I made a personal vow to not show up for that group project the next semester.”

“I’m reconsidering that ‘yes’ now…”

He laughed, squeezing my hand. “But I’m glad we didn’t get close until senior year, because I truly got to see what I’d been missing out on my entire college career, my entire life. I should’ve never let you go the first time, should’ve never even pretended like we could be ‘just friends,’ and I promise you—fucking promise you, that I’ll never do it again. Will you marry me?”