Gray laughs but pulls a carafe out of the basket. “Cocoa first.”
The little heater provides warmth, but not as much as Gray’s big body. I snuggle against him and drink cocoa. The dark stadium is still and quiet, the high, slanting sides looming up around us. Only a few lights by each end zone are on, shining a harsh, bluish white. “It kind of feels like we’re in the bowels of a space ship.”
Gray shifts closer, and his chin rests against my shoulder. “I guess it kind of does now. I’ve never been here when it’s dark like this.” I feel his head turn and know he’s looking around. His voice lowers to reverence. “To me, it’s a cathedral. I sit here and I feel calm, centered. And yet it’s like all the energy of games past remains, coursing through my veins, and I can’t wait for the next game.” My hand finds his, and I hold it as he continues. “I don’t even think it matters what stadium I’m in. It just feels right.” Soft lips brush along my neck. “The same way you feel right.”
This man. He does it for me in every way. I turn and kiss him, loving that I can. That he’s mine. Gray’s fingers thread through my hair to cup the back of my head as he deepens the kiss, tasting me like it’s the first time. Heat flares over my skin, but he pulls back, his breath coming a little faster. He gives me one more soft peck. “Love you, Ivy Mac.”
“Love you, Cupcake.”
Gray takes a deep breath, his nose against my hair as if he’s taking in my scent. Then he gives himself a little shake. “Okay. Present.” He fumbles around in the basket, his shoulders inching up, and it hits me that he’s nervous. Really nervous.
Which makes me nervous. When he turns, he’s so tight the muscles along his thighs bulge against his jeans. “Ivy…”
My attention drifts to the little black box he holds. Shit. I can’t move. My heart slams against my ribs.
Gray sits back on his heels, facing me. With shaking hands, he opens the box. The ring is gorgeous, an Art Deco design of three flat, emerald-cut diamonds on a platinum band.
I stare at it, numb inside, then look back at Gray. His whole heart is in his eyes. The corner of his mouth quirks, trembling a little. I just want to hug him close, only I’m frozen.
“This was my mom’s,” he says. “The only tangible thing I have left of her. Seeing it on your finger would give me joy.”
“Gray…” I swallow hard. “What—”
He quiets me with a squeeze of my hand. “Ivy Jane Mackenzie, I want to marry you. I want you to be my family. And I’ll be yours.” He looks at me with hope and longing. “Say yes?”
Shock has punched the breath out of me. I’d feared this. Yet, his words, the look in his eyes, makes me want to hug him close. Which makes it harder to answer.
“I can’t.”
He winces but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Why?”
He says it so reasonably, as if I’d refused another cup of cocoa. A choked laugh leaves me. “Ah. Because we’re twenty-two, for one thing.”
“Pretty sure lots of twenty-two-year-olds get married, Mac.”
Yeah, and I’m pretty sure I know why he wants to marry me. I love him for it. And I hate him for it. Grinding my teeth, I struggle to think of something to say to make him understand. “You’re the best college tight end I’ve ever seen.”
Gray cocks his head to the side. “Okay, not what I was expecting. Is there a point to this?”
“You could go number one.”
“I hope so.” His bronze brow lifts as if I’ve lost my nut. “Again, your point?”
“That’s a lot to take in. Worrying about a wife shouldn’t be part of it.”
With a curse, Gray looks off, his glare focused on the yellow uprights down the field. When his gaze returns to me, his focus is so intense, I feel it in my belly. “Were you planning to dump me, Ivy? When I’m thrust into this so-called awesome life?”
His anger vibrates through me. “No. Of course not.”