Page 66 of Final Down

Peyton shrugs.

“I told you.”

Her family laughs along with me.

“She told all of us,” Reed adds.

“Yet I’m the only man smart enough to listen to her,” Buck pipes up. “Speaking of?—”

He holds an open palm out toward Jason, and Peyton moves to stand by her grandfather with her hand on her hip.

“Pay up, buddy,” she says.

Jason shakes his head, then pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket.

“Dude, you guys aren’t stupid enough to bet on the game, are you?” My chest flutters with panic.

“Ha, no! We bet on your baby,” Jason says.

“Notallof us,” Ellie gripes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Grampa and I won,” Peyton says, taking the cash and dividing it in half. Her grandfather pushes his half away when she offers it to him.

“I told you to keep all of it,” he says.

Peyton’s head falls to one side for a moment, then she bends down to hug Buck.

“Looks like I have a crib to buy,” she says, her eyes flitting to me.

She’s been dying to get to work on the baby’s room. We decided to invest most of the money from my deal and eventually put it toward our dream home. The guest house has a small second bedroom that will work for now.

“You pick it all. You have much better taste than I do anyhow,” I admit.

Peyton grins and then pockets her fun money. I drop my chin and lean in to kiss her softly, holding her gaze as I pull away.

“So, what happened to no traveling?”

I hope she didn’t risk anything.

“Technically, it’s no flying. So, guess who got an RV?” She quirks a brow, and I glance over her shoulder to her dad.

“Uh, tour bus, thank you very much,” Reed answers, holding up a set of keys.

My mouth hangs open with a quiet laugh over the extremes this family is willing to go to, then my eyes focus on the jersey Reed is wearing. I flinch.

“Is that—?” I whirl my finger to ask Reed to spin around. He obliges, looking over his shoulder at my name, then at me.

“Got it for a real bargain, too. Forty bucks. It’s a knock-off.”

“Ha! I’m legit enough to have knock-off jerseys! Fucking wild!”

I walk to Reed and pinch his sleeve to test the fabric. I’m impressed with the quality for a fake jersey. I’m about to ask if there’s enough time to hit the stand for one of my own when her mom tosses a plastic bag to me that I catch against my chest.

“No way!”

Nolan nods, wearing a crooked smirk.

I pull out my own fake jersey and instantly pull it over my head, pushing my arms through the sleeves. It fits weird, half because it’s a fake and half because I just yanked it over a button-down shirt. But I love this thing.

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