You were not supposed to be in the VIP tunnel again.

And yet — here you are. Half-asleep, shoes in hand, letting Theo drag you through the polished hallway lined with velvet ropes. You try to fix your face, try to look like a mom who doesn’t want to strangle her kid for somehow knowing exactly where the players exit.

Theo tugs your arm. “We’re almost at her car!”

Her.

You sigh. “Theo, we’ve already seen her four times this month—”

“She said I was her lucky charm, Mama.”

“That was a line, baby.”

“She winked at you when she said it.”

Your stomach tightens. “No, she didn’t.”

Theo doesn’t even dignify that with a response. He sprints ahead the second he sees her. You follow slower, chewing on your lip, knowing she’s going to be leaned against her matte black Escalade like a damn poster.

And of course, she is.

Gray sweatpants, a sleeveless compression shirt, towel around her neck, hair braided back and damp, like she didn’t even bother drying off before meeting fans.

London’s eyes slide up your frame the second you get within five feet.

“Well damn. You always look this good in jeans or is this a Tuesday special?”

You blink at her. “It’s Thursday.”

She smirks. “My bad. You shook me up.”

You cross your arms. “You’re not supposed to flirt in front of children.”

London doesn’t even look at you when she answers — she’s already crouched in front of Theo, her voice softer. “Got your sign ready?”

He nods eagerly and hands her the Sharpie he brought in his backpack like it’s a sword. She grabs it and clicks the cap, then looks up at you with a single eyebrow raised.

“I only sign shirts if your mom tells me she misses me.”

You snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Just say it. One little sentence.”

“Theo, ask her to sign your shirt like a normal person.”

London grins and starts signing anyway, under the collar, just above the little red stitching. “Fine, fine. I’ll let it slide. This time.”

Theo grins so wide his dimple shows. He grabs London’s hand when she tries to stand. “Can you come to dinner with us? Mama says you’re too busy but we’re just getting pizza downstairs!”

You freeze. “Theo—”

London doesn’t even pause. “What kind of pizza?”

⸻

Twenty minutes later — hotel restaurant.

You’re sitting at a booth across from her. Theo’s between you two, distracted by the coloring sheet the waiter gave him. London’s legs are spread wide, one arm on the back of the booth — relaxed. Confident. Her cologne is expensive and warm and annoyingly good.

She dips a fry in ranch and smirks. “You look tense.”

You glare. “Because I didn’t plan for this.”

“Didn’t plan to see me again?”

“Didn’t plan to have dinner with someone who smirks for a living.”

She leans in, voice dropping. “You think this is smirking? Baby, if I smirked for real, you wouldn’t sleep tonight.”

You feel your stomach flip.

Theo looks up, mid-bite. “Mama said if you ever made her cry she’d pour hot sauce on your shoes.”

London doesn’t blink. “And I’d deserve it.”

Then she looks at you. “But I won’t.”