Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Take A Chance on Me

Skye

I do not need another coffee, but here I am, entering the café at eleven-thirty-seven the following day. And there he is, sitting at a table by the window with a perfect view of the door and me.

He pushes back his chair, a wry smile gracing his full, luscious lips. I head for him instead of the counter. He tucks a casual hand into his pants pocket. Today he’s dressed in a dark gray suit, white button down and a bright blue tie that matches his eyes.

“Let me guess, you were in the area.” Obviously, I’m being tongue in cheek.

His gaze moves over me on a slow sweep, and he shakes his head. “I made a detour, hoping I’d run into you. I’m sorry about yesterday. The last thing I wanted was to stand you up, but I couldn’t leave the scene without reporting what I witnessed.”

“Was everyone okay?”

“Yeah, but a teen rear-ended an elderly lady. I guess he was paying more attention to his cell phone than he was the road. She was pretty shaken up.”

“Poor thing. That was good of you to hang around.” The flutter in my chest drops to my stomach and then lower, to my excitable parts. Hot men who help little old ladies are apparently a real turn on.

“Just trying to do the right thing, but gotta be honest, it was a tough choice knowing it could mean blowing my shot with you.” He runs a hand through his thick hair, his expression chagrined. “And now I’m hoping you might have a little time for that coffee?”

“I can stay for a bit.”

Larissa calls my name and holds up a cup, eyebrows rising as her lips tip upward.

“I already took care of it. I figured you’d be in at some point. Guess I just lucked out that you came in today.” He motions to the table. “Have a seat. I’ll get it for you. Do you want anything else? Something to eat?”

“The coffee is great. Thanks though.”

I shrug out of my jacket and take a seat at the small table for two.

Sidney returns a moment later with my coffee and slides into the chair across from me. He really is handsome.

“I’m glad you came in today.” He catches his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment.

It’s my turn with the slightly embarrassed smile. “If I’m being honest, I only came because you might be here, too.”

“Good. That’s great. I wasn’t sure if I was pushing it since you didn’t text.”

I sip my coffee and glance out the window. “I planned to do that tonight. After work. I wanted to text last night, but my daughter said I should wait twenty-four hours.” I bite my lips together, wishing I could curb my honesty. But I’m not interested in doing the dating dance with a guy who can’t handle the complications of being a single parent with a teen.

“How old is your daughter?” he asks, gaze moving over my face as if he’s trying to guess my age.

“Fifteen going on twenty-five. She’s a Mathlete, very studious and responsible. She’s pretty easy as far as teenagers go.”

“Fifteen, huh?” He tips his head fractionally.

“I was in my early twenties when I had her.” That’s as close as I’ll get to revealing my age on a first coffee date.

He smiles. “Well, she sounds like a dream. I have a teenage son, too. He’s seventeen. He’s more of an ongoing concern, but he’s always on the ice so he doesn’t have much time for trouble.”

“Oh? On the ice doing what?” I fight not to fidget. Maybe his son is a figure skater, or a speed skater. But this is Chicago, and people live and breathe hockey around here.

“He plays competitive hockey. We travel a lot for his games. It’s just the two of us.” I’m not sure what my expression must be, but that smile of his shifts. “Not a fan of hockey?”

“I don’t mind the game.” I have a love-hate relationship with hockey players, though.

The love part gave me Violet, the hate part revolves around the guy who knocked me up. Violet’s father is a former professional hockey player. He was a one-night stand and a poor decision. One I didn’t want to involve in our lives after I did the necessary internet research, so I raised Violet on my own. All she knows about him is that he was a fling.

“But…” He fidgets with the napkin, then taps the edge of his paper cup.

I shrug, unwilling to share my most impulsive choices with a guy I’ve just met, who I may or may not want to see again. “No buts. It must be hard managing that kind of schedule on your own. Are you divorced?” It’s always good to know if there’s an angry ex involved.

He shakes his head and his gaze shifts to his hands. “Uh, no. Miller’s mother passed away when he was three.”

My heart clenches. A single dad, with a teen son who plays a high-level sport and he lost his wife. That’s a lot of responsibility. And probably baggage. But everyone has baggage. I cover his hand with mine, squeezing gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too. She had a rare form of brain cancer. They couldn’t operate on the tumor and it just... took over. It was fast moving, so she didn’t suffer long.” He clears his throat.

“How long were you together?” I withdraw my hand to avoid awkward, prolonged contact.

“Six years. The first five were great, but the last one was hard.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Anyway.” He exhales slowly, his smile sad. “It’s been the two of us for a lot of years and he’s been pushing the online dating thing, but those apps scare the hell out of me.”

“The catfish potential is pretty high these days.”

“Yes, this!” He chuckles. “All it takes is one unpleasant experience to taint you for the rest of eternity.”

“Mm, so true.” I lean back in my chair. “Last year, one of my girlfriends thought it would be fun to set up a profile after we’d been into the margaritas. It was not the best choice.”

“Oh, that sounds like it has a story attached to it.”

“There were a lot of duck face selfies and regrets involved. I had a lot of interest, though not from guys I would ever want to introduce to my daughter.” I wave a hand around in the air. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Why not? It’s entertaining.”

“I’m supposed to put my best foot forward, aren’t I? Telling you about my drunk dating app experiences doesn’t speak to my good decision making.”

“Eh, we all make bad decisions, especially when there are a lot of margaritas involved.”

“That’s the truth.” I clink my paper cup against his then lift it to my lips. “So, what is it exactly that you do for a living?”

“I’m a hockey scout.”

I nearly spit spray my coffee in his pretty face. Instead, I suck it back in and cough uncontrollably. The kind of hacking that makes tears spring to my eyes and breathing difficult.

“Are you okay?” Sidney’s eyes are wide.

I hold up a hand. “Just.” Cough. “Went.” Hack. “Down.” Wheeze. “The wrong.” Cough. “Tube.”

He rounds the table and pats me on the back. I raise my hands over my head and the coughing finally stops.

Sidney’s hand is still on my back. The warmth seeps into my skin, and I inconveniently consider how it would feel if that hand of his touched me in other exciting places.

But he’s a freaking hockey scout. And I’ve spent the past decade and a half avoiding guys who have anything to do with hockey. Is it entirely rational? Not really. But while my daughter’s sperm donor has long since left the league, his brief role in our lives resulted in real trepidation around men affiliated with the sport.

“I need to get back to the office,” I blurt.

Sidney frowns. “Oh. Okay. I can walk you out.”

“You don’t need to do that.” I’m already out of my chair, my purse slung over my shoulder, coffee in hand.

“I really don’t mind.” Sidney follows me to the door and holds it open, then falls into step beside me. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I just need to get back to work. I have a meeting this afternoon.” At two, so I have oodles of time, but I’m freaking out.

We reach the crosswalk, but before I can press the button Sidney steps in front of me. “What just happened?” His voice is soft, eyes too. “It seemed like things were going well until I told you what I do for a living and now you’re bolting.”

I’m all discombobulated, and when that happens, sometimes my mouth works independently of my brain. “My daughter’s father was a professional hockey player, and she has no idea, and I don’t plan to tell her unless it’s absolutely necessary because he’s a douche canoe and I don’t want him in our lives.” I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, if you can just erase those words from your brain that would be great.” I glance toward the street. The crosswalk is counting down from twenty. “Thank you for the coffee. You’re kind and nice and really, really attractive, but this feels like six degrees of separation and I’m clearly a hot mess. You don’t want to date me.”

He cocks his head, a wry grin turning up the corner of his mouth. “I don’t?”

I shake my head. “I’m a lot to deal with on a good day, and this verbal diarrhea stuff happens more than I’d like.” I need to stop talking.

There are ten seconds left on the crosswalk. Nine. Eight…

I bite my lips together and make another terrible decision to distract Sidney and to keep myself from spewing more nonsense. I grab his tie and push up on my toes, mashing my lips against his.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving and unresponsive. And then his palm settles on my lower back and he pulls me against him, the front of our bodies flush. His hand slides upwards, between my shoulder blades and then under my hair, gently cupping the back of my head as he angles his and parts his lips.

I do the same and his tongue slides against mine.

And I completely forget that this was supposed to be a distraction tactic. I release his tie and run my hand over his firm chest and grip his shoulder. I’m still holding my coffee in the other hand, which isn’t the most convenient, but it’s half full and dropping it so I can wrap myself fully around this man is both wasteful and littering. So, I keep holding it with one hand and him with the other.

Heat slams through my veins and desire makes everything below the waist tingle. I suck his bottom lip and he makes a low sound in the back of his throat when I follow with teeth.

The sound of horns blaring and someone calling out, “Get a room!” as they pass reminds me we’re on the sidewalk, across the street from my work.

I pull away and consider running across the street, but apparently, we’ve been making out so long the light has changed again.

I open my mouth, but for once, no words come out.

“I disagree.” Sidney’s eyes are hooded, and his gaze lingers on my lips.

“With what?”

“You said I don’t want to date you. And I disagree. I would very much like to see you again.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He arches a brow.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because judging from that kiss, we have chemistry. Because you’re honest and beautiful and I find you endlessly intriguing. I’m sorry your daughter’s father is a douche canoe, and that it’s better for you to keep him out of your life, but I’d hate for that one bad experience to be the reason you don’t say yes to another date with me.” He takes my hand and raises it to his lips. They’re soft and warm as they brush across my knuckles, and the contact sends another bolt of lust rocketing through my body. “Have dinner with me on Friday night.”

I bite my lip.

“Think about it. You have my number. Text if you want to take a chance on me.” He nods toward the crosswalk. “You can escape now. I hope I hear from you.”