8. Esme

8

ESME

I push the plate with the blueberry muffin back to Hailey. "No, thanks. I need to fit into a dress tonight."

Foxy Rox is somewhat busy today, so maybe it will drown out the sounds of stupidity in my head.

Hailey drags the plate back in her direction. "More for me." She takes a giant bite while she watches me. "Oh yeah, you have that thing ." Even when speaking with a full mouth, I can still see the line of a grin.

Shaking my head, I continue to twist the paper wrapper from the straw for my iced tea. "It's just amusement. I would have had a boring evening anyhow." I roll a shoulder back, trying to downplay this all. "Keats can suffer a little bit. I mean, I sure as hell don't plan on being cordial in the car."

She holds up her two fingers. "Twice? Really." I'm regretting that I told her about my recent activities. "What is he…"

My eyes budge out at her. "You want to go down that route? But… yeah, okay, we rip into one another even when doing that. "

A Cheshire-cat smile forms on her mouth. "This is so awesome. I love seeing people fight attraction."

"Oh, really?" Now I get to smile. "How is that working for ya?"

Her palm flies up at me. "It's different. Oliver is off limits, so that idea can ship on out of my mind."

"Mmhmm."

"Your dress." She's changing the topic. "Classy yet revealing or full on it looks like he is paying for a hooker, and it doesn't look good at a professional function, but you want to piss him off kind of look?"

"I'm not that horrible of a person. I'll keep it classy but not for him. I'm just a beautiful, well-behaved woman who might even find a nice guy tonight."

She sputters a laugh. "You're going to pick up hockey guys?"

A long breath leaves me. "Fine. You're right. I won't. Besides, the text I got just said it's cocktails and that's it."

"Maybe Keats owes you a dinner then."

"Well, I will be starving, so the least he can do is feed me."

I begin to clear my napkin and empty plastic cup. Time tells me that I need to get a move on. Mr. Tight Ass, literally, requests 6pm sharp for departure.

Standing up, Hailey takes my cue as a sign she can now pull out her laptop from her bag to work a little. "I'll let you know if I survive, and if you hear that there is a dead body at the bottom of the river tomorrow, it's completely and utterly not my fault."

Hailey just chuckles as if she doesn't grasp my seriousness.

Which is fair enough because… I hate Keats a little less lately.

"I hate your car." I cross my arms as we continue our drive. I've only been with Keats for five minutes and his cologne and suit jacket with no tie and button-down are already pissing me off.

Keats glances at me then returns his view to the road. "No, you don't."

"Okay, I don't," I give in.

In that moment, I make a point to adjust my dress. It's black because you can't go wrong with black, and it stops just below my knees with heels on. Except , when I sit down, the soft fabric can slide up to above my knee if I use my hands just right. Which is exactly what I do.

I don't need to look in Keats's direction to know where his eyes might have wandered.

"Esme, you look… beautiful. Can I say that without you questioning me?"

Be still my heart that turns gray around this man, but he appears genuine.

I've always been told to accept a compliment. "Thank you."

"I don't really see you wear a lot of solid-colored dresses. You are more a jeans or patterned skirt kind of gal."

Lines form on my forehead. "Spying on me now?"

He grins. "Sometimes I see you outside, remember, I'm your neighbor?"

Do not blush. No. No. No.

"It's easier to wear jeans or skirts when taking photos, especially if I have an outside shoot," I explain.

"That makes sense."

"I guess you kind of wear it all. Suits with no tie for work and jeans and tight tees when casual. "

Keats throws me a knowing grimace. "Spying on me?" he counters.

Softly, I grumble, "Okay, we've established that we both might have noticed what our neighbor looks like."

"Anything else we should clear the air about?"

"No. Just tell me how tonight is going to roll."

For a second, Keats focuses on turning at the next light. "It's more an operations and back team event, with the Spinners owner also appearing. So if you were counting on checking out any hockey players then you are in the wrong place, although most of the Spinners are in their mid to late 20s, you little cougar you."

I snort a laugh and not because I'm annoyed, it's just, well, Keats can be funny. It comes naturally to him. On the outside, Keats is the powerful lawyer, always serious and grumpy. However, at random moments he surprises me.

"But seriously, I just want to make an appearance. Probably two drinks tops. Everyone was bringing their other half and it felt like if I didn't then I would be getting a few set-up date requests. Maybe I also want people to see that I have a personal life too. It softens them up and makes them more accommodating when I have a work crisis. Gives the office staff a little extra oomph to hurry things up when I request it."

Looking at him, I grow concerned again. "You had me nearly sympathizing when you mentioned wanting people to see another side of you, but it quickly went downhill when you turned it into a business transaction."

He snickers a sound. "What? It's logistics."

"I can't believe I agreed to this." I slump back into my seat and notice that the woods outside are building up, which means we are getting closer to the vicinity of Lake Spark.

Nature calms me. By no means will I hike all day, but sitting in nature or driving through it is nice .

"Relax. If it helps, I think when eyes land on us, it won't be because of me, it will be you."

One last examination of Keats and he appears somewhat as a normal person again, complete with compliments.

Ten minutes later, we are at the training facility and head inside to a room where they must hold a lot of events. I've been to enough games to know that a hockey game isn't just a game, it's a night full of food, games, and the need to enter raffles.

I'm lucky that the buzzing room doesn't take much notice of us. That's kind of a good thing because then they would notice how Keats's hand is gingerly touching my lower back to guide me toward a waiter walking around with a tray of wine glasses.

Except his need to touch me is a tangled mess of confusion in my head. This is all an act, except somewhere human nature has a desire for it to be possession. My spine straightens at the thought.

Keats takes two glasses of white from the tray and offers me one. "You just assume I like white?" A tinge of attitude is underlying in my voice, but it's purely for banter.

He has a droll smile when he taps his glass to mine. "No. I just remember you pulled out a bottle of white the other day before changing game plans for the vodka."

"Oh." That's true. Apparently, my neighbor is a sucker for little details.

"Keats." A man approaches us from behind and grips Keats's shoulder as a greeting.

"Hey, Declan." Keats smiles then turns to me. "This is Declan Dash, he owns the Spinners." Declan seems to look curiously between us.

"This is my girlfriend, Esme." Keats pulls me closer to his side, his arm looping around my waist, and I remind myself to swallow my disdain that seems to be vanishing.

"Nice to meet you." I shake Declan's offered hand. Keats seems intent to keep his arm in place, and a thump in my chest picks up speed.

It's a friendly introduction, and I guess I will need to get used to this for the next few hours.

"My wife is here somewhere. I'm sure she would love to talk to you."

"That would be lovely."

And sure enough, I'm deposited next to a woman with dark hair and a friendly smile. It only takes a minute before Violet is talking my ear off, and she seems like fun, so I don't mind.

"Trust me, having kids when your husband is so committed to the team makes the moments we get together all the more special. It also means I live off dry shampoo since I'm with the kids the most." She grins to herself then takes a long sip of her drink. "What about you and Keats? Long-term plans?"

I nearly choke on the small cheese pastry appetizer that I picked up from a tray that was floating through the room. "Oh, uh, no. Definitely no kids." A nervous laugh bubbles up. "Besides, he's married to the law," I remark, but really, I have no idea his family plans.

Violet's face becomes doubtful. "Huh. I see him at the Dizzy Duck Inn in town because his sister works there. Totally seems like a kids kind of guy. Or at least with his little nephew he is."

I smile tightly in agreement and decide to change topics. "You must watch a lot of hockey then, I guess?"

Her face lights up. "Of course. I have Declan, and my brother used to play hockey too, then my nephew is captain of the Spinners. It's never-ending. Even the dog has been trained to chase a puck on the ice."

Laughing, it's infectious when people appear out-of-this-world happy. "Sounds like family dinners are hectic yet perfect."

Warm, fun, and new to me too.

That's a vision that frequently pops into my head. I just haven't decided why I don't have an overpowering need to find the right person, nor has it crossed my mind about having kids anytime soon.

We continue our conversation about shopping and day trips to Chicago. The whole time, my eyes occasionally snag a look with Keats who always seems to meet my gaze at the same time. There are soft smiles, a few winks, and a suave hint on his face that is causing a situation between my legs.

When our two hours comes to a close, we even walk back to his car in silence, yet his hand wanders to my lower back to guide me. It's not to tease me, either. The man has manners and can be a gentleman, and I don't think it's to play a part.

It's only when his hand drops away and he circles around the car that we return to normal us.

"Not going to open the door for me?" I chide as he opens his own door.

"Nope. No unrealistic expectations, remember?"

Really? Like really, really? He just drops his manners at the first chance.

We both get in, and now I'm frustrated with him again. "Can we just get back home. I'm getting hangry." I almost pout, and it's all completely true. Tiny pastries only get you so far. His face remains passive as a response.

We drive only a few minutes and then Keats turns the steering wheel so sharply that it causes me to hold onto the door .

"Easy. I would like to be alive tomorrow," I scold him.

"You said you were hangry." Adjusting to my surroundings, I see that we are at a fast-food place with a drive-thru that he's already approaching. "Burger and fries or nuggets?" He sounds easy as a breeze. "A milkshake is probably in order too. Can chill down your body that's probably hot and bothered."

I huff and hold in my grumble. "You are such a piece of work. And no, I don't want a shake," I mock him. "I want one of those apple pie thingies that are really like strudel in a cardboard box."

"Good choice. So, am I ordering for you on the actual dinner part?"

My eyes flutter as I try to take in what is happening. I hate how my need for food outweighs anything on the planet now. "Nuggets with honey mustard sauce. Onion rings instead of fries."

Keats places our order, and he hands me the bag of food while he balances placing the drinks in the cupholders in the middle of the car. Instead of being on our merry way, he drives straight into a parking spot up ahead and turns the engine off.

"If you wanted to stay here, then why not just go inside?"

He begins to open the bag on my lap. "One, because you have this dress on that is far too formal for inside. Two, I'm so fucking hungry that I can't think straight, and it's my cheat day."

It causes me to laugh instantly and relax because he has been holding it in to play it chill. "But now your dear car will smell of food," I tease him.

He turns his body halfway to face me. "I'll take it tomorrow to be serviced and cleaned."

Biting into a nugget, I can't help pointing it out. "That's such a you thing to say. I know lawyers can make a lot of money, but now you are just showing a little arrogance."

"Except you know that I'm not that bad." Dare I say, there is half a smile on his face.

My hand ducks into the bag to pull out a fry.

"Hey! Stealing my fries? You said onion rings," he jokes.

"What are you going to do? Spank me?" Crap. I responded too quickly without filtering my inner thoughts.

Keats now seems completely entertained. "Such a filthy mind you have. But if you steal my fries then I will have a bite of your pie, the one in the bag, if you needed clarity on that. Since you never bake me one, then this is something close."

Now I wave a nugget at him. "You're nowhere near getting on the list to be a recipient of my baked creations. So, okay, you can steal some of my food if I can get a sip of your shake."

"Your mouth will be where mine has been." He flashes his eyes at me.

A calmness fills the car from our repartee, and we seem to be able to eat in peace.

"Your colleagues or rather the people from the Spinners organization seem nice. Definitely a lot more relaxed than I would expect."

"I can't complain, but I only see most of them at events or when I take a break. Since I'm dealing with confidential information then I'm always behind a closed door or negotiating with sports agents or other teams. You? How long does it take to edit photos or how does it work?"

Leaning down, I sip on his straw without lifting the cup. I peer up to him to taunt him in a playful way, and it only makes him grin. The coolness from the drink is quite refreshing. " No way in hell would I expect you to go for strawberry instead of chocolate."

He adjusts his shoulders and feigns pride on his face. "Gotta keep it healthy and unexpected."

Stifling a laugh, I answer his question. "Normally editing takes a week, but I like to send some first-look photos a day or two after a shoot."

"But never wedding photography? The Dizzy Duck where my sister works seems to have weddings all the time."

"Nah, with wedding festivities it's a long day, or rather the pressure to get the angles and edits right is not my ideal workload. Nobody wants to be on the receiving end of an angry newlywed bride."

"Yet, you like to be on the other end of your neighbor's wrath."

With purpose, I hold up one of his fries. "No comment."

We seem to be staring at one another peculiarly, nearly bashful.

"We need to stop talking about our careers. It's not very compelling, and I think we've established that we both enjoy what we do. Even if one of our jobs might send you into an early heart attack, and it isn't mine."

He doesn't let his smile slip away. "Okay, travel plans? Anywhere you want to go?"

Immediate excitement hits me. "Anywhere it's warm and there is a swing over clear blue water."

"You're a swing kind of girl?"

My face screws. "Actually, I kind of get nauseous on them, but it sounded better in my head. You?"

"Probably also a warm place. Illinois winter is not for the faint of heart."

"You have a heart?"

Keats has a wide grin. "I walked into that, didn't I? "

"Yep."

"Anyhow, a warm place and maybe try scuba diving."

Offering him a nugget, I'm surprised. "I'm trying to decide if you seem like a diver or not."

"Not. The idea of swimming underwater with an oxygen tank seems like hell. But it sounded better in my head."

I'm laughing again. We're two peas in a pod when it comes to conversation and every barb thrown.

"Besides, none of those places have the right liability insurance or verbiage when divers have to sign a waiver of risk."

"You would 100% say that. Consider finding a pastime where you can turn off your career for a hot second."

He grows quiet and scratches his cheek, debating what to say perhaps. "I'm assuming you mean hobbies and not other pastimes."

Right. That's where his mind went.

"Believe it or not, I meant hobbies."

His eyes flick up to meet mine. "Funny that. I don't have time for hobbies because life can give you other pastimes."

Does he mean family? Friends? Sex? I'm confused.

"I think you are more overworked than you think. Or rather you escape by burying yourself in work to avoid something. You just don't know what it is that you are hiding from."

His chin juts out. "You've become a psychologist?"

"No. Just an observer stating the obvious." And I seem to mirror his lifestyle in a way. Am I hiding from something?

"Okay. Well, you are free-spirited because something stable scares the hell out of you."

I scoff a sound. "Let's not go down the road where we analyze one another. We're not drunk enough."

"Hey, you started it. "

I admit defeat. "True. So that also means that I can end it."

His lips seal together, and the corner of his mouth lifts. He doesn't press further.

With our food now vanished into our tummies, I quickly exit the car to throw the trash into the container nearby, and of course, Keats revs up his engine while I do that.

Back in the car and our journey home, it's a stiff silence but not the kind we are used to. He is probably in shock as much as I am of how tonight transpired.

"Esme, thank you. I mean it. Dinner with you wasn't so bad, either." His sincerity melts me. Completely and utterly melts me.

From instinct, I reach over to touch his elbow. "You're welcome, and dinner was edible. You should cook more often," I say in jest.

"Maybe so."

My touch drops from him because it's too calming.

What? That simply can't be possible.

"I'm going to have to shower though, I smell like fries," I say.

"Or you just want to shower because my guess is you ruined another pair of panties due to my presence."

Licking my lips, I try to hunker down my smile. "Speaking of which, where are my new panties?"

Keats glances to me, and it feels sinful. "The store only had three-for-one, and someone was adamant that only two will do," he refutes.

"Well then…" My voice is sultry, and it's unexpected. "Looks like I will run out soon and resort to other outfit options—nothing underneath."

His nostrils flare, and his hands tighten on the wheel, with perfect timing as we turn onto our street .

"So, you do want that spanking that I can provide?" There is sexiness to his tone.

"Not sure. I would check now if that's what my body wants but me sliding up my dress would be highly inappropriate for the evening, considering I was promised a gentleman who needed a favor." I'm trying to prod him, my fingers trailing a line from my neck down. I'm a version of myself that was not planned for in his presence.

Parking in his driveway, he turns the engine off with gusto and turns to me with a serious face. "Out of the car."

Ooh, bossy.

Out I go and close the door while Keats walks around the front of his car with his face resigned and eyes narrowing in on me. He stops in front of me and swipes his thumb across his jaw. "Exactly… a gentleman."

That sweltering look that was on my face? It drops.

"Good night, Esme."

And he walks away.

What the hell?

It takes a few seconds of me adjusting to the fact that he is walking into his house without dragging me along.

And why am I so angry that he's doing that?