Chapter 15

chapter 15

brYCE

“You can try.” She gives me a close-lipped smile, but there’s something in the way her eyes sparkle that feeds my desire for her to like me. Not just want me. We both know we’re compatible as far as sex goes—unless things have changed.

I go to the bar and order two drinks. I set a French Martini in front of her, and I drink a vodka with lime.

“Are you Russian?”

“No, my dad is Swedish, and my grandmother on my mom’s side was half Russian/half German and immigrated in the seventies, so I guess vodka is my blood. Cheers to the best blind date ever.” I raise my glass to hers, and we clink them together.

“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You have to woo me.”

Sipping on my cocktail, I say, “You’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Do better. ”

“You’re exactly what I asked for, Emmaline.”

Her eyes round, and her jaw drops as her whole face turns a beautiful shade of pink like the tulips my mother lined our sidewalk with when I was young, before?—

“Is Jolie happy with me?” she asks.

She’s obviously uncomfortable with someone complimenting her appearance, but before the night is over, she’ll know how beautiful she is, and I’ll praise her until the sun comes up.

“I think so. She puts on those Nike Dunks as soon as she wakes up. But since this is a date, let’s get to know each other better. How is it that you’re single?”

Her shoulders ride up to her ears before she blows out a breath, and they fall slowly. She twirls her auburn hair between her fingers. I haven’t noticed her do that before. Does she do it when she’s nervous?

“I was engaged once to Roman’s best friend and former agent. On our wedding day, he came to me and broke it off.” Her eyes fill with tears. “He said he loved me, but he wasn’t in love with me. He cheated on me with my maid of honor the night before. That was what prompted him to break it off while I’m standing in my wedding dress.” She shrugs and wipes her eyelashes that hold a tear.

“What a piece of shit. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Is your maid of honor still your best friend?” I ask.

Emmaline wrangles a bit of her hair, twirling it over one shoulder and scoffs, “No. I lost everyone but my brother. Tonya, my best friend, admitted that she had a relationship with Grant. We had been friends since grade school. Talked on the phone until all hours of the night for ten years.”

Her teeth scrape across her plush lower lip .

What a kick in the nuts. My friends and teammates would never make a move on my girl—anyone’s girl. There’s a code amongst guys and if you break it, you’re out of the circle of friendships. No man wants to worry about his friend hitting on his girlfriend or wife.

There’s a beat of quiet understanding before I urge her on. I want to know every detail and how to heal every wound. “What happened next?”

“Roman married Penelope the next year. But as you know, Roman and I found out eight months ago from TMZ that Penelope and Grant were having an affair. Grabbing ass and locking lips for the cameras.” Emmaline sighs, looking completely defeated. “I’m sure you heard about the fight Roman got into that continued off the ice. His team dropped him under the behavior clause… and he ended up here under a contract that’s even more strict. One incident, and he’s off the team.”

Nodding, I take a healthy drink. I don’t know exactly what his terms with the Jets are, but I know he needs to keep his nose clean.

“How long ago did you get your freedom?” I ask because Emmaline deserves someone who will challenge her, let her give into her desires, and worship the space she fills. Every. Damn. Day.

A line between her eyes appears. “When did he leave me at the altar? Eight years ago.”

Strumming my fingers on the table, I make some mental calculations. “My rookie year. So, you came here with your brother for his away game? And you went to the club without him? And…”

“And you found me. ”

I found her.

Magnetized to her hips.

Hypnotized by the way she moved with me.

The air between us is heavy. “We shared something special.” My fingers crawl up her arm. “It was fate.”

“Is the Bryce Wynward a hopeless romantic?” she asks with a sultry tone.

“There’s nothing wrong with telling people how you feel. I’ve thought about you nearly every day since that night. That’s a lot of days—over two-thousand nights. And you starred in my dreams every single time.”

She stutters, “That… that was my first and only one-night stand. You helped me realize I was desirable.”

“Are desirable. You are desirable. I want to fuck you on this table.”

“Hot. Not romantic.”

“Do you ever want to be romantic, or do you like it hot every time?”

Her breath hitches. “I don’t know. Have you ever had a serious relationship? Ever been dumped at the altar? That would be something funny to have in common.” She giggles as she takes another sip.

“Not at the altar. Never engaged, but I dated someone all through college, but it turned out that she liked women better than me.” Her jaw drops in disbelief, and I want to stuff myself between those lips. “Emmaline, you’re going to swallow a bug if you keep your mouth open.”

“But you’re you… how could she… I mean you know how to please a woman. I can’t imagine a woman doing it better than you.” She seems uncomfortable, repositioning herself in t he chair. “That’s crazy. Maybe you weren’t hitting the right spot.”

She sticks out her tongue.

Wiggles her brows.

Laughs at my expense. “So, you started going out with every bimbo in Atlanta to improve your skills?”

“Very funny, Rusti. Let’s order before I prove to you in front of this entire restaurant that I can hit your spot. Over and over.”

We glance over the menus laying on the table. “And by the way, I’ve got mad eating skills, and you were the best meal I’ve ever had.”

I lean back in my chair, a cocky smirk teasing her with my legs spread casually as if I’m in control.

“Not romantic.” Her eyes glitter. She playfully kicks me under the table and her eyes betray her emotions—a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

I skim her leg with my foot. “Then why are you squirming in your seat? Thinking about that night? Do you like it when I talk about eating?—”

She interrupts me, trying to hide behind the menu. “I’ll take the seared salmon alfredo.”

God, I love how her skin turns the color of a ripe peach when she’s hot and bothered or embarrassed. Emmaline Rustavelli is perfect for me. I can’t wait to tell Brooke that her app paired me with everything I wanted even though I thought I was rigging it to not match me with someone. A chuckle rolls up my spine and comes out my mouth.

I wave the waiter over. “Mr. Wynward, what will you and the lovely lady be having?”

“She’ll have the seared salmon alfredo, and I’ll have the steak burgundy with steamed asparagus. We’ll also take a bottle of your best Pinot Noir for dinner.”

“May I bring you another cocktail?”

Emmaline nods, and I look at the waiter’s name tag. “Yes, thank you, Brad.”

A vast grin spreads across Brad’s face as I call him by his name like it’s the greatest honor, and his shoulders straighten with a new sense of importance. Society’s obsession with celebrities is a little disheartening, but when I turn to Emmaline, radiant and glowing, I can’t help but feel a surge of happiness.

Maybe it’s not so bad to be affected by someone else’s smile if it can brighten up your entire day.

“That was nice. You’re a good guy.”

A rumble gets caught in my throat. “I’m not. Ask my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

Damn it. Why did I bring this up? Swirling my glass, the vodka rises on the sides, and I finish it off in one healthy gulp. There’s another one coming so what the hell. “I did.”

“Oh…” I can see the gears clicking in her expression. Her eyes don’t quite meet mine. “Did he pass away?”

“When a person uses the past tense, it generally indicates something that has already occurred.” I pause. “I need to use the restroom. Excuse me.”