29. Lola

Lola

This is the slowest I have ever read a hockey romance in my life, and it's because I can't stop glancing up at the real-life hockey player sitting across from me. The table is small, just big enough for us to fit our drinks and my pastry, and it makes Devon look huge in comparison.

Then again, I have first-hand experience with just how huge he is, so maybe it's not the table's effect after all.

I keep taking a drink of my coffee to have an excuse to glance at him, and he seems totally enthralled—and baffled. As he reads, I watch his eyebrows shoot up while his mouth drops open slightly, and his hand touches his chin in thought.

Devon thought he had cheated the system by going for a book with aliens on the cover, but he really just forced himself to read the smuttiest and dirtiest book in the store. Watching him, it almost looks like he's examining an unknown map. I keep expecting him to turn the book upside down to see if he can make sense of it.

A scarlet flush creeps up his neck at once, and I have to look away quickly when he glances up at me. I cross my legs, squeezing them together, but it doesn't matter. Watching him read alien smut is turning me on.

Maybe that's a weird thing to say, but as a romance writer, it's very accurate.

I haven't read the alien book, but I've heard some of my friends talk about it, and my mind races as I try to figure out which part he might be reading now. Of course, I have some idea of what might be happening, but I wish I could see right over his shoulder to read what he's reading.

He clears his throat and shifts in his chair, his eyes cutting to me right as I glance up at him. I realize all at once that he's not hating this. In fact, his eyes are dark, his face hot, his body posture leaning toward me.

Devon Chambers is enjoying a romance book. And he's already halfway finished.

When I pinch my remaining pages between my fingers, I see that he's way ahead of me, even though my book is a bit thinner than his. I clear my throat, take another gulp of coffee, and dive back in, forcing myself to focus so I can keep reading and avoid the huge distraction sitting across the table.

Four hours—and two more coffees—later, Devon and I are neck and neck, each with a few pages left to finish. I'm reading as fast as I can while also trying not to look up and check to see how close Devon is.

I'm just about to turn the last page when a barista appears at our table, wringing her hands together nervously.

"Hi," she says, glancing back and forth between us. "Sorry to bother you, but the coffee shop actually closes in five minutes, and—"

"We're just about done," Devon tells her, not looking up from his book as he fishes into his pocket, produces a twenty, and hands it to the barista, who looks flustered but thankful. I stared, open-mouthed at him, wondering why that simple exchange turned me on so much.

Was it the effortless way he handed over a twenty-dollar tip or how he was so engrossed in his book that he didn't look away from it?

"Done!" he says triumphantly, snapping the book shut and giving me a smug look. I blink, realizing I've just been staring at him for the last few minutes, giving him a chance to finish before me and win the silent competition we were having.

"Wow," I say, setting my book down and tilting my head at him. "You enjoyed it that much?"

"Let's get out of here," he says, standing and tucking the book under his arm protectively. "Give these guys a chance to close up."

I follow him out of the coffee shop, my body humming as I think about how he looked inside. There's something so soft and vulnerable about him when he's not on the rink, and it makes my chest warm.

"So," I say when we've been walking for a few blocks. "It seems like you're an Attack of the Blue Ridge Aliens super fan now."

"This book," Devon says, steepling his hands and looking at me far too seriously for the subject matter, "has a complex political system, a rag-tag group of rogues, and plenty of high-tech jargon," he smirks, "so what I'm saying is, I loved it."

"I didn't realize you're such a geek," I laugh, nudging my shoulder into his. "The sci-fi stuff was all you liked about it?"

"Oh, there were definitely some other scenes that I…enjoyed," Devon says, raising an eyebrow. Then, after a moment, he adds, a little quieter, "So, is this the kind of stuff you write?"

I feel my face immediately burst into flames. How did I not think this through? Of course, Devon knows I'm a romance writer. All this date will do is get him curious about my books. I swallow thickly, which sends me into a coughing fit. Devon chuckles as he pats my back and waits patiently for me to regain my breath.

"Uh, yes, essentially," I finally say when I can breathe again. Devon looks so smug that his line of questioning has unsettled me, but I can't think of anything to even the score. "But without the monsters."

"Oh," he says, glancing down at his book. "Well, if there are no extraterrestrials in your books, I'm not sure I'd be a big fan of them."

"I'm just shocked you know how to read," I mutter, but my heart isn't in it. This date was supposed to be torture for him, and instead, he's just gushing about the book he read and sauntering on like it's nothing. I didn't even know he enjoyed reading, and here he is, having finished an entire book in just four hours.

I also thought he would get bored, go on his phone, or complain in general about the nature of the date, but he just eased into it right away. Something about that makes my heart flutter, and I wish it would stop.

When we get back to the hotel together, paparazzi are standing out front. For a second, I think we should hide or run away so they can't get pictures of us together. Then, I remember this isn't an actual date, and the entire point of our outings is to get spotted.

It means Devon's date was probably not up to the contract's standards, being way out in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, Devon reaches out in a move that surprises me, catching my hand in his boldly as we briskly walk past the line of cameras, which are all flashing at us. I force myself to stare straight ahead, to avoid looking at them and seeming like I want the attention, but it's not hard when Devon's thumb brushes over the back of my hand, sending sparks all the way up to my elbow.

As soon as we get into the lobby, I suck in a deep breath and pull my hand away.

"Wow," I say, clearing my throat and stepping away from him. My body is thrumming with need, feeling magnetically pulled to him, and from the look on his face, he might be feeling it, too. It would be far too easy to follow him upstairs. Follow him into his room. And let him do to me what he did to me last time.

"Well," Devon says, tearing his heated gaze away from me, his eyes skipping to the elevator. "I—you know what? I missed training this morning, so I think I will just take the stairs."

With that, he turns on his heel and high-tails it for the door to the stairs, disappearing before I can blink.