Chapter 9

Nine

Fox

I bust up laughing.

I know it’s a dick move, but I find that I can’t stop myself.

She glares at me then huffs out a breath and goes back to sucking down that mocha. “It’s not a big deal,” she says again.

“Want to dig out you phone, call them, and ask?”

Her glare intensifies.

“Exactly,” I say. “You know it is a big deal and that they’d feel the same way as I do. So,” I say, exhaling and giving in to the clawing need inside me—just a little bit—by sliding closer, near enough that my knee brushes the outside of her thigh—“why don’t you tell me?”

“You?”

The befuddlement on her face would be an insult if she weren’t so fucking cute. “Yes. Me . I know about the cheating asshole.” Pain darts across her face, and I feel like the asshole, but I stay the course, shifting nearer and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me what other secrets you’re keeping?” I ask softly.

I know I have no right.

I haven’t earned it yet.

Haven’t gained her trust.

But Dessie needs me to be here listening.

“Talk to me, sugar,” I press.

She’s quiet for so long that I open my mouth, start to ask her again, but then she sighs, sets the cup of coffee aside, and begins to talk to me.

Without slurred words and booze in both of our systems, she tells me more about the ex who made her position at the fire station so uncomfortable that she eventually quit and moved home. And about the men before. The dick of a college boyfriend, the similarly pitiful high school one.

“So,” she says quietly, her gaze trained on the trees in the distance, “like I told you last night. My picker is broken. If I’m attracted to a man, if I want one then I know that the smartest thing I can do is stay the hell away.”

“Or make it so they stay away from you,” I murmur, finally getting it now.

Another deep sigh. Then a nod. “Yeah.”

“And what else?”

She looks up at me, and I know they shouldn’t, but my lips turn up.

She’s annoyed and she’s fucking adorable when her temper is piqued.

Hell, she’s fucking adorable all the time.

“How do you know there’s something else?” Her voice is edgy.

I tug that strand of hair again. “Because I know you.”

“How?” she asks miserably. “I swear I don’t know who I am anymore.”

That wraps a capable feminine hand around my heart and squeezes tightly. “What do you mean, sugar?”

A long, despondent exhale. “I thought I was supposed to be a firefighter and I loved it, but then I didn’t.” Her eyes come to mine for a blip before dancing away again. “And then I thought Monroe’s was going to be my place, but that can’t be now either, I guess, and—” Her voice breaks. “Honestly? What the fuck am I doing with my life? I’m too scared to act on my feelings, I don’t have a job—not even in the family business any longer—and I’m hiding from my friends and…”

“You’re spinning.”

She looks up at me with such consternation that I laugh. Then I do what I do best. I wrap her in my special brand of Fox Brown charm?—

A hug.

“Dammit,” she mutters a long moment later.

“What?” I whisper into her hair.

Oranges and woman and mine.

But patience now.

Go slowly so I don’t spook her now that I’m through those outer layers of shields.

“I hate that you give good Hug,” she mutters.

Smirking, I hold her a little tighter. “That’s one of the Fox Brown superpowers, sugar lips.” I tease, cupping the tops of her shoulders and leaning back so I can see her face. “Want to know what else is?”

Her nose wrinkles again, and I want to kiss the little ridges, want to just kiss her . “I think I should refuse to answer that, just on principle.”

“But you’re not going to?”

She shakes her head, sighs again. “No.” It’s a grumble. “So fine. Tell me what else is in your superpower wheelhouse.”

I wink. “Problem solving.”

After a workout that left my legs shaking and my abs burning, I knock on Dessie’s door with my free hand.

My other being full of takeout.

Carbs. Wine. And helping her sort out her life.

That’s on the agenda tonight.

And maybe also getting more of my fill of her, my drug that’s Dessie—especially now that I’ve navigated my way through the prickly exterior.

Or maybe not, I think as I see the scowl on her face.

“What?” I ask, stepping inside when she pulls the door wide. “You don’t like Italian?”

“I love it,” she grumbles. “As you know,” she adds, taking the bag from me, walking into the kitchen, and pulling the contents from inside, setting them onto the counter. “Considering you brought fettuccine Alfredo for me.”

I do know this.

I know her favorite coffee, her favorite type of pasta, her favorite dessert (and yes, my ego loves that the answer to the last one is my cookies).

“So why the grumpy face?” I ask.

She pulls two beers from her fridge and plunks them onto the table. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” She tosses her hands up. “And I think that Roger’s serious! He wouldn’t even let me walk into the back office. And he handed me my last check. ”

Damn. Her uncle’s playing hard ball.

Though, I have no doubt he’ll break soon enough.

Dessie’s too good at managing the bar, loves it too much for him to keep her out of it permanently.

In the meantime, it’s about implementing my superpowers. “I take it that sitting around and thinking about what you want with your future didn’t go well?”

The look she shoots me should eviscerate me.

I just smile and tap her nose. “Fucking adorable.” Then freeze when her expression grows sad. “What is it, sugar lips?”

She sighs, cuts her gaze to the side. “If I pretend not to know will you leave me alone?”

But before I can answer that, she does.

“No,” she mutters, “of course you won’t.” A grimace. “Because you’ve decided that I’m your project.”

No, I’ve decided she’s mine .

Not a project. Not a friend. Not a woman I care about.

M.I.N.E. Mine.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

I grin, draw her in for a hug, and fuck if I don’t fall even deeper for her when she doesn’t pull away, when she just melts against my chest, lets me hold her, and sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Not working at Monroe’s?”

She stiffens and glares up at me.

“Too soon?” I tease, testing the waters and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Definitely,” she grumbles. “But also”—a sigh—“you’re not wrong. It’s not—” A shake of her head. “I like helping my uncle and I love most everyone in town. River’s Bend is a special place. I just…”

“Want something more.”

Her eyes flick to mine and there’s a familiar feeling in them, one that calls to my soul. “Yes.”

“I dreamed of making it to the NHL—and I did make it, for a few games, anyway. But…not how I thought it would be, and it didn’t feel like I’d hoped and…fuck, just thinking about what I was going to do when my contract was up in a couple of years…”

“What?”

“It gave me hives and yet this new contract feels…” She settles her hand on my chest, just over my heart, and it allows the words to slide from my tongue. “Like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Fox,” she murmurs.

“I know what I’m doing with the Rush, but the game in the NHL is faster, smarter, and…”

“You’re not sure you’ll be able to hang?”

I want to lie, but how the hell can I expect her to confide in me if I don’t do the same?

“Yeah,” I say. “Exactly that.”

“Seriously?” She starts laughing.

I rock back on my heels and stare at her, mouth agape. “Something you find funny about me being vulnerable, sugar lips?”

Her mouth quirks. “Yup.”

I fix her in place with my best glare. “Yup?” I repeat with deadly intent.

“Yup,” she says again, those fingers on my chest flexing. “I think it’s hilarious that you, Fox freaking Brown, are worried that you won’t do well.”

I start to reply but she just rises on tiptoe, cups the sides of my face, keeps talking.

“You’re an incredible player.” Her tone has my heart pulsing. “You dominated last season, did well in all of the games you played for the Gold. Yeah, the competition is going to get harder, but you’re good, honey. Really good. And I know you’ll put in the hard work to be successful.”

“Christ, you’re sweet,” I rasp, rubbing a hand over the ache.

Those beautiful brown eyes dance. “Is that why you call me sugar?”

“Sugar lips ,” I correct gently, leaning close and tapping a finger to the offending body part. “Mostly because I’ve been obsessed with tasting this mouth for years now.”

She inhales, and I know it would be so easy to kiss her, to finally taste her.

But…patience.

Trust.

Connection.

Mine.

I peel her hands from my cheek, press a kiss to each of her palms. Then step back, pass her a fork, and nudge her over the couch. “Eat before it gets cold, sugar lips.”

She takes the container.

“And maybe you’ll let me get a taste at some point.”

Her mouth drops open.

Okay so that’s decidedly not patience but also…

A little nudge forward.

Or leap.

Meh. Po-tay-to. Po-tah-to.

It’s fine.

Especially since she doesn’t immediately turn me down.

But…it’s also a nudge I pair with pasta and a distraction that I drop into her lap.

Literally into her lap.