Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Alex

My fingers drum on top of the table in the Italian restaurant I love as I wait for my flighty date. It's a little mom-and-pop kind of place, only eight tables, the kitchen bigger than the whole main dining area. It's my favorite place. The food is incredible, but I also love that they always seat me in the back by the kitchen. The chef's table. I had scored an open invitation back when I met the owners' son at our Kids Skate to Learn event. I took a quick liking to Alfonso and found myself eating here a lot to spend time with the kid. He wants to be a goalie, and I've enjoyed mentoring him. In return, they let me sit at the exclusive table.

And right now, I couldn't be more thankful for it.

It's semiprivate, and even with the kitchen being so close, it's not overwhelming or loud. It's romantic, dimly lit, a small table with a pink tablecloth and two white chairs. The table is set with two place settings, and a small candelabra sits in the middle with three candles in it. I glance at the door for the ninth time since I sat down, and disappointment wears on me when I don't see her. Elliot isn't late. I'm just insanely early.

I'm ready to see her.

My nerves are eating me alive.

I've practiced my speech a billion times. Seeing her, feeling her in my arms, only made me realize how badly I want to see and feel her every day. I knew I felt something for her when this started between us, something deep and breathtaking. It was too easy—the flirting, the talking, and the sex. It's all the best I've ever had. I've never met someone as intriguing as her. I love how she tries to hide from me, because when I uncover her truth, it's like I won.

I'm a competitive man, and Elliot McDavid is a game that keeps me on my toes.

The time apart was torture, and I threw myself into hockey, focusing only on that and nothing else so I wouldn't think of her. But still, I did. I thought of her at every turn. When I'd eat Skittles before my game, I always took out the yellow ones since they were her favorite. When I'd get ice cream, I'd throw a scoop of butter pecan on there because she loved it, and the smell reminded me of her.

I've found myself watching Bridgerton on repeat because she's obsessed with it, and when she'd walked around the house, speaking in a British accent, asking if I wanted to promenade across the living room, I'd never laughed so hard.

But I'd fucking promenaded.

I wasn't just shooting the shit when I said what I said to her. When I expressed how I had thought of her, dreamed of her, and prayed to see her again. I hadn't realized how much those feelings meant until I set eyes on her again.

I am not only in this postseason for the Bears; I'm in it for Elliot.

I have to make her realize that she feels the same.

I know she does. I feel it with the way she looks at me, the way her lips curve up when she doesn't want them to, and the ongoing battle in her eyes. It may make me an asshole, but fuck if I don't want to throw fuel on the fire of the battle in her soul to make it burn just for me. I want to make it so hard for her that she can't resist me and she feels how I feel. I want Elliot badly, and she will want me by the end of this dinner.

I plan to charm the pants right off my gorgeous lady.

When the door chimes, I snap up my gaze to see her entering. At once, her eyes land on me, and a flush moves across her cheeks. I love that about us, how when we find ourselves in the same room, our eyes lock automatically. I don't know if she's ever noticed, but I have.

Breathless, I stand as she starts for me. While she could wear a paper bag and I'd think she was stunning, I really don't understand all the loose-fitting clothes I've seen her in today. It's odd. She never hid her body before. We went on plenty of outings where she would wear a crop top, and it was almost winter then. She runs hot, yet every inch of her is covered. But it's kind of exciting. Like I am truly unwrapping my gift from above.

She stops hesitantly before me, and I'm unable to handle the space between us. I reach out for her, grasping her hips and loving how my fingers feel in her flesh. Her eyes hold mine as my lips turn up at one side. "Hey there, mami ."

She swallows, and I can see the anxiety coursing through her. Her hands are shaking a bit, and she's gnawing the shit out of her bottom lip. I know she battles with anxiety daily. She's on meds and goes to therapy for it, even though she tried to hide it. When someone is at your house a lot, you hear things, see things, and I don't miss a fucking thing. I don't know why she tries to keep it to herself. I only want to support her. "Hey."

As I bring her in, she comes willingly, a small smile playing on her lips. When I try to bring her flush to me, though, she only presses her chest to mine and hugs me tightly before pulling away. I eye her, confused by the awkwardness of the hug. She quickly looks away from me and then at the table. "I love this spot."

I've brought her here before, and it pleases me that she hasn't forgotten. I pull out her chair, and she sits down as my lips move to her ear. " Te ves lo suficientemente buena para comer ." You look good enough to eat. I kiss her at the spot below her ear as she sighs deeply.

"Alex…" she warns, her eyes meeting mine, and fuck, if I don't want to kiss those glossed-up lips. When I found out she was fluent in Spanish, it made me hard. Being able to whisper how much I desire her without people knowing what I am saying has always been my favorite pastime. Especially when I win a bit of a blush.

" ?Qué? "

"No flirting."

I laugh at that. "I never have, nor will I ever, agree to that when it comes to you, palomita ." Little dove.

Contempt flashes in her hazel eyes. "I'm not a bird."

"You're flighty, for sure," I say, and she rolls her eyes before she reaches for the menu. I take her in, loving how she hasn't changed a bit in the last six months. Her brownish hair is up, and I wish it were down just so I could run my fingers through the strands. She doesn't have on much makeup, just enough to make all her stunning features shine. Before I can tell her so, the waiter comes over to greet us.

"A bottle of?—"

"I don't drink anymore," she says, cutting me off, and I bring in my brows. "Just a blackberry lemonade for me."

The waiter looks at me, and I nod. "Same for me."

Without looking at me, her eyes on the menu, she says, "You can still drink."

"Not if you aren't." I wait for her to elaborate. When she doesn't say anything else, I ask, "When did you stop drinking?"

She shrugs. "Just lost the taste for it," she says as she holds the menu right in front of her face.

I reach out, lowering it.

Her eyes cut to mine from under her lashes, and I say, "Don't hide from me."

She shifts her eyes back to the menu without comment, and I watch as she reads it. Her eyes move quickly over all the choices. I don't need to look at the menu. I get the same thing every time.

"Are you getting the mushroom risotto?"

"I am." I cover my mouth to hide my grin. "You're welcome to have some."

She nods as she brings her top lip between her teeth. "I'll get the chicken piccata."

"Would you want to share a caprese?"

"Do I love food?"

I grin at her direct gaze, the shy little smirk she is holding back. "I know you do."

"Then order the caprese."

"I will for a kiss," I challenge, and she snorts.

"I'll order my own damn caprese," she throws back with smug satisfaction, like I knew she would.

I love that sass.

"And then kiss me just the same?"

She holds my gaze, keeping the menu between us like a shield. "Let's get through this dinner and see if you even want to kiss me after."

Her voice is quiet, shy, and I don't understand. Unable to resist and hating the nervousness in her expression, I let my eyes drop to her lips, taking in their glossy, inviting presence before meeting her gaze once more. "There isn't a moment when I don't want to kiss you, mami ."

Her lips part as she clutches the menu. We stare at each other, neither of us saying a single word until the waiter comes over to set down our drinks. She tears her gaze from mine, letting out a long breath before she orders the caprese and the piccata. I don't look away from her beautiful, flushed face as I order, and I love how her eyes glow. He takes our menus with a thanks, and I lean back in my chair.

Elliot sits ramrod straight, looking everywhere but at me. Her knee is bouncing, and the pulse in her neck is visibly pounding.

"What's wrong?" I find myself asking. "Breathe. This isn't new for us."

She swallows hard and takes a deep breath before letting it out. Her leg stops, but I can still see her pulse fluttering. "Are you upset about being back?"

"I was, but not anymore."

Her eyes flash with surprise, but she looks away when the waiter brings out the salad. I love the glint in her eyes as they settle on the mouthwatering food in front of us. We both lean in, grabbing for the same delicious homemade crostini, and our fingers clash. Her eyes shoot up to mine as I tangle my fingers with hers, rubbing my thumb along the inside of her thumb and forefinger. Even with the small touch, I feel her everywhere. Her eyes darken with heat, and I almost yank her to me—the hell with the food and table—but instead, I let go and push the crostini to her. She gives me a little bitty smile as she piles on the caprese.

I do the same. "What have you been up to?"

She takes a bite on purpose and then holds up a finger. I roll my eyes, unsure why she needs time to answer me. It's a pretty straightforward question. When she swallows, she says, "Just working, hanging out with the girls, and helping with the bookshop—until I got kicked out. I have half a mind to tell Louisa I won't help when she goes back to Nashville with Ciaran."

I raise a brow. "She kicked you out? Where are you staying?"

"At Coleson's place."

"You could stay with me," I suggest, and she gives me a look before grabbing another helping.

"You're letting your feelings show, Alex. Tuck them in."

"Nope. Did that, not a fan."

Her eyes meet mine. "I told you, I'm not looking for a relationship."

"And I don't really care," I tell her, licking my lips. "I'm gonna get you to change your mind."

She pauses for a second and then shakes her head, sarcastically tossing a "Sure" my way.

"I am."

"Okay."

"Watch."

She takes a big bite of her portion and nods, which makes me smile. This girl can eat, and I've always enjoyed her doing so. I reach for my own serving. "Have you been involved with anyone these last six months?"

She arches her brows. "That's none of your business."

"I'll tell you if you tell me."

"I don't want to know," she bites back, and I'm full-on grinning at her now.

"Liar," I deadpan, and I lick my lips. "No one."

"Ha!" she laughs, pointing her crostini at me. "Now who's the liar?"

"I'm serious," I admit, unable to look away. She has a bit of balsamic on her bottom lip, and my need to touch it overwhelms logic. I lean in, and her eyes widen as I wipe it away. I love how her lip moves with the motion of my thumb, and all I can think about is how I'd stroke her mouth as she choked on my cock.

Get it together. We're wooing, not trying only to fuck her.

I clear my throat and shift a bit to give my growing cock some room. I just want a taste. I need a taste. I know it's not the same, but I bring my thumb to my mouth, sucking off the balsamic as our eyes lock. A soft little sound leaves her lips, and I smile. "I haven't been with or seen anyone since I walked out of that hotel room."

"Why?" she gasps.

"Because I left a part of me here," I admit, holding her gaze. "With you."