Chapter 5

five

MADDOX

I hate that she's beautiful.

This would have been so much simpler if she was significantly older than me and unbearably rude. It would have been easier if she didn't have stunning, delicate features, soft, inviting eyes, and freckles I want to count while we're naked in bed after a night of epic sex. And her curves. God damn, her curves are perfect.

I like a woman who's soft. Whose body gives a little when you press into her.

So I breathed a sigh of relief when her adorable rambling caught the attention of the other diners. If I can distract myself with autographs and photos with fans, she won't be able to lull me into some twisted attraction. It's a dick move, but I'm in more danger than I thought I'd be. She may not reek of desperation like some of these other jersey chasers, but I can't forget she used her money to buy a way into my life. Even if it's just for one dinner date .

And if I stare into her ocean-blue eyes for too long, I very well may lose all sense of reason.

Coach is going to kick my ass for being rude to her. Hell, I want to kick my own ass. I can tell she's nervous and I've hurt her feelings with my gruff answers and bored demeanor. But it has to be done. She has to understand this isn't a real date. She doesn't have a chance with me, no matter how beautiful she is.

Still, I don't enjoy the way she flinches, as though I've struck her, when I tell the teenage girl asking for my autograph she isn't interrupting anything.

Not my proudest moment.

It also doesn't mean I enjoy watching some of the sparkle in her eyes dull when I agree to sign autographs rather than choosing to converse with her.

I'll just sign a couple more, then I'll have made my point. Once it's clear she has no future with me, we can make small talk and end this night quickly and on a more positive note. As long as she doesn't forget the crux of it all.

This isn't a real date, and I'm only here because I have to be.

One autograph has turned into two, then three, then four, and I'm starting to feel guilty. I'm sure my date well and truly understands the reality of this night now. I sneak a peek at Isla to gauge her reaction. Except she's not in her seat.

Frowning, I glance beneath the table to see if her purse is still there. It's not. But when I look up, I catch a flash of long, red hair and a shimmery black dress walking out of the restaurant. That, and the hostess is giving me a dirty look .

Shit . The photo-op at the end of the night. The one Coach told me was meant to reform my image of being an asshole to women. I snort at the irony of it all because this won't be the first time the press calls me a dick. But it will be the first time it's true. It won't look great if the reporter shows up to snap a few pictures and get a few soundbites and my date isn't even here.

"Excuse me," I say to the woman leaning over to flash me her cleavage. Rising from my chair, I slide past the line of fawning admirers. I need to catch Isla before she can call an Uber or get in her car. Crap. What if she already has? The hostess glares at me as I race out the double doors.

Yeah, I know. Trust me. I hate myself, too.

I'm prepared to search for Isla and comb the surrounding blocks, but there's no need. I nearly stumble into her back. She doesn't turn when my footsteps slap against the pavement, so I take a moment to study her before making my presence known. She's probably about to call her friends and tell them she wasted her money. How disappointing I am. That all her plans to land a rich hockey player were foiled.

Except she doesn't do any of that.

My stomach roils when I notice her hand shaking as she holds her phone. Her chest rises and falls too quickly as she sucks in a shuddering breath.

Have I made her cry? Dammit. I have. Isla sniffles and uses the back of her hand to wipe her eyes.

The Gravedigger, indeed. Maybe I deserve the nickname after today.

"Isla?" I lightly brush her shoulder with my fingers to get her attention. She jerks away from my touch as though I've burned her. Wide blue eyes skewer me in place. They're glassy, rimmed with red, and she takes a split second too long to change her expression to one of cool indifference. I've hurt her.

"What do you want?" Gone is the awkward, rambling woman I'd met in the restaurant. In her place stands a fiery goddess whose glassy eyes turn hard. I can't decide if I love it or hate it.

I scrub a hand through my hair. "To apologize. I never should have let all those people line up for autographs. That was shitty of me. You paid for my time, and I wasn't respectful of that. Come back inside?"

She stares at me for a beat before snorting out a derisive laugh and turning away from me. "Pass."

Pass? Does the money she spent mean that little to her? She was so desperate to get me on a date that she spent a ridiculous amount of cash, and now she's just going to walk away? Or have I just been that awful to her? I wrap a hand around hers, giving it a tug. "Come on. Let's go finish our date. Give me a chance."

Isla pulls her hand from mine, but she doesn't run away, so that has to be something, right? "Give you a chance?" Her brow furrows, and her lips flatten. She glances down at the phone in her hand, then back up at me. Every word is laced with sarcasm when she says, "Like how you gave me one?"

I deserve her anger. I know I do. And I have to admit, she's pretty convincing. I almost believe she's hurt because I wrote her off from the get-go and not because she's pissed it won't be easy to sink her claws into me. "I'm sorry. I am."

"Guys like you are never sorry. At least not for your actions. Just that you have to deal with the fallout from them." She shakes her head, and I almost miss the flash of emotion darkening her expression. "I must be a glutton for punishment."

You and me, both, Isla. Because I would love to call time of death on this date right now, but I can't. I genuinely didn't think it would be this hard to get her back into the restaurant. I need to change tactics.

"Come on." I flash her my most charming smile. "We already ordered our food. It's probably ready, and as you said, it's so good they have a six-month waitlist. Hell, I'm pretty sure the guy by the door is just standing there, sniffing the air longingly. He'd probably give his left arm to sit at a table and order whatever he wants in your place."

She hesitates, warring with herself. Her eyes are still glassy, but there's a strength to her spine that wasn't there a few minutes ago. "I was excited to try what I ordered."

I fight the smile that wants to crest over my face because I don't think it would help my case, but I've almost got her where I want her. "You ordered the special, right? I almost ordered that myself. I guess if you don't want to eat it, I will."

She gasps. Oh, she hates that idea. I can work with that.

"Actually, you know what? You're right. You should probably go home. I've put you through enough. Not even the best food in the world would be worth spending the evening with me."

The glare Isla levels me with shrivels my balls. "You wouldn't dare eat my dinner."

"I'd hate to let such delicious food go to waste." I shrug.

"You're the worst." She studies me for a few moments and it's all I can do not to hold my breath. "Fine. I'll go back inside with you. But only because of the food."

My lips twitch as I offer her my arm, but she ignores it and strides back through the doors of Rêveur in front of me. The hostess gifts her a kind smile before turning her nose up at me. Damn the team for putting me through all of this. I just want to go home, turn on a movie, and nurse a cold beer.

I help Isla scoot in her chair like a proper gentleman. Not only because I'm feeling a fair amount of guilt, but I also need her to tell the reporter that she had a good time when the date ends. "I'm sorry again about all of that. I should have turned them away."

"It's fine." She won't make eye contact with me, focusing instead on her glass of champagne, which she nearly downs in one go.

"Is there anything you want me to sign?" I rub the back of my neck. I've made this the most awkward date on the planet. Especially when Isla snorts out a laugh into her almost-empty champagne flute.

"I'm good, thanks."

"If you change your mind, just let me know."

She rolls her eyes. "I won't."

Oof. Time for some damage control.

"You look really lovely tonight." Lovely doesn't even begin to cover it. Isla is temptation itself. Not that I can tell her that.

She glances up at me through her eyelashes and murmurs a quiet, "Thanks." She chews on her bottom lip for a moment before offering a compliment of her own. "You look handsome, too. I thought for sure they'd Photoshopped your bus photo, but that's all you, isn't it? "

Pink floods her cheeks, and she turns away from me. She might think I'm an asshole, but she's still attracted to me. Hell, she's probably still planning on making her play before the night is over. Jerk or not, I'm still rich and famous enough to provide her with a chance at her fifteen minutes. She'll play at being shy and unsure. Then once we walk out of Rêveur she'll brush her lush tits against my arm, maybe accidentally graze my junk with the back of her hand, and she'll fish for an invitation to my place.

"We won't be having sex tonight," I blurt out. Not the smoothest way I could have dealt with it, but it needs to be said. I might be contractually obligated to go along with this ridiculous farce of a date, and Isla might be gorgeous, but I won't go there.

One auburn eyebrow rises, and Isla's lips twist to the side. She's pissed about that. Well, too bad. She opens her mouth, and I can't wait to hear how she pleads her case.

"The earth is round."

Not what I was expecting. "Sorry, what?"

Her eyes flash with fire and damn me, but my cock hardens at the sight. "Oh, this isn't the state random obvious facts part of the date? My bad, I must have misread that."

Well, shit. I shift in my seat. "Look, no need to be offended. I only wanted to make sure we were both on the same page about this evening. I know you paid a lot for this date, and I'm well aware of how appealing it might be to date someone famous…"

The laugh she throws at me is so sharp I should probably excuse myself to the bathroom and check for hidden stab wounds. "Oh, don't worry. I don't think we're on the same page about much, but we are definitely on the same page about that. We will most certainly not be having sex."

So many emotions flicker across her delicate features, I might as well be watching a silent film. Irritation, anger, indignation so potent it's like I'm being sucker-punched. But there and gone before she can mask it is something else that makes my stomach twist with a brief pang of guilt. Hurt. She covers it quickly enough with a neutral expression, but I catch it. This is at least the third time I've hurt her tonight.

Her brows furrow and those pretty blue eyes grow unfocused for a moment. I'm bracing myself for another snarky comment. Instead, she mutters something about how she told them this was a stupid idea and that they should know her better than this . None of it makes any sense to me, but I wish I hadn't opened my big mouth.

"Excuse me," Isla says after she shakes her head. She picks up her purse and pushes back from the table. Her blue eyes flicker to the doors leading out of the restaurant. "I need to use the ladies' room."

She's going to bolt again. Shit .

"Wait." I stand, holding my hands out like she's an animal about to spook. I need her to stay. There must be something she wants besides a chance to be the future Mrs. Graves. Jewelry? A date with one of the other guys on the team? She's hot enough that I'm sure I could convince one of them to take her out. "Please stay. I'll make it worth your while."

Her eyes go wide. "Excuse me?"

"Listen, I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. I didn't want to do this. The team forced me, and if you leave now before the reporter shows up at nine o'clock to take our photo, I'm in deep trouble."

"Not sure why you think that's my problem." She scoffs. "I'm not the one being a jerk."

I rub my jaw. "I know, and I'm sorry." Her expression tells me she's not buying it. "Look, if you stay and make it sound like you had a great time tonight, I'll give you whatever you want."

She cocks her head to the side and I feel the need to qualify that offer. "Within reason, of course. I won't go off and marry you or something. But I can buy you jewelry, get you season tickets, introduce you to the rest of the guys on the team… almost anything."

She looks so offended for a moment that I think I've well and truly lost her. But then her eyes spark, and a smile curves across her lips. "Anything?"

"Within reason." Crap. This is going to bite me in the ass. The look on her face is downright devious.

"And you swear you'll follow through? Because if you promise this and then back out…"

"If I back out, you can take the story to the press and skewer me." I hold her gaze. "But I always keep my word. Always."

I don't fidget under Isla's narrowed eyes. She's probably calculating how much a diamond necklace will cost. But Coach is right. If she can help me reform my image, maybe it would help me close that energy drink sponsorship my agent's been negotiating for me.

Her smile is so wide I worry I've gotten myself in too deep. "Okay then, Maddox. Here's what I want from you."