Chapter 21

Kali

"Do you like this one?" I ask, running my fingertips along the integrated bookcase of the fifth apartment we've looked at today.

"It doesn't feel right." Wade sighs. "It's too…"

"Cold." There is too much glass. I like the feeling of space, but there is zero character and warmth about this place.

"Yeah." He agrees.

He's wearing what I picked out for him today. Black, ripped at the knees jeans that cost almost as much as he's paying a month for that swanky hotel he's currently living in, and I paired them with a pale yellow long-sleeved shirt, that makes the blue of his eyes pop.

If it wasn't for the black and white Converse, he was adamant about wearing, and the blue and yellow G-Shock sports watch he refuses to take off, he'd be the poster child for Escada and looks as edible as he tastes.

I should know.

He's delicious.

I cringe internally.

I've no idea who I am right now.

Usually self-controlled, and considered in all my decisions, everything I thought I knew about myself has gone to shit. I may as well drive myself to a dumpster and throw myself into it because that's where my business will end if Marcus finds out I've been fooling around with his player, or maybe I should check myself into a psych ward. I swear I've lost my goddamn mind. Both options seem feasible, although Wade hasn't seemed fazed at all since I sucked him off this morning.

It's as if it never happened when all I want to do is talk about it.

Us.

I want to unpack it, over analyze it, discover what he's thinking.

I know he won't do that. He doesn't say much, or tell me how he's feeling about anything, and Saturday was the first time he really opened up to me. Even then, I still think there is so much to learn about Wade and his complicated life.

Especially the relationship with his mother.

The realtor steps into the living area and I fold my arms across myself while I make my way over to admire the view of the city.

"How do we feel about this one, Mr. Collins?" Gemma has the patience of a saint, full of ideas and suggestions to make the interiors of each of the apartments we've viewed better.

"I've seen five apartments now. I think I want a house. Something with a front and back yard," Wade drawls as if deep in thought.

"Let's have a look," Gemma replies cheerily.

She really wants to make this sale. The commission alone would easily buy her and ten friends an all-inclusive five-star trip to the Bahamas with spending money to spare.

I look over my shoulder at Wade and Gemma huddled together while they browse through the listing she has on her tablet.

A similar age to Wade, Gemma is gorgeous. Blond, dimples, petite, all hearts in her eyes around Wade, completely star struck.

Gemma is more his type. I know this because she looks like his ex. Having scrolled Wade's socials, I found several photos of him and Amelia, and of course, she would be beautiful.

That's how I know Wade and Gemma would make a cute couple.

"This one has just gone on the market. It comes fully furnished for a quick sale. Four bedrooms, a game room, cinema, and it's situated on one of the finest streets southwest of the city. Only thirty minutes from the rink, during rush hour, perhaps a little more. But it would give you…"

I fade Gemma's voice out as I consider my recent life choices.

Why the hell would Wade be interested in someone like me?

I don't know what I've been thinking.

I'm old.

Too old for him.

He should be with someone like Gemma.

But that's none of my business.

Letting out a huge sigh, I focus my attention on the cityscape below and lean my hip against the floor-to-ceiling window. I wish I were ten years younger.

But I'm not, so whatever.

I'm a complication Wade doesn't need, and I sure don't need any complications. Not with clients, or negative publicity, or Michael. Not anything. I want smooth sailing and an easy life filled with harmony with zero hiccups. That's why I returned to Canada. The whole point of me setting up my business was to give me control.

I feel anything but in control since Wade Collins stepped into my life.

More like out of control, especially since he gave me an intense orgasm without actually touching my bare flesh. Seeing, then feeling his big thick cock for the first time made me want to return the favor and provide the ultimate pleasure by giving him a blow job he'll remember for days, maybe weeks after.

That's about the only thing I did have control over, because the desire I feel for him is growing stronger with each passing day. It's raging like an out-of-control wildfire, through my veins and between my legs.

Gawd, what is wrong with me?

"I like that one. Looks great. Whereabouts is this exactly?" Wade's voice cuts through my musings.

"Willowmere Drive." Gemma almost sings her reply.

My ears prick up. That's the street I live on. Hell no.

I turn around to face him.

My heart melts on impact. Why does he have to be so goddamn handsome?

It's bad enough that I'm practically spending every day with him, but at least when I go home, I remove myself from his orbit and kid myself, until I wake up the next day, into believing that I'm just imagining this thing between us.

Which I'm not.

Today confirmed that when he told me I was his nasty girl.

I want to be so much more than that with him and it's screwing with my professionalism. The heat between my legs and still-wet panties from earlier isn't helping me make rational decisions either.

"You can't live on the same street as me," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "What number is it?"

"One five one," Gemma replies brightly.

"That's across the street from mine." My voice sounds higher than usual. This can't be happening.

"It's a beautiful street you live on," Gemma says warmly, then beams up at Wade. "Would you like to view it? If so, I can drive back to the office, pick up the keys, and I can meet you there."

Hands off him, Gemma.

I have no right to imagine myself scratching out her pretty blue eyes, but I am, and I don't like how jealous that makes me feel.

That's not who I am.

A double booking with my therapist is needed. The earlier, the better. I'm doing that as soon as we leave here.

"Sweet. Let's do that," Wade replies, throwing me a wicked grin.

What an asshole.

A gorgeous asshole, but still, he's being a dick.

"Fantastic." Gemma packs her tablet away into her black briefcase-style bag and grabs her car keys out of it. "I'll get there as soon as I can. Just pull the door behind you. It's an automatic lock."

"Thanks." Pushing his hands into his front pockets, Wade stands wide and waits for Gemma to leave. When the door bangs, confirming her departure, he asks, "Why can't I live on the same street as you?"

"Just because." Hands on my hips, I'm a cocktail of annoyance. Throw in a double shot of flustered mayhem, and a dash of frustration after our earlier encounter and you have the perfect unique concoction of Kali is Crazy.

"That's not an answer."

"Don't pretend like you moving across from me doesn't mean something," I snap back.

"Does it?"

"Stop playing dumb." Wagging my finger at him, I pace back and forth, then clench my fists by my side.

"I'm not."

"You are." I unclench my fists. "If you move into my street, you'll be a distraction."

"A distraction?"

"Stop doing that."

"What?" Palms facing up, he holds his arms out to his sides.

"Copying everything I say. You did it earlier too."

"You had my cock in your mouth earlier, but I wasn't going to bring that up."

I take in a sharp breath as my face fills with color. "You're annoying."

"And a distraction."

"Yes, that."

"I'm only going to look at it. No one said I was buying it."

Okay, that makes sense.

"Although, from the photos, it looks perfect," he adds.

"Oh, gawd."

"Kali, stop freaking out."

"But what if people think we're together, together? People are already speculating." It could risk my contract with the Eagles. Marcus will fire me. That girl, Britney, was fired after Wade slept with her... although she didn't just sleep with Wade, it was about a quarter of the team.

"Who cares? You know what happened earlier will be kept between us, right?" He runs his hands through his short hair. He looks and sounds regretful, maybe embarrassed, about what we did earlier. I don't know.

"Yes." My voice sounds shaky and uncertain. "Never to be repeated," I lie.

He flinches for a moment. It's fleeting, but I catch it.

Hell, I do need a session with my therapist. Stat.

"I have a mountain to climb, Kali. I wasn't lying when I said my head is a mess. I have nightmares. I have demons and I need help before I can ever consider letting anyone into my life. I'm not being selfish; I'm protecting you from me."

Completely deflated, my mood plummets into the pit of my stomach.

Wade adds, "People, the press, the fans, they make shit up about me all the time. Hell knows where they get it from. Let them think what they want, Kali. We have nothing to hide. Well, from this point moving forward, we don't, because we are professionals. Which we keep forgetting and need to start remembering. You keep telling me you're worried about your job and that Marcus might fire you, and I don't want that for you either, so I'm stepping back."

His words are like a nail through my heart. He's right. That's what I have said, several times. I can only assume this means he doesn't want things to go any further between us. Which is good, because neither do I.

Well, that's a lie, Little Miss. Pants on Fire.

I stop pacing.

"Fine," I snap. "Let's go look at the house." I grab my purse, sweeping it up off the floor as I stomp out of the living space of the swanky apartment Wade could easily turn into a fuck pad.

That thought makes me want to puke.

"I might not like the house." He says from behind me.

I hope he doesn't. Although there is a high chance he will love it. It's all new and shiny. Only finished a few weeks ago, no expense spared. They had a team of interior design professionals in decking the place out.

There are also no trees in front of that house or mine, giving me a direct view.

I pull open the front door of the apartment in a huff.

I'm calling the landscaper to plant twenty trees in front of my house tomorrow.

Call me Pinocchio; my nose is growing by the minute. Of course, I'm not going to do that.

"Are you mad at me?" Wade asks.

"Nope." I storm across the small space between the apartment and the elevator and hit the call button.

"You are." The door slams shut behind Wade.

"No, I just…" Need him to kiss me… or rip off my clothes… or something… he's completely derailed me…

He creeps up behind me and says against the shell of my ear, "You're sexy when you're angry."

I sidestep away because his pantie-soaking voice is doing shameful things between my thighs.

This back-and-forth game of teasing and flirting ping-pong is tiresome. "Fuck off, Wade." Other than Michael, I've never told anyone to fuck off.

We've agreed to stop whatever is going on between us, and I can't handle him playing with my emotions. My self-esteem is also feeling a smidge fragile. He was more than happy to let me suck his cock, but anything more and it's off the table.

How humiliating. I feel used and cheap.They're not feelings I'm familiar with.

"You should ask Gemma to the gala on Friday night." I sound catty. Bitterness fills my mouth.

"Why?"

I pretend to look at myself in the mirror-shine reflection of the elevator doors, but I'm checking him out. "Your invite includes a plus one."

"I'm going with you."

"I have a date." Lies, lies, lies. Me and my stupid mouth. I've just made extra work for myself because now need a date.

I feel him tensing up beside me and the mood around us turns icy.

In the reflection of the door, I see him staring at the side of my face. "Fine, what-the-fuck-ever."

Pulling my phone from my purse, I locate my therapist's number and hit call.

"Who are you calling, Mrs. I Have a Date?" he asks, deadpan.

"My therapist. You drive me crazy." I wish the elevator would hurry up. I need fresh air.

"Same."

"Well, I'm so happy we're on the same page." With my phone to my ear, I feign happiness through a forced smile and finally have the courage to look at him.

Body locked with apparent rage, neck flushed red, he looks like he's one spark short of an explosion. I feel his rage. It's coursing through him.

"Fuck this." He storms off, leaving a trail of his musky cologne in his wake. "I'll view the house myself. Call yourself a cab."

Shoving the door open on the stairwell, he slams it behind him with an almighty bang, making me jump.

Shaking, because I'm upset and angry and struggling with a million other feelings that are thundering through my body that I'm unable to make sense of, I cut the call when it goes to voicemail.

Being around him is giving me whiplash.

It's not a therapist I need, it's a chiropractor.