13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Willow

The doorbell rings at 7:50. I sent Emilie back to Michigan for the weekend. Some of her friends were back in her hometown, and she was debating making the trip. I bought her a plane ticket and sent her on her way.

I have no group of friends who contact me when they're back home. Which means no reason to go back for Thanksgiving or Christmas. My parents always come to me, whether I'm in New York or in between tour dates and cities. My dad always complains about the traffic; he says he prefers the business of our small hometown in Virginia.

It's always been the three of us. I'm an only child, and we've never been close with any of my extended family. Sometimes people get weird when it comes to money and success, or that's what I tell myself to make it sting less. There's nothing quite like landing your first major record deal and cousins you haven't had a real conversation with in years start needing something. Another reason for the armor I've crafted.

My heart squeezes when I think about Emilie still having people back home. I'm a little jealous but I know I won't let her miss weekends like this. No Emilie means I have the house to myself. Well, me and some of the security detail who do a good job of staying out of sight unless necessary.

Somehow, Tripp did handle getting everything organized. All I had to do was confirm I indeed wanted to go out with Tripp Owens; what an easy "yes" .

I don't know the full plan but know Tripp requested to drive and asked if the security team would follow. Tripp must've passed all the required checks because everyone seems very chill about this whole thing.

Almost like a professional football player didn't ask me out via paparazzi.

My heart rate picks up as I walk to the door, heels clicking on the hardwood floors. There's nothing like a healthy dose of nerves on top of already existing anxiety.

I slowly open the door and am greeted with a casual Tripp. He's wearing dark jeans and an olive-green Henley shirt. The type that looks so soft you immediately want to touch it. Run your hands down it.

It's also the kind of green that brings out the tan tone of his skin. He's running a hand through his hair and his other is in his pocket. Some of his dark hair falls back and rests on his forehead. His gray, almost blue eyes are bright, catching mine right away.

And then he smiles at me. An actual smile.

I slowly exhale and let my shoulders fall a little from my ears.

"Sorry. I didn't expect you to answer the door," he says, while putting his other hand in his pocket and rocking back on his heels.

"Who else would answer my door?" I smirk.

"Definitely thought I'd be meeting the third line of security at your door. These people do not play, do they? Have you seen any of them smile or blink?" Tripp asks, his cheeks flushed.

A laugh escapes my mouth, a little louder than I'd hoped for. "Yes, they smile. Seth and his team are all right." My hands are on my hips and I put weight on one foot. "He's been with me since the beginning. One of the good ones."

"Well, he knows everything about me, including my blood type, allergies, and middle school locker combination." Tripp laughs and stops when his eyes meet mine .

"What?" I ask looking down at my outfit, seeing if there's something on my top. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing. Your eyes, in the sunlight, they're like gold. You're just… stunning." He looks at me, his shoulders up near his ears.

The compliment hits me harder than it should. The words, his reaction, the sincerity of his voice. It's almost like broken pieces of me are coming back together.

I can't show him that, so instead, I smile in appreciation.

"Are you ready?" He steps to the side, giving me room to fall in step beside him.

"I think so," I say as we walk toward his black Tesla.

And then this man does the unthinkable—he opens my door. My face must give me away.

"What? Is this weird?" he asks, still holding the door open.

"No. Just caught me off guard." His hand lightly touches my lower back before I sink into the leather seat. It's hard not to fixate on those strong hands.

I can't remember the last time Dexter, or any of my dates did something like this. I'm used to a mad dash to get in the car, trying to minimize the number of people who would see. If they weren't rushing, they'd be waving to whoever was trying to get our photo. When was the last time someone drove me that wasn't my security detail?

"You still with me?" Tripp clicks his seatbelt in.

"Sorry. Yes. Still here." I smile, trying to hide the embarrassment of taking a somewhat depressing, short trip down memory lane.

"No need to apologize. Thought we could do dinner somewhere low-key. I'm sure you already know that Seth—my new best friend—and all his security buds, will be a few cars back."

He starts the car, a quick message about Bluetooth being connected flashes on the display, and loud music starts to play. My music. Not only my music but a decently obscure live version of one of my earliest albums.

I press my lips together and look down at my hands in my lap. Tripp tries to turn the music down and off at the same time. It takes him a few seconds, and when the music stops, the tips of his ears are pink. He stares ahead.

"That is not ideal," he says too quickly as he puts the car in drive. "Let's pretend that didn't happen." He smirks at me, his face crimson. I nod in agreement even though I know this is something I won't forget.

When he realizes I'm not going to say anything about it, he says, "It sounds like no one knows you're staying here… I'm guessing from the lack of activity." He quickly glances at me before we're out of the security gate and on the road.

I must look at him with just a teeny bit of panic.

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." His smile reassures me. "I only brought it up because I'm thinking we'll be able to fly under the radar tonight. Not that I don't want to be seen with you. It's just..." Tripp is rambling at this point. I press my lips together and look at him. "If you can't tell, I'm nervous. Like really fucking nervous." He chuckles alongside his confession.

"The big bad football player, who asked me out in one of those most public ways possible, is nervous?" I jab him in a way that lets him know I'm joking.

"I'm a fraud. I used all my confidence in that moment and then anything that was left went to Seth and the security check and now I'm—"

"Nervous," I interrupt him, hopefully to give the poor guy a break. There's a little sweat on his forehead.

"Did you hate that I did that? The thing with the paparazzi? I don't know what came over me and I thought, hell, take your shot, but—"

"Definitely didn't hate it," I interrupt again, trying to help him chill out. With everything up to this point, Tripp has been nothing but cool, calm, and collected.

To be honest, I like that he's nervous because that makes two of us.

We're in a neighborhood thirty minutes outside the city. Tripp pulls into a pretty sketchy-looking driveway. It looks like it's meant for deliveries but there's no discernible business nearby.

He opens my car door and says, "Promise. I cleared this with your security entourage."

Tripp offers his hand, and I instinctively take it. What is it about a man wanting to hold your hand? As our fingers intertwine, I'm reminded of how strong he is. I mean, I know he's a professional athlete, but you don't really think about how powerful someone's hands can be.

Once I'm out of the car, he doesn't let go. Instead, he leads me to an odd-looking side door. It's locked, but he enters a numerical code and the door pops open. We step in, and I still can't tell where we are.

"This way," Tripp says while leading me up some stairs. It's clear he knows his way around.

We reach another door which opens to the roof. It takes just a few steps to see the table, set for two, with candles, twinkly lights, and complete seclusion.

Swoon.

"What's all this?" I ask as we walk towards the table.

"I know the owner and when he saw my little stint with the press, he offered a place for us to get away."

He's thought this out .

Tripp pulls my chair out, grinning while he does it. "Hope you're hungry. This place has some of the best Italian food in the city."

I open the menu sitting in front of me, and my mouth starts to water. The way to my heart starts with fresh pasta and all things cheese.

Before I get too far in, our server greets our table with a bottle of red wine.

"Wine for the table?" the server asks.

Tripp looks at me, waiting for me to make the call.

"Please."