Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Four

One week later

Sig slowed to a stop and waited in the hallway, watching Chloe disappear into the apartment, the sound of her happily chatting with the Realtor echoing down the polished stairs. Golden sconces glinted on the walls. Piano music drifted down somewhere from the top floor. A woman pushed a noticeably expensive baby carriage into the lobby below and he watched both doors lock behind the woman soundly, securely, exactly as they would behind Chloe.

They’d looked at an apartment in a different part of town prior to this and there’d only been one door separating the lobby from the street. Not to mention, the apartment was on the ground floor. He’d all but carried a protesting Chloe out of there over his shoulder.

This was more like it.

He’d sleep at night with her in this place.

And it was going to cost him a fortune. On a monthly basis. Already, the five-star hotel he’d put her in since arriving in Boston would have been enough to buy him a new truck, but he’d loved picking her up out front, watching her emerge from the glittering lobby while a man in a starched uniform held the door open for her. Giving her that experience, that security, made him feel accomplished. Made his blood pump with purpose.

Doing mental math, Sig took two steps and tested the railing with a shake, making sure it didn’t wobble, then he entered the apartment behind the pair of women.

Two dead bolts on the door. Good.

Sig paused between the entrance and the living room, trying his best to see the sizable sunlit space, the high ceilings, the chef’s kitchen, the view of the North End neighborhood. But all he could see were the marble columns and cherubs and sweeping staircases of her home in Darien. This apartment was only a fraction of the size in comparison—

“Sig!” Chloe cried out from one of the bedrooms. “Come look!”

He went without thinking, wanting to see what got her so excited. When he found her in the master bedroom, she was pulling open a large drawer that appeared to be hinged to the wall. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a laundry chute,” answered the Realtor. “She’ll have a designated space in the basement where her clothes will compile until they’re ready to be washed. It’s an old-fashioned fixture, but one the residents love. It will save her from having to carry a heavy bag up and down the stairs from the basement.”

Basement? “There’s no washer-dryer in the apartment?”

“It’s a landmark building. There are certain plumbing restrictions.”

“Yeah, Chloe,” Sig said, shaking his head. “I don’t know...”

“Hellooo,” Chloe called down the shoot. “Is anyone home?” With a laugh, she closed the drawer and straightened, directing her attention at the Realtor. “Who does the laundry once it’s down there?”

The Realtor blinked at her. Seconds ticked by. “Uh. You do.”

Chloe was incredulous, but also... visibly thrilled. “ Really? ”

“Y-yes.”

Sig almost lost his train of thought in the face of her excitement. “I don’t like the sound of her in the basement.”

“I do,” Chloe countered. “I’ve never been in one.”

“I assure you, it’s secure. And very elegant.”

Chloe looked crestfallen. “Oh.”

Sig would be confirming that before any paperwork was signed. “Let’s talk, Chlo,” Sig said, dipping his chin toward the hallway, indicating that Chloe should follow him. A few seconds later, they were alone in the kitchen, Chloe moving from cabinet to drawer to sink like a ricocheting beam of light. He had to hook an arm around her waist to cease her movements, drawing her to a stop in front of him. Close enough that he could look down into her face and trace the rim of black around her blue irises. But he buried the urge to trace her cheekbone with his knuckle. To lower his mouth to hers and sip at it, nuzzle it, kiss it.

He did none of that, but he’d been fighting the battle all week.

Would it ever get easier?

This week, every moment of daylight he’d been afforded between practice and games had belonged to Chloe. Going over the train route she would take to Berklee. Taking her to meet her new instructors. Eating meals together. Taking her to Sephora for the first time—a two-hour ordeal he’d pretended to hate, but handing over his credit card and purchasing a bunch of goop and sparkles had earned him a bouncing hug that he could still feel. That he never wanted to stop feeling.

“Do you like this place?” he asked, voice husky from strain.

“It’s gorgeous,” she whispered, looking around while a trench slowly formed between her brows. “What does it cost to buy an apartment like this?”

“We wouldn’t be buying it,” he informed her patiently. “We’d be renting it.”

“Renting. Ohhh.” She gave an exaggerated nod, as if she’d just been let in on a great secret. “And what does that cost?”

“You’re not going to worry about that.”

Her gaze zipped up to his. “Are you sure?”

“I’m going to handle it while you’re training at the conservatory.” He thought about the dreams she’d confided in him over French toast yesterday morning. How she thought it might be time to take baby steps out of training and become a practicing member of her chosen field of music, something her mother never seemed inclined to let her do. Pursuing a place in an orchestra, instead of playing exhibitions where she was billed as a prodigy to come observe and gawk at. “Eventually, when you’re placed with an orchestra, you’ll take over.”

A shadow passed across her face. “You have a lot of faith in my ability to be placed with an ensemble.”

“Yeah.” He gave in. Brushed a hand down her hair, teasing the soft ends with his fingertips. “I do.”

Her eyelids dropped to half-mast at his touch, their chests rising and falling simultaneously. “Will you teach me how to do laundry?”

“As long as the basement isn’t a murder trap, yes. Let me check it out first.”

She considered him. “You’re going to be a little overprotective of me, aren’t you?”

A little? If he signed a lease on this place, he would be installing a third dead bolt before the ink was dry. “What makes you say that?”

“Well.” The Realtor appeared at the far end of the kitchen, her eagle eye zipping back and forth between Sig and Chloe. How close they were standing. Especially after they’d introduced themselves as future stepsiblings. “What do you think of the place?”

Chloe galloped toward the woman. “We’ll take it!”

“I want to see the basement first,” Sig growled, stomping after her.

It didn’t matter that he would probably have to stretch financially to pay rent on this place, as well as his own. Not to mention, he was still making mortgage payments on the house he’d bought for his mother upon signing his current contract. But, hey. He’d sell memorabilia on eBay, if necessary. Get the guys to sign some shit and make some extra cash. Plus, he had a few high-ticket items he’d collected over the years that would be in demand at auction.

And he’d pray the Bearcats offered him a decent contract for next season.

Bottom line, Sig would do whatever it took to give Chloe this place.

His entire life, he’d told himself you don’t need it. That he didn’t require nice things.

But Chloe... she was the first nice thing he couldn’t live without.

Two weeks later

Chloe sat on top of the washing machine with the blue bottle of detergent in her lap and tried very hard not to look smug. Sig would be arriving any moment to commence their first laundry lesson and he was going to be shocked to find she’d already bought soap . Shocked.

That day had been a good one already and this was going to be icing on the cake.

She’d woken up to a wine-soaked, apologetic text message from her mother, offering to send Chloe a small weekly allow ance. Chloe could see the offer for what it was. A very strategic amount that would give Sofia access to her plans, her progress, but not a large enough cash flow that Chloe wouldn’t miss the luxuries of home.

Chloe’s first instinct had been to refuse the money, because this move to Boston was supposed to be about discovering her independence, but ultimately, she’d decided to accept the cash. She’d only been in Boston for two weeks—long enough to know everything cost money. So much money. And she was already relying on Sig for too much. Asking him for spending money on top of laundry lessons, Sephora spending sprees, rent money, and everything in between?

Out of the question.

Her spine straightened at the sound of bootsteps coming down the basement stairs, every cell in her body running in haphazard circles, pulse skittering. Sensitivity attacked her breasts before he even came into view, but when his big frame filled the doorway, she didn’t even know which direction her heart traveled. North? South? Both? Mainly that it dislodged and floated out of position, made lighter and heavier at the sight of him in jeans, a blue puffer jacket, boots, and a Red Sox hat.

“Hey, Chlo.” He crossed his arms, propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Whatcha got there?”

“Laundry detergent,” she said primly. “No big deal.”

“Wow. Did you go to the store?”

“Yes. I also bought olives and coffee.”

“Breakfast of champions.”

“The store two blocks from here has an olive bar . You get to fill your own container. I couldn’t just bypass that.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to be eating olives for weeks.”

Chuckling, he pushed off the jamb and walked in her direction. “But at least you got detergent...” He winced when he got closer and picked up the bottle. “Ah. Hate to break this to you, but this is fabric softener.”

“ What? ”

“Still important. Just not the main event.”

She looked down at the overflowing laundry basket on the concrete floor, deflated. “What am I going to use to wash my clothes? I’m on my last pair of—” She cut herself off before she could say the word panties , but when his gaze climbed her thighs and teased the apex of her leggings, it was obvious Sig knew what she’d been about to say.

“We can’t have you going out without them, can we?” His tongue rested on his bottom lip a moment and she got the sense he was trying to control his breathing. What a coincidence—she was doing the same, because he smelled incredible ; it was a struggle not to yank him closer by his lapels and inhale the cloves and pepper that was his signature scent. “Don’t worry, I brought a couple of Tide Pods from home.” He unearthed them from his jacket pocket, holding them up. “You’re safe from indecency.”

“Is it indecent to forgo underwear?”

“If someone knew you’d forgone them, yeah. It would be a little indecent.” He took the fabric softener bottle away from Chloe, setting it on the neighboring machine... and then he framed her waist in his hands, lifting her off the machine and settling her down in front of him and tipping her chin up with a finger. “And I’d know you weren’t wearing any. I might start thinking about things that I shouldn’t.”

Chloe swallowed. So many throbs in so many places. “Guess we better start washing.”

Neither one of them moved for several seconds, then his fingertips skimmed down her throat and away, so casually, as if they hadn’t left fire in their wake.

“First thing we have to do is separate lights and darks,” Sig said, tone hoarse, nudging her basket with his toe. “If you put in a red shirt with a bunch of white laundry, you’ll end up with a lot of pink shit. Believe me, I learned that the hard way.”

“Are you a self-taught laundryman? Or did your parents teach you?”

Sig was quiet for a second. “It was just my mother and I growing up. Harvey wasn’t really in the picture until I hit college—and only because I tracked him down out of curiosity. Then again, he’s not really the type to pass on laundry tips, is he?”

“No,” Chloe said slowly, studying him. As deeply as she felt she knew Sig after such a brief window of time, the truth was, she didn’t know a lot about his past. And God, she wanted to know every detail of every single day that led up to creating this person standing in front of her. This professional athlete who carried Tide Pods in his pocket and championed her new start and installed extra locks on her door. “Your parents divorced when you were young?”

“They were never married, actually,” he said, a hint of color flushing into his cheeks. He hunkered down and started dividing her laundry, prompting Chloe to kneel and follow his lead, putting whites in one pile, colors in another. “My mother grew up with money, a big family, but her parents didn’t approve of Harvey. And I guess they were right, since he ended up leaving shortly after I was born. I’m not sure if my mother resented her family for never accepting Harvey or if him leaving just scored her pride and she couldn’t face them, but... we moved away from them after Harvey bailed. My mom wanted to make her own way, without their help. But she never liked talking about the circumstances.” His brows drew together. “I’ve got a lot more questions than answers when it comes to how I grew up.”

“I’m sorry, Sig.”

“It’s okay. If I’d grown up all posh like you, I wouldn’t be able to teach you how to do laundry now. See?” He winked at her. “Everything happens for a reason. My mom was too busy working two jobs to teach me how to wash clothes, so I did what any hockey player would do. I asked my coach. His wife came over and showed me the basics.”

“How old were you during all of this?”

He squinted an eye. “Seven, maybe?”

“Wow,” she whispered, only vaguely aware that they’d gravitated together over the course of Sig’s story and now their foreheads were almost touching. “Did she teach you anything else?”

Sig nodded. “How to make chicken and dumplings.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds really good.”

“I’ll make it for you one day.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re doing enough for me.”

“I’ll never... do enough for you, Chloe.” He turned his face away on a dry chuckle, as if he couldn’t believe he’d made that statement out loud. “What about your father? What’s his story?”

Chloe hummed in her throat, trying not to be obvious about memorizing the shape of Sig’s hard upper lip. “There was a very messy divorce with my mother when I was a toddler. She got custody—and the house. He remarried and had two more children. They live on Long Island, and I’ve never met a single one of them. But I speak to my father a couple times a year.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Every once in a while, an article is published about him in one finance journal or another. He mentions me every time. That his oldest child is a harp prodigy.”

Sig studied her closely. “You don’t like that.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “He’s never even come to a performance. It doesn’t seem right that he should get some kind of credit for it, you know?”

“Yeah. Absolutely fuck that.” He nudged her forehead with his own. “You going to let me come to one?”

Her heart crammed its way into her throat. “Will you?”

“Damn right I will.”

She was suddenly smiling so wide, it hurt. “Okay.”

“As long as you come to a hockey game.”

“Damn right I will.”

Now he was smiling, too. How did she get here? Doing laundry in a basement in Boston with this beautiful man? Two weeks ago, she couldn’t have imagined it. Now, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“What about your mother?” Sig asked quietly, his hand lifting to brush back her hair, but dropping before he could complete the action. “It’s hard to get a read there. She obviously cares so much about you...”

“But the vibes are giving Disney villain? Yeah.” She searched through her mom-related discomfort for the right words. “It’s complicated with Sofia. She wants what is best for me. She was simply brought up in a world where inconveniences don’t exist. If you want a situation to look a certain way, you just pay to have it tailored to your taste. When she can’t have what she wants, she leans on cash harder and harder to maneuver people. Including me. She’s my mother, though, and I love her even though she is far from perfect. And kind of scary.” They both laughed softly. “It’s like, I know if I needed her, she would be there. I also know she’ll find a way to maneuver me into a place that makes her comfortable again.” Chloe looked up into Sig’s eyes, wanting to absorb the understanding she already knew she’d find there, finding the distance between their heads had dwindled. “She can’t help it.”

Chloe could see the moment he realized how close their mouths were, the intimacy of the setting. No matter what they did, they seemed to end up here. On the verge of making a wrong move. One they wouldn’t be able to take back.

Slowly, they pulled back from each other and finished sorting the laundry. He walked her through how to add soap to the machine, which buttons to press, then eventually how to work the dryer. While they talked about everything from favorite breakfast foods to hockey injuries, Chloe hopped back onto the machine and waited for her first wash to finish. Sig was directly in front of her with his hands propped on the corners of the machine, his thumbs inches away from the outsides of her thighs. A little close, maybe, but...

Had they tacitly agreed not to fight the need to be near each other?

Or was that her imagination?

Chloe was halfway through a question about Sig’s college days when the spin cycle started. And it started with a vengeance. The violent shaking began so suddenly, a laugh flew from her mouth and continued...

Until she saw the stark hunger transform Sig’s face. His attention had locked in on her breasts. Namely, the way they were being jostled with every sharp movement of the machine, her cleavage jiggling in the neckline of her T-shirt.

“I should get down,” she said, breathless.

“Yeah. You should.” The resonant whir of the washing machine nearly drowned out his words, but somehow, they were still loud in her ears. Like she alone had the ability to hear him under any circumstances. “God, I wish we’d never gone to that dinner, Chlo.” His palms hovered a centimeter above her thighs, before he rested them there, skimming them upward toward her hips. “I’ve never wished for ignorance, but I wish we didn’t know what we know. I wish I’d just taken you and ran.”

“Me too,” she whispered, reaching up and threading her fingers through his hair, making him bury his face in the crook of her neck with a groan. His hip blades were pressed to the insides of her knees now, her center aching for pressure, friction, even though she knew it wasn’t allowed. None of this was. Still... “If we’d run away, where would we have gone?”

“Sweden.”

Am I floating? “Sweden?”

“You could play in the royal philharmonic orchestra there.” He rubbed his lips up and down against the side of her neck. “I could play hockey.”

Her head fell back, neck unhinging. “You’ve thought about this?”

“Thought. Obsessed. Whatever you want to call it.” Sig rolled their foreheads together, looking down. Watching her breasts shake with increasingly labored breath. “You grew up pampered, but that’s not how I would have treated you in bed. I’d have fucked you like the world was ending.” He dropped his mouth to her breasts and licked each slope, before slowly dragging his tongue up the side of her neck and laving a circle beneath her ear. “It would have been ending, because another one would have been beginning. Ours.” He cursed beneath his breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t be sorry,” she managed, her eyes still crossed from that lick. From his words. That night had been as meaningful to him as it was to her. The start of something undefinable. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not.” He dragged her an inch closer to the edge of the washer, but stopped, his jaw giving a tight pop. “But Christ, I better go before I do.”

Before she managed to focus, Sig had left the laundry room, his boots pounding up the stairs toward the building exit, leaving Chloe boneless and heartsick on the shaking washer.