Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Seven

Walking into the friends and family waiting area after a game was always a mindfuck.

Burgess stopped talking to Sig midsentence and beelined for Tallulah and Lissa, drawing them both into a hug. Some of the younger players broke off, heading for a group of their friends. Or their parents. But mostly, his teammates reunited with their wives. Babies or toddlers in miniature jerseys. Everyone separating into family units, murmuring to one another and making plans. Saying things like, I can’t wait to get into my pajamas .

Sig had Chloe.

She was always waiting for him after home games, standing off to the side in her pink jersey, purse tucked beneath her arm like a proper society girl, watching his teammates reunite with their loved ones. Struggling to smile, the same way he did. Because their relationship wasn’t an easy one to define. Nothing about it was easy.

Was she a friend? Yes.

Was she only a friend. Nope.

Was she family? Sort of. Not yet, but... verging.

Sig stood in silence at the set of doors leading from the tunnel to the waiting area, composing himself. It was always necessary for him to do this. To take a moment and remember why he couldn’t simply walk up to Chloe and kiss the face off her, the way a lot of his teammates were doing with their wives. In a parallel universe, where their parents weren’t engaged, he was carrying Chloe out to his truck right now, cursing the fifteen-minute ride to their house, because he couldn’t wait to be inside of her. His girl. His everything.

They weren’t in a parallel universe, however. This was real life—and there was only one of those. And so, Sig climbed the same mental mountain he climbed after every game. He scaled the sides of it until he reached the plateau, also known as his personal purgatory. The place where he couldn’t have Chloe, but he couldn’t for the life of him stay away from her, either. Not for a single day.

Which had made the last four days miserable while she’d been in Paris with her mother. The very sight of her right now was like walking again after ninety-six hours of being paralyzed.

What was the correct way to greet a woman you loved with every fiber of your fucking soul, but couldn’t have?

It was getting harder and harder to figure that out.

Chloe was beginning to look uncomfortable by herself in the coupled-up family area, which propelled Sig into motion. He hefted his gear bag more securely onto his shoulder and wove through a few groups to reach Chloe, who softened at the sight of him. Just kind of exhaled with her entire body, wringing her hands briefly before giving him a quick hug. Way too quick.

They didn’t hug like that when they were alone.

People were watching, though. Wondering about their dynamic. Why Chloe came to every game like a devoted girlfriend, when in fact, she was his future stepsister. Yeah, they wondered about his relationship with Chloe for a damn good reason.

He wondered about it, too. Day and night.

Mainly about how much longer he could embody this obsession with Chloe without having a nervous breakdown. Niko, the private investigator, was still in the process of verifying the preliminary facts and the case, not to mention sifting through Harvey’s plethora of past relationships, which was taking time. A lot more time than Sig and Chloe had.

“Hey,” he said, letting her go from their brief embrace. Feeling eyes on his back. “Thanks for coming.”

She gave him a prim look. “I don’t think the refs were very glad to see me.”

He chuckled, remembering her indignant pout on the other side of the glass.

Indignant and beautiful. God, so fucking beautiful.

“Nope,” Sig responded. “Pretty sure every ref in the league has your face pinned to a dartboard in their kitchen.”

Humor was slowly beginning to replace the tension that was always between them at first. The moments that held the empty space where a kiss would be, if they were free to express themselves honestly. “With their poor eyesight? I’m not worried about them hitting a bull’s-eye.” She scrutinized the lower half of his face, her gaze snagging on the bandaged cut on his nose. “Is it bad?”

“Nah. I’ve cut myself worse shaving.”

With her attention fastened on his jaw, she hummed quietly.

Sig moved a little closer. As much as he dared in this setting. “What?”

“Nothing,” Chloe murmured. “I’ve just never seen you shave before.”

He swore his heart was beating in his stomach. Every time. She did this to him within seconds every time . “Would you want to watch me shave, Chlo?” he asked, after a brief check over his shoulder. To make sure no one was within earshot.

Slowly, her eyes climbed up to meet his. “Yes.”

It took an effort to keep his breathing even. Was this a crazy conversation to be having in the friends and family area after a game? Absolutely, yes. Was it odd for him and this woman? No. Not at all. There was nothing typical about her. Or them. There might be dozens of people scattered throughout the room, but when they were standing this close and no one else could hear them, anything went with Chloe. And he lived and breathed to find out what she would say and do next.

“If you shave for me,” she said for his ears alone, her tone playful now, “I’ll let you help me decide what I should wear for the first day of my new mentorship tomorrow.”

He dismantled that statement piece by piece, examining every part of it.

“Hold up. You’re starting a new mentorship tomorrow?”

She nodded, a smile blooming across her mouth. “My instructors told me they were trying to land me a mentorship with the first chair harpist at BSO.” Boston Symphony Orchestra. “I got the email while I was in Paris. They are going to take me on.”

Sig tried not to stare at those lips. Failed. “When were you going to tell me this was in the works?”

“You’re busy with the season.”

He scoffed. “On day five of Hell Week, you texted me that you wanted French toast, so I brought you out for French toast, in between practices. In a sweaty T-shirt and shorts.” He tamped down on the urge to lean down and kiss her forehead. “You know damn well I’m never too busy for you, Chloe. Why really didn’t you tell me?”

Her smile dipped. “Because I’m nervous and I was thinking of backing out.”

Again, he struggled not to reach for her. “Okay. We’ll talk it out.”

“All right, Bearcats fam,” called the arena’s maintenance guy, Augie. “We’re turning the lights off and going home, if you don’t mind making your way to the parking lot.”

“Night, Augie,” Burgess boomed to Sig’s right, throwing the man a salute. “Thanks.”

Everyone followed the captain’s lead, shouting their thanks at the maintenance man, while filing out into the team parking lot. Once they reached Sig’s truck, Chloe exchanged a hug with Tallulah and Lissa. Sig fist-bumped Burgess. And then Sig was boosting Chloe into the passenger seat of his truck, wincing as he always did when the damaged leather touched her thighs. “Don’t even start grumbling about a new truck. Not again,” she said, preemptively, checking her appearance in the rearview, her pinkie dragging a U-shape beneath one of her eyes. “This one is perfect.”

It physically burned to drive her around in this beat-up old thing. She used to have a designated town car and a chauffeur , for fuck’s sake. “It’s time for a new one.”

She clicked her seat belt into place. “Only if you want to find me handcuffed to the steering wheel.”

Sig glanced over his shoulder at the parking lot to judge how alone they were. Whether or not anyone was watching. When he found them to be out of everyone’s view, he ducked into the truck, bringing his forehead an inch from Chloe’s and listening to her quick intake of breath. Memorizing the way she closed her eyes, her lashes making spiky patterns on her cheeks. “Are you implying you own a pair of handcuffs, Chloe?”

“Maybe,” she said on an exhale—and he wished he could feel that breath on his entire body. Against his chest, below his waist. Everywhere.

Sig nudged her forehead with his own. “I’m not in the mood to play games after four days without seeing your beautiful face. Give me a better answer.”

He could see his words absorbing into her skin. Could sense the intake. “Are you implying I might have cuffs for recreational purposes?”

“Do you?”

“When would I manage to use handcuffs with a man?” She wet her lips, nearly grazing his mouth with her tongue. So close but so far. “I can’t go home with anyone when you always show up at the bar to take me home yourself.”

“I promised to look out for you.”

“You might have taken that responsibility a little too far, don’t you think?”

Sig’s heart paused midbeat. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head rapidly. “No.”

His heart kicked back into gear. God, he wanted to ruin that pink lip gloss. Kiss her until it was smeared all over his mouth, chin, and tongue. “Okay then.”

“Okay then,” she breathed unevenly. “Just so we’re clear.”

Break. Now. Time for a break.

Jaw clenched tight enough to snap, Sig removed himself from Chloe’s space and ducked back out of the truck. He put his hands on his hips and paced in a slow circle, attempting to bring his pulse back to a normal rate. He’d only managed it slightly by the time he got into the driver’s side and fired up the engine.

Being this close with Chloe on a near constant basis was torture at its most pure and he would volunteer for it until the day he died.

No one was going to have the honor of being Chloe’s companion but him.

But how long could they go on like this without giving in?

Sig didn’t have an answer to that. But he knew one thing very well.

He had to figure out a way for them to be together.

There simply wasn’t another option. Chloe ending up with someone else?

Not a fucking chance.

Sig glanced over to double-check that Chloe had put on her seat belt, even though he’d witnessed her engage the buckle, before pulling out onto the road. Traveling in the direction of her apartment.

Finally, he’d composed himself enough to speak. “Back to this mentorship. When did you decide to do it?”

“Well.” She sat up a little taller on the seat. “I’m going to continue at the conservatory, as planned, but my instructors... they say there is nothing else they can teach me.”

Pride rocked into his chest. Not only had she left her life of luxury behind and moved to an entirely new city, but she’d adapted quickly to living alone, commuting, making friends, like Tallulah. Proven herself and thrived at Berklee, exactly as he’d known she would. “Damn, Chlo.”

“Yes. But that implies there is something this mentor can teach me. Right?”

“Uh-huh. That tracks.” He glanced over to find her looking deep in thought. “You don’t want to find out if there is something you don’t already know?”

“I guess I do,” she hedged. “But it’s been a long time since anyone pushed me, Sig. I’ve always just naturally been a badass on the harp.”

He chuckled. “The baddest.”

“What if it’s like that movie Whiplash ? Where the instructor tortures me psychologically so he can break me down and rebuild me in his image?”

“Easy. I will fucking kill him.”

“Ooh. Promise?”

Heat swamped the back of his neck at the thought of her being bullied. “ Yes. ”

He sensed, rather than saw, her smirk. “Her name is Grace Shen and by all accounts, she’s a consummate professional. You can stop committing mental murder now.”

At the news that Chloe’s mentor was a woman, his blood ceased to boil, but the possessiveness remained at a simmer. It always did. Ready to rollick at a moment’s notice. For instance, what if Grace had an assistant who didn’t find it unprofessional to ask Chloe on a date? There were too many variables... and as long as they were just friends, Sig had a blade hanging above his neck at all times.

“Are you really going to shave for me?” Chloe asked, distracting him.

Speaking of blades near his neck. “Have I ever said no to anything you wanted?”

“No,” she said, not hesitating.

“You said if I shaved for you, you would let me help you decide what to wear to your first mentorship meeting.”

“I did say that.” He was certain that he caught her shivering in his peripheral vision, her voice significantly softer when she added, “I could do a quick fashion show for you when we get home...”

Sig couldn’t respond. He was too busy trying to keep his dick locked in neutral. As always. It was a losing battle and he knew, as always, he’d be leaving her apartment hard as nails tonight, just like he did every other time. But there was a pretense to uphold. They were best friends who would eventually be related, but weren’t quite related yet, having an innocent fashion show at eleven o’clock at night in her bedroom.

Totally normal.

Nothing to see here.