Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Eleven

Sig used his teeth to rip a piece of tape, smoothing the clear adhesive over the opening of a cardboard box containing a signed game jersey. His dining room table was covered in autographed pucks, Bearcats pennants, and one broken stick, made famous by Sir Savage snapping it in half over his leg after a loss to the Rangers. When sold, that stick would catch a decent price. So decent, Sig might have to encourage the captain to break a few more before he officially retired.

Thank God he had this shit to keep him busy, because he hadn’t spoken to Chloe all day and he had a constant sense of something being undone. Like he’d woken up late and missed practice, only worse. Much worse. Did she... like the space he was trying to give her?

Disturbed by the possibility, Sig snatched up his phone and called the private investigator for a second time. On his first attempt, he’d left a voicemail, but hours had passed, and he was eager for an update. Way too eager to wait hours for a call back.

Luckily, the guy answered on the second ring. “Mr. Gauthier.”

“Like I said, Sig is fine.”

“That’s right. Sig.” Fingers tapped a keyboard in the background. “I was just getting ready to call you. We might not have the kind of progress you wanted, but we have some answers. Give me a moment to put my notes together.”

Sig tried to swallow the sudden dryness. “Sure.”

He blew out a silent breath at the ceiling. Not for the first time, he experienced a wave of guilt over siccing an investigator on his own father. And by association, his mother, because Niko’s research could inevitably turn up information about her, too. Reminding himself that Harvey had been absent the first eighteen years of his life and that his mother was withholding important details about his past didn’t do much to assuage the unwanted discomfort.

Just because Sofia was a controlling mother and Harvey was a status chaser didn’t make them bad people, did it? If Sig uncovered the means to stop this wedding, would he be able to pull the trigger so easily? Harvey and Sofia seemed genuinely happy with each other. Chloe remarked on it constantly. “My mom is on cloud nine.” If he found something that proved his suspicions that Harvey was a serial swindler, however, he’d be honor bound to bring it to Sofia. Not only to protect Sofia—and Chloe—from financial harm... but to stop this marriage from happening.

Sig’s goal from the outset had been to put the brakes on the relationship that was keeping him from Chloe. Was that selfish?

Not if he truly believed his father posed a threat—and he did. Didn’t he?

Sig could still see his mother hobbling through the front door after working the night shift at a gas station. She’d cursed the name Harvey on a daily basis. Blamed him for leaving them penniless and struggling. Sig wasn’t imagining those darker days. He’d lived them.

“All right. Here we go.” Sig braced while Niko took a centering breath, his chair creaking in the background. “I was able to locate Ulla Franklin, your father’s second wife. Took some time to convince her daughter that I’m not the boogeyman, but she finally put Ulla on the horn. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your viewpoint, she only had nice things to say about your father, Harvey. Oh, she said he’s an unrepentant flirt with a taste for the finer things, but... she said he didn’t mind signing a prenup. He brought his own money into the marriage and he left with it.”

“He brought my mother’s money into the marriage,” Sig corrected.

“I hear you. Anyhow, according to Ulla, he never made a play for hers. They parted on decent terms, though they lost contact years ago.”

Sig was caught between shock and disappointment. And maybe something else. Just the tiniest hint of relief. Relief at the potential proof that his parent wasn’t a bad guy after all. Relief he didn’t necessarily want to feel. “Is there a way to speak with my mother’s family—”

“Only if you want to go through six lawyers. My initial introduction email was greeted with a threat of a lawsuit. They want nothing to do with an investigation into your father.”

“Does that seem a little extreme to you?”

“More than a little,” Niko said, tapping on his keyboard again. “Look, I’m going to follow your father’s trail to the next woman, but my initial steps in that direction don’t seem promising. There doesn’t appear to be any major financial gains since his split from your mother. He parties with guys who own yachts, but he never owns the yacht, make sense?”

“Yeah.” Sig massaged his eye sockets. “Keep looking, please.”

“On it.”

An hour later, a distracted Sig had gone back to packing sold memorabilia, weighing each package, and hitting print on shipping labels. Slapping them on. Busywork that was becoming less and less effective in stopping him from dwelling on the fruitless call from Niko... and preventing him from texting Chloe. Or better yet, driving to her apartment. Evening had fallen, meaning she would be home. Probably heating up soup on the stove. Smashing up Saltine crackers to sprinkle over the top. The Home Shopping Network would be on in the living room. She’d paint her toenails later and talk to the hosts, as if they could hear her.

Goddamn, she was so cute.

Sig realized he was staring into space and dropped the tape, raking a hand down his face. He paced away from the table, his attention drawn to the keys to his truck where they hung by the front door, directly above his gear bag. Maybe he’d just drive over there and drop off some strawberry Pop-Tarts. She was fresh out—he knew that.

He also knew she wouldn’t be able to find them anywhere in her neighborhood.

Technically, he had no choice but to turn up at her front door. Otherwise, what the hell was she going to eat for breakfast tomorrow? Was he going to let the girl starve?

Decision made, Sig marched into his kitchen and opened the cabinet holding a multitude of Pop-Tarts boxes. At least a hundred of them, maybe more. Strawberry only. They’d all been purchased in the North End at every deli and grocery store in a ten-block radius of Chloe’s apartment. She could never find them herself. The stores were always cleaned out. All because sometimes Sig needed an actual reason to show up at her place that wasn’t I needed to see you so I could breathe —and the Tarts were his ticket.

He’d only closed a hand around one of the boxes when the door buzzed.

Sig turned from the cabinet with a confused look, arm dropping. Who the hell was that?

Maybe it was Mailer dropping off some autographed shirts— he’d forgotten to bring them to practice that afternoon and swore he’d get them to Sig as soon as possible.

Even though the rookie showing up at his place was odd, Sig buzzed the guy in and unchained the door to his apartment, leaving it slightly ajar. Then he went back to the kitchen and uncapped two beers, getting ready to offer one to Mailer as a thank you—

But Chloe walked into the apartment, instead.

Chloe.

In his fucking apartment.

With a bulldog on a leash, but that was somehow the least pressing issue.

The cold bottle of Sam Adams paused halfway to Sig’s mouth, his blood pounding loudly and suddenly in his temples, the walls of his apartment beating like the ventricles of a heart. And speaking of hearts, his dropped like a boulder into his stomach. Thunk.

She’d never been there before. For a lot of reasons. So many reasons.

“Chlo.” Sig fumbled the beers onto the counter, reached up, and slammed the cabinet containing the Pop-Tarts shut. Thankfully, due to the angle of where she stood just inside the entryway, she couldn’t see the contents. Christ, how would he even begin to explain that? I’m so lost for you. I’m so pathetically lost. “What are you doing here?”

She stared at him for several seconds, before transferring the dog leash to the opposite hand in order to close the apartment door. “I was sitting on my couch and I just kept waiting for you to walk in. When I realized you weren’t going to come, I guess...” Trailing off, she wet her lips. Glanced around, taking in the small living room, the old furniture, though he couldn’t gauge her reaction. Could she hide her shock so easily? “I started wondering why it’s a given that you’ll always come to me. I can get here just as easily, you know?”

Sig didn’t respond. Couldn’t. He was too busy wanting to cover her eyes so she couldn’t see anything else. The wires hanging down from his flat screen. The old rug under his coffee table. The dining room table full of memorabilia. God , especially that.

He was so busy cataloging everything in his apartment he didn’t want Chloe to see that he didn’t catch her staring at the two bottles of beer. Not until she said, very quietly, “Are you expecting someone?” Some of the color left her face. “Should I go?”

Holy shit.

Did she think he had a woman coming over?

“That’s fine, though.” She nervously flipped her hair back over her shoulder and it finally dawned on him that she was wearing her lucky blouse. The one he’d driven to Darien and collected. “I mean, we talked about this last night. You’re free to date—”

“No, we didn’t talk about it. You talked—and I agreed to nothing.”

“I think your agreement was implied.”

“The fuck it was, Chloe.” Frustrated, he snatched up his beer and drained half of it, before firmly setting it back down. Taking a breath. “When you buzzed, I thought you were Mailer dropping something off. That’s why I opened a second beer. Keep talking about dating other people and I’m going to need both of them, plus an additional five.”

“You are getting ready to be named one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors.” Her smile was the fakest one she’d ever given him. “Your social calendar is going to be full very soon.”

“Social calendar? There’s the country club girl I know and love.” He made note of the high color in her cheeks, the rapid way she was blinking. “Tell the truth. This whole eligible bach elor list is the reason you gave me that separate romantic lives speech last night, isn’t it?” Slowly, Sig exited the kitchen, sauntering in Chloe’s direction, studying her guarded expression extra closely for confirmation of his growing theory. “You heard I was going to be on some ridiculous list and freaked out?”

Chloe let out a high-pitched laugh, pressed a dainty hand to her cheek. “What are you carrying on about? I’m thrilled you’ve made that idiotic list.”

“Are you lying, though?”

“Am I—” She rolled her beautiful eyes. “Of course, I’m not lying.”

“You sure about that?” He stopped in front of her, making note of the pulse racing at the base of her neck. “Because if you were going to be put on an eligible bachelorette list, Chloe Clifford, I would tear the fucking city down.”

Her eyes closed, as if those words were washing over her face like warm water. Not kissing her in that moment was painful. Even more painful than usual and that was saying a lot . “Sig, you’re going to be my stepbrother,” she whispered.

A notch formed in his throat, his hand moving on its own to tuck some strands of loose hair behind her ear, his fingertips tracing the perfect curve of her jaw. “I haven’t been a bachelor since I heard your voice for the first time. I was yours before I even turned around and you know it.”

“You can’t keep saying—”

“Chloe.”

“Yes?”

He’d pushed far enough. Time to distract her before she made another attempt to create distance between them. “Don’t you think it’s time we talked about the dog?”

It took her several seconds to get on the same page, because she was staring at his mouth. “Oh. Um... I’m surprised you made it this long without asking about my pup. It’s almost like you’ve gotten used to my mischief.” Eventually, Chloe tore her attention off his mouth and looked down at the canine. “His name is Pierre. A very chic and Parisian name for an English bulldog with breath that could kill a horse.” She crouched down to scratch the bulldog’s chin, a smile spreading from cheek to cheek. “Pierre slobbered all over my favorite pants. Which was fine. I can live with slobber. But then I took him for a walk and he was just digging, digging anywhere he could get his little sausage paws. Then he jumped on me. Thank goodness he didn’t soil the blouse. Oh! The blouse!” She shot back to her feet, dropped the leash, and wrapped both arms around his neck. Squeezing, while he died and went to heaven. “Sig, did you really drive all the way to Darien for a shirt ?”

Chloe’s calming balm spread all over his frayed nerves. “You wanted it, so you got it.”

She hummed into his neck, the vibration drawing his attention to her body, curved so perfectly against him. Tits, belly, thighs. Fuck. If only they didn’t have the doom of their eventual relationship hanging over their heads, he’d slide his hands into the back of her panties and take a tight grip of those ass cheeks. Toss her a foot off the ground so she could hook her pretty thighs around his hips. Push down the waistband of his sweatpants and fuck her with those little ankle boots still on. He’d slide her up and down on his cock, make her play with her clit until she went limp with satisfaction. Then he’d look right into her eyes, get balls deep, and come, as far inside of her as possible, sending the message that had been etched into his bones since the night they met.

You are mine.

Chloe shifted against him, started to pull away... but hesitated while chewing her lip and Christ, she went back in for another too long, too intimate hug, as if she couldn’t help touch ing him. And that proof that her addiction mirrored his caused him to slip. Again. Even after the last twenty-four hours of panic that he’d pushed too much and lost her, the words tumbled out of him, because he was a total and complete mess for this person.

“You could wrap your legs around me for a little while, if you want,” he whispered against her temple, his palm roaming down her spine and pressing her into him, letting her feel what she was doing to his cock. “I’ll just hold you like that. It won’t go any further.”

Her open mouth found the underside of his chin, letting out a stuttered exhale. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Lust and frustration warred in his gut. “Chloe—”

The dog barked.

He’d forgotten about the dog.

A whole lot of nail clicking and sniffing ensued and the next thing Sig knew, there was a bulldog headbutting him in the shin. He looked down to find two big brown eyes staring up at him. The entire row of his bottom teeth was on display, two incisors sticking up higher than the others—and he headbutted Sig again.

“Oh. Sig.” Chloe’s arms dropped from around his neck. “I think he’s trying to defend my honor.” She dropped into a kneel, taking the sides of the bulldog’s face in her hands. “Aren’t you, baby? Aren’t you, little man? Yes! Yes, you are!”

Pierre blinked up at Sig. Once, twice. As if to say, Your time is up, chump.

There’s a new guy in town.

“Okay, let’s back up.”

Sig raked a hand through his hair. Was he jealous of a dog? Yes. Yes, he was.

“Where the hell did you get Pierre, Chlo?”

“He belongs to my mentor’s ex-girlfriend. She moved to Berlin to play with the Philharmonic. And a cello player.”

“Why do you have him now?”

“Grace—that’s my mentor, who I love. Oh, Sig, she’s a force. Truly one of a kind. And she has an eighteenth-century harp crafted in France that feels like I’m playing silk. But she doesn’t want a dog. I think it’s painful because she misses her ex, you know? Even if she would never admit it. Anyway, I offered to take Pierre for a while.”

There was a lot to unpack here.

There always was when Chloe gave an explanation on anything.

He loved that about her. How she meandered on her way to the point, dropping him little hints about her day, how she felt about things, leaping between points and forgetting where she’d started. Loved her curveballs—such as showing up with a random bulldog. Classic Chloe Curveball. She loved to throw them.

Sometimes she missed her train stop and got lost in Boston—no joke, one time she’d called him from Logan Airport with no idea how she’d arrived there. Or she went dancing on a Saturday night and lost track of time, forgetting to text him her location and sending him into the early stages of a stroke. There was also the one time her smoke detector battery had died, resulting in a high-pitched beep that led her to think the building was on fire. That panicked phone call had almost turned his hair white and resulted in him putting the landlord’s number on speed dial.

Who knew what she’d throw at him next time? Sig didn’t know. He only knew he’d catch her curveballs as often as she wanted to throw them.

“First of all, great. I’m glad you like your mentor. Second... is this harp something you want?” He was already doing mental math. How much could it possibly cost? “Do you want the harp, Chloe?”

She gasped. “It’s not for sale, Sig.”

They’d see about that as soon as he was offered a new contract. The offer would be coming. It would . Although the locker room had been buzzing this morning with the continued rumors of a management change. Shit felt so up in the air, so uncertain, and he didn’t like it one bit. He wanted stability. A plan. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sig...” She seemed to be chewing something over. “Do you think I’m responsible enough to care for this dog?”

“It’s a little late to be questioning this now, isn’t it?” Sig joked, chucking her under the chin. When he saw she was seriously worried, however, he matched her solemn expression. “Do you want me to take the dog?”

“What? No! I’m keeping the dog. I figure... if I can prove to myself I’m a capable dog owner, maybe I can take on more responsibility elsewhere. You know?”

Something important and complicated was taking place in her head, but Sig knew from experience that she’d need to explain in her own time. He couldn’t rush her.

“Let’s start small. Has Pierre eaten?”

“Yes. He had a tofu teriyaki bowl from down the street. Gobbled it right up.”

“Okay, that’s fine for tonight,” he said, hiding his smile. “But tomorrow, you should probably pick him up some kibble.”

“Kibble.” She nodded vigorously. “I’ll need to write that down.”

“You know how to search locations on your phone.” He brushed his palm down the back of her head, rubbed a circle onto her back. “Find the closest pet store. When you get there, tell one of the employees what kind of dog he is, and they’ll recommend a brand.”

The wheels were turning. “I’m going to get him a bed, too. The biggest, most obnoxious one they have. Pink and purple. Princess in script across the back.”

“Look at you. You’re a natural born pet owner.”

“Maybe. Yeah.” Her confidence grew. “He seems to like me.”

Sig scoffed. “Of course he does.”

Chloe looked at his collarbone for several long, indecisive seconds, before sighing and resting her cheek there, the fingertips of her right hand brushing up, down, up, down against his triceps. His balls got heavier with every stroke, but the way she was so naturally drawn to touch him, the presence of that was worth the pain.

“Tell me about your mentor,” he said, gruffly. “Grace, right?”

“Yes. Grace.” She was silent a moment, as if she was recalling the events of the day. “She’s very strict, very blunt, but... I have a feeling she wouldn’t agree to see me again if she didn’t think I have potential for something bigger. In fact, I know she wouldn’t.”

Her tone was almost a dreamlike murmur. The sound of her voice comforted and aroused Sig so much that he was only vaguely worried now that she’d look around at his place, his stuff, and register he didn’t have enough money to support her, make her happy. Not indefinitely. Not without a new contract.

“I’ve been coasting on the talent I was born with. She’s not going to let me do that anymore. She wants to push me and, yeah, that’s scary. No one has ever really pushed me, only complimented me. Marveling over the prodigy. But as soon as I met her today, I could feel I was in the presence of someone... greater. I just don’t know if I’m resilient enough to be challenged. Really challenged. Whiplash challenged, minus the abuse.”

“Thank you for adding that last part.”

“You’re welcome.” He heard her swallow. “She thinks I can go... far, Sig. If I can handle the work. If I don’t buckle under her instruction. Playing the harp without simply being told I’m wonderful at it all the time.”

Sig tipped her chin up so he could look down into her face. “How far does she think you can go, Chlo?”

“First chair,” she said quietly. “Principal harp for BSO. If I can learn enough. If I work hard. Really, really hard.”

Pride rushed in from all sides. “Holy shit.”

“I don’t think I can do it,” she whispered, studying him for a reaction.

He saw the spark of hope in her eyes, the reluctant excitement. So he didn’t hesitate when he said, “Yes, you can.”

Chloe looked down, then to the side. “I’m just not sure...” She trailed off with a frown. “What is all that stuff?” Her spine straightened a little more. “Are those signed jerseys?”

The temperature of Sig’s blood started to drop as she zipped her attention back to him.

“Where are you sending them?”