If You Give a CEO a Chance (Aspen Grove #3)

Chapter 22

T he past few days have been chaotic. Between year-end reports and new project proposals, I’ve been buried in paperwork. Fallon has also been busy with several catering events through the New Year. When she has been at the apartment, she’s gone back to tiptoeing around me and stays in the kitchen, leaving my meals in the dining room like she used to.

I miss her.

The truth of the matter is I’ve believed a lie for the past ten years, and it shakes me to my core. Fallon never ghosted me like I thought, and when she came back into my life, I allowed my anger to control the narrative and distort how I perceived her. My biggest regret isn’t addressing the problem sooner.

Now that my eyes have been opened, I see Fallon for who she truly is: fierce, loyal, and generous, with dreams as bold as her spirit. She won’t stand down to anyone, not even me. I’ve admired that about her from the day we met.

Living under the same roof is becoming more complicated by the day. It took every ounce of restraint to let her leave after witnessing her come undone under my direction, and every night since, I’ve gotten myself off to the image of her writhing on my bed with her lips parted and hand between her legs. While I want to respect her boundaries and not rush her into anything, that doesn’t mean I’m willing to stand idly by while she continues to put distance between us.

I carry the dishes from my breakfast into the kitchen, where Fallon is stirring something on the stove.

She glances over as I approach. “I could have gotten those.”

“It’s no trouble,” I say, setting the dishes in the sink before moving next to her and placing a hand on her hip. “What are you making?”

She briefly stiffens but doesn’t pull away. “Butternut squash risotto.” She leans over to grab salt and pepper and sprinkles a pinch of each into the pot.

“Is that for me?”

“I’m testing a new recipe for my cookbook,” she says, her gaze shifting back to the stove.

Fallon’s drive is extraordinary. She’s carving out her own path and chasing dreams most wouldn’t dare pursue. Now that I know about her desire to own her own restaurant, I’ll do whatever I can to help without undermining her need for independence.

“Mind if I try a bite?” I ask with a hint of mischief.

She nods, lowering the spoon into the pot, and scoops out some risotto, cupping her hand beneath it. My gaze lingers on her lips as she blows on the food to cool it.

“Here,” she says, offering me the spoon.

Instead of taking it, I gently grip her wrist and lean in, tasting the risotto straight from the spoon. I savor the creamy bite, dragging my tongue along the surface to get every last morsel.

“Delicious,” I murmur.

Fallon’s piercing gaze is glued to mine, and I catch the faint tremble in her hand as she watches my every move.

“I’m glad you like it,” she whispers, lowering her head in a futile attempt to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.

Being near her sharpens everything, like a lens finally coming into focus.

I’ve made my decision—I’ll do whatever it takes to get another shot with her. The problem is that she’s caught in an internal struggle, and I don’t fault her for it. I didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when she arrived, and until recently, I’ve done everything to make her life more difficult.

Not anymore.

“I’m playing in a charity hockey game tonight, and I want you there,” I blurt out.

Real smooth, Harrison.

A flicker of disappointment crosses Fallon’s face before it’s gone. “What time does it start?” she asks, busying herself with getting out a clean spoon. “I usually have more time to prepare, so my menu options will be limited. I hope that’s alright.” She avoids my gaze as she goes back to stirring the risotto.

My hand moves to her jaw, tilting her face to meet my gaze. “You misunderstand. I don’t want you to come as a private chef—I’m asking you to be my date.” I cringe inwardly. That sounded far smoother in my head, and there’s a good chance my poor delivery could send her running. Damn, I’m definitely out of practice—back in the day, I would have executed that line perfectly.

Fallon scrunches her nose. “Your date?”

I caress her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “No pressure—I wasn’t implying anything. I’d really like to have you there, but if you’d rather not go, I understand.”

“Who else did you invite?” she asks.

“My sister, Presley, and her boyfriend, Jack.”

I rarely play hockey anymore, but they don’t miss a game when I do. I’m relieved my parents weren’t able to come out for this one. My mom doesn’t know how to hold back, and if she saw Fallon and me spending time together outside of a professional capacity, she’d probably start grilling us about our current nonexistent relationship. Now that would definitely scare Fallon off.

Fallon turns down the heat on the stove and sets the spoon on a small saucer. “Oh, it sounds like a family thing. I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she says hesitantly.

She’s usually a force to be reckoned with, so seeing her uncertain doesn’t sit well with me.

“Consider this your chance to get dirt on me without being interrupted. Presley’s got plenty of stories and loves spilling my secrets,” I tease with an exaggerated side eye.

“Will I have to interact with any of the puck bunnies?”

My eyes widen, taken aback by the unexpected question. “Absolutely not. They sit in the stands, too focused on the players to notice anyone else.”

She quirks a brow. “Even you?”

Damn, I can’t help but love seeing the spark of jealousy in her eyes.

“I’m not interested in the puck bunnies. Sure, I went out with a few at the beginning of my season with the Huskies, but that was ten years ago. Not to mention that I quickly realized they were more interested in bragging rights for being with a hockey player than getting to know me. And they always said whatever they thought would keep me interested.” A strand of hair falls across Fallon’s face, and without thinking, I tuck it behind her ear. “When we met, you didn’t hold back your opinion of me, and your honesty was refreshing.”

Fallon taps her chin, like she’s contemplating her answer. “Considering you’re playing, I better go. Wouldn’t want to give any of the puck bunnies any ideas that they might have a shot with you tonight. Plus, I can’t pass up the chance to get the inside scoop from Presley,” she adds, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I do have one request.”

She tilts her head, squinting at me. “Which is?”

“I’ll be right back,” I say, not answering her question outright before exiting the room.

I stride past the living room where Cat is busy clawing the base of the couch. He doesn’t even look my way, immune to my disapproving glare. I’ll have to research how to curb his appetite for ruining my furniture or risk my sanity trying to coexist with a four-legged menace.

When I get to my office, I take down the jersey hanging on the wall and pull it from the frame. Fallon was the last one to wear it, so it’s fitting that she has it on tonight.

As soon as I step inside the kitchen, her gaze lands on the jersey in my hand, and she backs away like she’s seen a ghost.

“What are you doing with that?” She gestures to the jersey.

“I want you to wear it.”

Her eyes flicker with uncertainty. “Why?”

So everyone knows you belong with me.

“A hockey game isn’t the same if you’re not wearing a jersey,” I murmur, moving in closer. “And the only one you’ll wear from now on is mine.”

She eyes it suspiciously. “How many other girls have worn it?”

“Only you.”

And if I can help it, she’ll be the last.

The Mavericks host a monthly charity hockey game, bringing together players, coaches, and donors on the ice for a good cause. I look forward to it every time, and there’s nothing like hitting the ice with a crowd cheering me on from the stands.

Tonight feels extra special because Fallon is here.

My skates carve into the ice as I speed down the left side of the rink, eyes locked on the puck in the neutral zone as Zach, one of my teammates, sends it toward the boards. I power through, leaning into the turn, my muscles burning with the effort. The noise in the arena fades into the background as my focus sharpens.

The opposing defenseman isn’t giving me much space, closing in fast on my line. But I spot a split-second opening for a pass to Aleksandr, who’s playing center. With a quick flick of my stick, I tap the puck through a tight gap between the defender’s skates. His head snaps toward the pass, leaving him scrambling to recover.

I don’t hang around to see if it lands, already charging toward the net. When the puck hits Aleksandr’s stick, I catch the tilt of his head, his trademark signal. He fakes the goalie out, pulling him to one side, and like I expected, he passes me the puck. I don’t waste a second taking my shot, sending the puck flying through the air, landing at the back of the net.

Aleksandr cheers, pumping his fist. “Hell yes.”

I slam the boards with my stick, the roar of the fans echoing in my ears. Usually when I play, I feed off the crowd’s energy. However, tonight, my attention goes straight to Fallon, standing in the owner’s suite, cheering with my sister.

She must sense me watching, because her gaze meets mine; she flashes me a broad smile that lights up her face. Possessiveness hits me like a wave. Nothing beats the sight of her in my jersey. She might not know it yet, but she’ll be wearing it at every game from now on.

Aleksandr slaps me on the shoulder, catching my attention. “We have a game to win, old man. You can make googly eyes at your woman later.”

I like the sound of someone else calling her mine.

Now if only I could make it a reality.

I let out a low laugh, drawing a puzzled glance from Aleksandr. He’s used to my gruff demeanor, not this lighter side. But between the rush of the game, and the sight of Fallon in my jersey, adrenaline surges through me. I’m more than ready to finish this game so I can go to her.