8. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
8
The Chicago skyline twinkles under the night sky as I sit at the rooftop restaurant, nursing a cocktail and tapping my foot impatiently.
Wells is late.
And I’m not amused to be here, especially with the risk of being spotted by anyone who might recognize him and start snapping pictures. It would be another nail in my coffin with my father and the Blizzard.
I glance around the stylish rooftop bar, the chatter of other diners blending with the soft music playing in the background. I fidget with the edge of my napkin, trying to quell the nerves that have been building since I landed in Chicago.
The truth is, I almost bailed on this trip. The idea of meeting Wells after all these games, after all the flirting and banter, felt too real, too risky.
But a deal was a deal, and I didn't want to be perceived as that woman who ghosts men. So, here I am, waiting for a man who's already running late and is the last individual on Earth I should be meeting with.
Finally, I spot him entering the bar, and I can't help but roll my eyes at his casual attire: baggy jeans, a New Brunswick Wolverine shirt—because why not wear one, right?—and a hat to hide his face as if that's going to fool anyone.
He saunters over with that cocky grin of his, and I can't deny the flutter in my stomach despite my annoyance. "Sorry, I'm late, Snowflake. Traffic was a nightmare."
I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Traffic, huh? Or were you too busy practicing your winning smile in the mirror?"
Wells chuckles, taking a seat across from me. "A bit of both, maybe. I just wanted to make sure I looked my best.”
And he does.
Anything he put on would make him look good.
He looks even better naked.
I point at his shirt. “Decided to test the waters of your disguise?”
“I’m just a fan.” Right. Because he does not look like a fan. “How was your flight?"
I shrug, not wanting to give him too much credit. "Fine. Uneventful."
He leans back, studying me with those intense eyes. "You look beautiful, by the way. Even more stunning than the last time I saw you."
I fight the urge to blush, maintaining a cool fa?ade. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Wells."
“It got me somewhere last time.” I fight another blush, and he plucks up a menu the waitress left for us. “This place has everything. It’s my favorite.”
I could see why.
It’s trendy but not uninviting.
The bar is adorned with modern décor, featuring sleek furniture in muted gray and black tones, accented by pops of vibrant color in plush cushions and decorative artwork. Soft, ambient lighting casts a warm glow over the space, creating an inviting and relaxed atmosphere.
Large, floor-to-ceiling windows offer panoramic views of the cityscape, showcasing the sparkling lights of downtown Chicago and the tranquil expanse of Lake Michigan in the distance. The rooftop terrace is elegantly landscaped with lush greenery, creating a serene escape from the urban hustle below.
“What’s your go-to here?” I ask, attempting to settle myself in. I flew over here, and now I need to enjoy it. I had to admit that I wanted to see him as much as he seemed to want to see me.
“Burgers,” he says, scanning the menu. “And they have killer fries.”
“I’ll take one of those then.”
He flicks his emerald gaze up to me and smirks. “Yeah?” I lift my shoulders and nurse my cocktail. My nerves are shot, and I need to make this less uncomfortable. “Two burgers it is, then.”
The silence eats us up, and I begin fidgeting with my fingers.
My father's reputation and the thought that I’m somehow letting him down loom over me like dark clouds, reminding me of the consequences of any misstep. I’ve never needed to worry about my father’s life clashing with mine, except when I was with James.
But that was so short-lived that it didn’t and wouldn’t cause anything.
The thought of being noticed by anyone who might recognize Wells, snapping pictures, and causing a scene adds to my anxiety.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I remind myself that I can handle this and am strong and capable. But the nerves persist, fluttering in my stomach like a restless butterfly.
“You’re nervous.”
I see Wells’s kind eyes; he doesn’t look off-putting. If anything, he understands.
“Yeah,” I exhale. “This is a big deal.”
He bows his head in acknowledgment. “I couldn’t agree more. How about we do a carry-out order and move on to our next spot? You’ll feel more comfortable there.”
“What is it?”
“Drive-in.”
My brows raise to the ceiling. “Really?”
“Yeah. We could do the awkward teenage phase like the outside world didn’t exist.”
I smile because it’s sweet and highly nerve-wracking. Being in a car, alone with Wells, sends those nervous whims right through my frame.
However, I like the idea more than this one.
Wells slides out of the booth and looks down at me. “Don’t move.”
“I won’t,” I promise just as my cell phone buzzes in my purse, and I use the opportunity without Wells here to look down at it.
CHLOE: Why are you in Chicago?
My brows clash together.
RORY: How do you know I’m in Chicago?
CHLOE: Because we always share each other’s locations.
Okay, this isn’t going to work.
I can’t be flying around the country randomly while Nancy Drew is still ‘Drew-ing’ around with my personal life.
RORY: I’m secretly meeting Wells.
CHLOE: Who’s that?
RORY: You really suck at this detective thing.
CHLOE: The rival hockey player?!!!!
CHLOE: TELL ME IT’S THE HOCKEY PLAYER!
RORY: It’s the hockey player.
CHLOE: HOLY CRAP! HOW? WHY? DID HE FLY YOU OUT? ARE YOU DATING? WHAT’S GOING ON?
These are all things I should tell my best friend, but I’m skeptical.
And paranoid.
But it’s not like Chloe and my dad talk daily, so I give.
RORY: We made a deal. He won three games in a row, and I’d risk coming here to see him.
CHLOE: That is so freakin’ cute, Ror!
CHLOE: You like him?
RORY: Yeah.
RORY: I shouldn’t, though.
CHLOE: Girl, there is a woman out there for every man to tame them down, and you’re it for him.
RORY: Do you really think so? Or am I just setting myself up for heartache?
CHLOE: He flew you out to see him. He busted his ass and won three games to see you.
CHLOE: That is so damn romantic.
RORY: Maybe…he really does like me.
RORY: BUT we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. We’re not dating or anything.
CHLOE: Why not? You two are grown-ass adults. This has nothing to do with hockey.
RORY: It has everything to do with hockey and the fact that my father’s team HATES his with a passion. Dad is already stressed out.
CHLOE: Yet, you’re there.
CHLOE: You like him, Ror.
RORY: Yeah, but I’ve done this before. James was a dick, and all he wanted to do was rub it in.
CHLOE: Is Wells a dick?
RORY: Not that I’ve seen yet. However, he hasn’t had the chance.
CHLOE: Enjoy your time with him, okay? And, if he is, then you dip. No harm, no foul.
CHLOE: If it is something, you’ll figure it out. It’s your life. Not anyone else’s.
RORY: I know. Thanks, girl.
RORY: I’ll be back Sunday night. I’ll call you and tell you how it went.
CHLOE: I can’t wait. Have fun!
RORY: Pray for me.
CHLOE: I will! And woo the shit out of him—
“You ready to go, Snowflake?”
Almost dropping my phone, I glance up to find Wells with a big bag of food and a drink holder filled with some of my favorite beverages. “God, were we expecting your team to come with us, too?”
He smiles. “Hell no. I see enough of them already.”
I slide out of my place, and Wells gestures for me to take the lead.
Once outside, he guides us to a blacked-out SUV, the tinted windows offering a sense of privacy and security that I am thankful for.
Wells disposes the food in the backseat and hands me over the drinks. “Can you hold these for me?”
“Sure.”
He opens my car door, and before I can climb in, Wells’s hand finds my hip and gently pushes me back into the car.
He smells like mint and fresh linens. The power of it makes me slightly weak at the knees as I crane my head up to look at him.
“I’ve been waiting over a week to kiss you,” he mutters, moving the drinks on the SUV’s roof. “Are you happy to see me?”
“Yes and no,” I reply honestly because we both know what’s at stake here. If we make one wrong move, we’re about to have so much press up our asses we’ll never live it down.
“I’m not going to let us get caught,” he promises. “I just want you to enjoy your time here with me. Can you do that?” I bob my head, and he doesn’t pry his eyes off me. “I won’t do it here then. But I’m kissing the hell out of you when we get there.”
Okay, now I’m more nervous.
And excited.
And where the hell is the rebellious me?
Oh, that’s right.
She might jack up her father’s whole life.
“Do you always foreshadow your next move?”
He slowly rocks his head back and forth. “I just want to make sure that there’s nothing lost in translation between us. I’m happy you’re here.”
Rising on my tiptoes, I place a small kiss on Wells’s lips, and he immediately chases after me.
His mouth is full and needy. His tongue appears, but Wells makes it short-lived as if remembering where we are and that we’re still not out of the woods.
“Stop tempting me,” he lightly chides. “I’m only a man, after all, Snowflake.”
“That’s for being so sweet,” I reply. “Thank you for doing this.”
“I’d do anything to get you to feel comfortable and come see me. I’m already planning on doing it again.”
Oh God.
This boy is going to get me into so much trouble.
“I think we should move.”
Mischief glimmers in his green eyes, and he pushes his cheek out with his tongue. “Can you give me a minute?”
“Why—oh.” He has a hard-on, and the last thing he wants to do is show it off to anyone walking down the sidewalk. “Damn, that sucks.”
“You have no idea. Especially when I haven’t been able to use it since the last time we—”
“You haven’t had sex with anyone else since we—”
“Why would I do that?”
I give him a look and say, “Oh, I dunno...? Because you're a playboy who parties too hard and produces headlines like they’re going out of style?”
“I’m not so out of control that I can’t chill out my dick,” Wells explains as if reading my mind. “I know what I want. She’s standing in front of me.”
“Boy, you’re going to get us into so much trouble.”
“Not until we’re ready,” he claims confidently. “Until then, I’ll be on my best behavior and continue to win games for you.”
I smile up at him. “I don’t need you to do all that. Just do it for you and your team for that Stanley.”
“How else will I get you to come see me?”
He doesn’t need to make any more deals with me to get me to come out here. It’ll depend on how these next two days go and whether the attraction I felt for him and have been feeling for him remains.
And, if that’s the case, I have some significant thinking to do.
“So, do you like action movies, thrillers, romantic comedies? What’s your favorite?” Wells solicits, breaking through my inner monologue.
“I didn’t think we’d be watching what was playing.”
Wells groans slightly, and my lips coil into a playful smirk. “I’m really trying to behave here.”
“Please don’t,” I mutter. “I didn’t sleep with you because I thought you were a nice guy. I did it because I knew you’d rock my world.”
“Was that it?”
“Yeah. And I have a thing for bad boys.”