Lake Spark: The Complete Collection, Volume One

Chapter 1

HUDSON

The glass of whiskey, neat, slides my way against the bar, and I’m quick to accept the amber-colored liquid.

I examine the contents for a second or two, but I don’t need to debate it long.

I know anything I drink here in this chic, industrial-styled restaurant and bar will be good, and I’ve had a long day.

After hours of meetings with team management, my brain feels like it may be fried.

“Anything else, Hudson? I’m going to close up early.” Wes is the owner of Jupiter, the bar I frequent because the hospitality is excellent, the food is star-worthy, and this place is crawling with Chicago’s sports elite even on a slow day—well, except tonight. Right now, it’s just me.

I shake my head. “It’s all good. I’ll drink up then head out.”

“No rush. I need to do some paperwork upstairs anyway, plus the weather is that horrible cold rain, so I’m trying to avoid it.” Wes is in his early thirties and has a personality that welcomes conversation.

“Why are you even behind the bar?” I wonder aloud, as he is normally up in his office and only circles the restaurant a few times when high-profile guests are here.

He grins. “Because I’m a good boss and sent my staff home early since it wasn’t busy. Plus, when I saw you come in, then I figured I might try to get some intel for a few football bets that I have going on with friends.”

His humor causes me to tip my head up, with a smirk forming. “I won’t be divulging any secrets, but The Winds will have a good year.”

Our draft was just announced, and it’s May, which means we still have training season ahead before deciding our final roster, and I’m prepared to work those boys into the ground, as I have a record to uphold.

“You are the team’s coach, so you may be biased,” he counters.

I sigh at the reminder. I love my job, but damn, the pressure some days is a lot.

Being a star quarterback back in my heyday was tough, but being a coach in a city driven by sports?

Fucking insanity. I question my decision to take this job daily, especially if we lose a game and half the city is cursing my name, but then I get to the field or watch a player excel and I’m hooked all over again.

The sound of the revolving door swooshing open catches our attention. The umbrella, with a pattern that looks like dancing lobsters on it, is obstructing our view of the person beneath, but the sound of heels pattering is enough to tell me that it’s a woman.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Wes calls out just as the umbrella collapses.

Now I have a full view, and I’m not sure where to start.

The woman has deep-pink heels, and her skirt falls just below her knee, but damn, it is tight.

Working my way up her body, I intend to give her the full once-over.

Her black jacket is open, and I get a glimpse of a blouse that matches her shoes.

Then her lips have a similar color, and they part open, and I just want to do a double take because she is easy on the eyes.

“Oh.” She nearly frowns. “That’s a shame. I was hoping for an escape from this weather. It’s been quite a day.”

Wes seems to study her for a second, possibly because my eyes haven’t drifted off her for more than a millisecond.

“You know what… one drink,” he offers.

A smile stretches on her lips, and she walks in our direction with a sway that seems to be restricted, probably by the fact that her skirt is the type of fabric that must rip easily, and no, I’m not proud that my brain made that connection.

She slides her jacket off and places it on the back of the stool, then sits next to me as she swipes a strand of her long, light brown hair behind her ear.

“Let me guess, gin and tonic?” I ask her to make conversation.

She shyly smiles at me. “No. I’m a martini, classic, with three olives kind of gal.”

“Coming right up.” Wes begins to gather the ingredients.

She holds her hand up to stop. “Wait, can I just have a Shirley Temple?” She nearly groans as she says it.

I scoff a sound. “I wouldn’t have expected that choice.” I set my glass to the side and then angle my stool in her direction.

“Believe me, I wish it was the martini, but I just remembered that I promised a friend to join her on the no-alcohol-for-a-week train. She wants her mind clear for when her boyfriend proposes, because she feels like it’s going to happen any day now,” she explains.

“Wow, friendship. But you look like you could use the martini,” I highlight the obvious.

Her head lolls to the side ever so slightly.

“True.” She taps her fingers on the counter.

“Ugh, I guess my day trumps maybe-proposals. Martini, please.” Wes nods then gets busy with making her drink.

Her eyes brighten, and God, I love the curve of her cheeks.

“Martinis are my grandmother’s favorite.

Every day at three after her soaps, for as long as I can remember, it’s been her routine. It’s traditional, I like that.”

“You don’t seem like a traditional girl.”

The sound of the martini shaker stops just as this woman’s brow raises. I realize my tone may have been… playful. But it doesn’t matter, because for a moment, we look at one another, our blue eyes connecting, and recognize that we’re both taken off guard by this unusual vibration in the air.

Admittedly, it normally takes a lot for someone to make me pause. I’m not easily affected—well, except tonight, it seems.

A smirk plays on her lips, and it feels like it’s her slow ease into my presence. “Something like that.” She examines me for a second then rests her chin in her hand, her elbow propped on the counter. “What brings you here on a Tuesday evening?”

“Long workday.”

“So I gathered. You’re wearing a suit yet no tie, which means you took it off at the end of the day. What do you do?”

Wes places a martini on a napkin in front of this woman. “Not a sports fan?” He seems surprised that she doesn’t seem to know who I am.

She thanks him with a nod before she entwines her fingers, with perfectly polished pink nails, around the stem of the glass. “No. I know zero about any sport. Why?”

I fucking love that answer. Mostly because during my history as a star player turned one of the youngest coaches with the highest paycheck, I got a title in the press as bona fide bachelor. There have been a lot of women who wanted to hang off my arm for the cameras too.

But to this woman, I’m an unknown.

Nor could she probably figure it out just by looking at me. I’m tall but not overly so, and I’m not bulky, as my career was based on speed and escaping tackles. I keep myself fit, unlike many former players turned coach.

Clearing my throat, I offer my hand. “I’m Hudson, by the way. And let’s just say I work with numbers and physics.” Partially true. Today’s management meeting was all numbers, and we make plays based on aerodynamics.

After a sip from her drink, she frees her hand from her glass and offers me a few fingers to shake. “Piper. I know, it’s such a ridiculous name.”

Letting her soft, delicate digits go, I give her a confused look. “Why? I like it. It’s cute.”

Piper rolls her eyes. “Exactly. Cute. I don’t know, I feel like people associate it with, like, a little gingerbread person or something.”

I laugh at her thought. “Okay, I could see that connection but only because you point it out.” Leaning against the back of my stool, I grab my drink once more and get comfortable for a conversation that I feel like I’m going to have with Piper.

“Anyways, thanks for letting me crash your moment of solitude. It was a day from hell.”

“How so?” Another sip of whiskey hits my mouth.

Her head bobs slightly to the side, as if she’s debating how much information to share, then she seems to shake off the thought.

“I was battling it out with a shipping company for something I ordered, fabric that I’ve been waiting on, and they said someone would drop it off between nine and five, but no one did.

I decided to take it into my own hands and marched right down to their office in hopes of getting my package.

Nothing. Then Chicago spring decided to laugh at me and pour down freezing rain.

It isn’t even a full moon, and my aura is really fucked up right now. ”

She’s slightly quirky, and I like that.

“You were running in heels around town in this weather?” I’m impressed.

Her mouth is closed, but it just makes her wry smile sexier. “You never know when you need to be rescued and hopefully by a hot fireman.” She winks at me.

I tip my glass in her direction. “Points for surviving in this weather.”

“I’m going to head upstairs to look at some paperwork,” Wes says in my direction. “Just let yourself out when you’re done?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, I owe you for the martini.” Piper moves to grab her bag.

I touch her arm to stop her from digging into her purse. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s on me, and Wes will add it to my tab.”

Piper flashes me an appreciative look.

Wes clears his throat and gives me an awkward yet entertained smile. He seems to know that either Piper or I are in trouble, the kind that I haven’t had in a while. Life has been a little crazy for me, to say the least.

I give a nod to Wes before returning my fully invested attention to Piper. “Fabric. You work with clothing?”

She nods and plays with her last olive on a skewer, and Christ, she sucks that fruit with perfection. “Yes, I’m a designer, actually.”

“Yeah? Dresses?” My lips land on the rim of my glass, then the moment liquid hits my throat, I nearly choke because I swear I just heard her say lingerie. Swallowing with great effort, my eyes don’t blink. “Did you just say lingerie?”

“Yep,” Piper proudly replies. “Well, more pajamas, with a special soft cotton fabric and lace trim, but now I’m venturing into evening attire. That is, well… I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

Fuck me, I only heard lace, and she said it with such simple confidence.

“So, you mentioned numbers, what exactly do you do?” she asks.