Love at a 7-Eleven (The Decker Family #2)

Chapter 1

Lila Decker

~

Chicago, Illinois

June

"Hang on, I'm stopping at this gas station really quick. Let me concentrate on driving for a sec." I paused while I maneuvered through traffic and pulled into the parking lot of the 7-Eleven. I did not need gas, so I crept along the side of the pumps, heading toward the parking spots at the front of the store.

"Why are you going to the gas station?" My mom asked the question and it came over my speakerphone.

"Hang on," I said, concentrating. I barely made it around a huge truck and into a tiny parking spot. "There was only one spot left, and I saw someone else pulling in. I thought I might have to fight for it."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just joking."

"Are you getting gas?"

"No, I have a full tank of gas. I'm getting some headache medicine."

"Bonnie has all kinds of medicine at the office. Aren't you on your way to Halas?"

"Yes, but I wanted a certain kind of medicine."

"Okay, you know they have everything up there."

"I know, thank you," I agreed vaguely. I was nervous about this meeting, and I didn't want to talk to Bonnie about headache medicine, but I didn't say any of that to my mom.

"Okay, baby, be careful getting in and out of that gas station. You need to drive defensively."

I smiled because I had been living on my own for a few years and in and out of a gas station a ton of times since then. "I'm already parked. I’m fine. Love you, Mom. I'll see you tomorrow probably."

"Okay, good luck talking to Bob today. Text me and let me know how that goes."

"I will, and thank you."

"I love you," she said.

"Bye, I love you too."

I hung up with my mother, turned off the ignition, and then I waited for the car next to me to close their door so that I could get out of my SUV. It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining so brightly that I had to adjust my shades as I began to walk toward the door. There had been some spills in the parking lot, and it wasn't the cleanest path from my car to the door. I stepped around one puddle with an iridescent ring around it that looked like gasoline. There was another half-dried pool of green liquid that was probably once a slushy.

I easily avoided each of them and made my way inside the store. It was a nice, smallish but well-lit convenience store that I had been to before. I glanced in a narrow mirror that lined the wall. I was wearing a nice blouse and dressy shorts with sandals. The theme of my outfit was navy, orange, and white for the Bears, although it was understated. I had plenty of clothes in these colors. I had been dressing for the Bears my whole life. My father had established a legacy with the Chicago Bears. His jersey was retired, and I was a lifetime fan.

I had been to the Chicago Bears training facility plenty of times. I had stopped at this same gas station on my way there before. I walked to the cooler where I knew I would find my favorite energy drink. A guy was staring into the closed glass door, and I stopped when I was a few feet behind him, giving him room.

He was a big guy, and he had the body of an athlete. Not that I was looking, but it was obvious. He was wearing jeans with a black t-shirt, and it was fitted enough that I could tell he worked out. Not that I cared. He was nearly the size of my brothers, though.

And then I saw the tattoos. His left arm was covered in patterned tribal designs, all the way down to his forearm. I had always loved that kind of tattoo, and I stared at the back of his arm. It was objectively beautiful work. The design seemed to be contained to his left arm, and I stared at the back of it thinking it looked familiar. He looked familiar. I could see the back side of his face, and I felt like I knew him.

I had a constant flow of professional athletes in my life, so it could be a number of different people. My dad still had a ton of athletic connections, and my brothers had their own sports accolades. I had been around enough college and pro athletes to confuse this guy with one of them.

I liked his style—from his hair gel down to his spotless tennis shoes. He had thought about every stitch of the seemingly understated outfit. He smelled nice, too. Or maybe that wasn't him. I caught a whiff of some light woodsy masculine scent, but I couldn’t be sure where it was coming from. I loved this guy's look, though, and I hadn't even fully seen his face.

As soon as I had that thought, he turned around and looked straight at me. "I'm sorry. I'm just wasting time in here. Do you need to get to this cooler?" He moved to the side to let me through and, yes, the scent was coming from him. He had an absolutely stunning face—high cheekbones, dark eyes.

I had the sensation that I knew him.

He wasn't an athlete, though.

At least I didn’t think he was.

I started to ask him if he played football, and then I got caught up in thinking about other ways I could have known him. I got tongue-tied and couldn’t decide on what words to say. "You go ahead," I said dumbly. "I'm just still… deciding what I want."

"Are you waiting for this fridge, though?" He gestured, offering me to go ahead of him.

"You can go ahead. I-I'm not even sure if I want it anymore." I stepped back, shaking my head.

"Is it because you think you're in my way?" he asked.

He was sweet and concerned, and I felt like I knew him even though I had no idea how. He was handsome and tenderhearted, I could feel that from the first encounter. I loved his voice. He was so appealing to me in every way that I glanced away.

"No, not at all," I said, feeling bad that he felt bad. "I might not even get the drink. It doesn't have to do with you. I’m deciding not to get it for other reasons. I lied to my mom about it, for one."

I clamped my mouth shut and smiled at him. I tended to overshare or mention odd details when I got nervous, and I had no idea why that bit about my mom had come out of my mouth. This guy made me feel antsy and intimidated.

"Why'd you lie to your mom?" he asked, sweetly interested. He stepped back into the aisle looking like he was no longer focused on choosing a drink from the cooler. I knew he was regarding me, and I glanced at his face. Goodness, gracious. He was just beautiful. His eyes were the darkest brown I had ever seen. I felt things when my eyes met his. My chest and stomach felt a wave of… "Oh, my goodness," I exclaimed when it hit me. "I do know who you are!"

"You do?" he asked. He said it with the cool confidence of someone who got recognized in public.

My father and brothers were all in the spotlight to some extent, and I knew what sort of confidence this was. He was famous. I knew exactly who he was.

"Makoa's son."

"Yes, I was Makoa's son."

"Kai," I said, shaking my head. "Malu Kai. I knew you were trouble, right from the start."

He smiled. "Everybody who recognizes me from that show hates me."

"Because Makoa was the best character, and you killed him! Your own dad. How could you?" He smiled because he could tell I was being lighthearted. "No, that's awesome. That means you're a great actor if people hate you. You did a good job. They're just mad that Makoa was gone. Then you died two episodes later."

"Yeah, I was just there for one season. I’m not really an actor. They just hired me because of my looks. My tattoos."

"I can't believe they're real. They looked just like Makoa's."

"His were real, too. But he's an actor. They found me to match him since he was around for three seasons."

"You were really good," I said. "You did a good job."

"Thank you," he said, smiling at me, staring at me. "What about your mom?" he continued. "What was the lie?"

I felt horrified that he remembered this part of the conversation. "It's about the energy drink," I said, pointing at the cooler. I figured coming clean was my best option. "I told her I was coming in here for headache medicine because she doesn't want me drinking these things."

"That's sweet. Which one were you after?"

"It's the one with green tea. It's got vitamins and stuff. She just doesn't believe in any energy drinks at all."

"Not even coffee?"

"No, coffee's okay," I said. "She drinks three cups a day. It just can't come in a can."

"The coffee can't come in a can?"

I shrugged. "I don’t think she'd drink it from a can—she'd be scared that it's not regular coffee. It's not important that I lied to her, though. I mean, I'm not saying it's not important, I just don't know why I told you that. It's just green tea." I gestured to the cooler. "Anyway, you go ahead. I'm sorry for telling you all that and for talking to you about the TV show. I'm sure you get that all the time."

"It's okay. You seemed to forgive me for my character's choices."

I smiled at him and pointed to my own head. "I'm managing to remember that you're an actor. Barely. But I'm managing."

"I do appreciate that," he said, smiling at me.

He was an amazing looking guy. I could see why someone would randomly cast him to be in a television series. I wanted to tell him who I was and ask him if he ever went to my brothers' gym. But I couldn't. I didn't normally gush when I met new people, and my tendency to do so with him left me feeling nervous and speechless. I stepped away like I was going to leave, but he held eye contact with me. I wasn't going to break it, so I hesitated, not walking away. I blinked, thinking he would look away, but he didn't.

"What's your name?"

"Lila. What's yours?"

"Caleb."

"Hey," I said.

"Hello, Lila." He gestured to the cooler. "I guess neither of us really wanted to get in there."

"Yeah, I, uh, I’m going to a meeting thing, and I'm a little nervous about it. I'll stop on my way home. And good job… on, your, television, show. It's great that you were given an opportunity, and you just… did it. That's cool." I spoke in a choppy tone because this guy was so hunky and intimidating that I couldn't think straight.

Caleb. He had said his name, and it was Caleb.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at me.

I reached out to shake his hand, and when he shook mine, I noticed the feel of his skin. I was sensitive to his touch.

But the conversation was over.

I had enough social skills to know that it was time for me to turn and walk away. We were strangers in the middle of a gas station, after all.

I was shaken from the encounter, and I hesitated there, at the other end of the candy aisle while he turned to face the cooler again. I stared at the candy knowing I was going to pick out something along with gum. I grabbed three things before checking out.

I called my friend, Blake, when I got in my car.

She and I didn't talk quite as much since she moved to Milwaukee, but she worked with my brothers at their gym there, so we were still close.

"Hello, Lila," she said. "What are you up to?"

"Hey, I'm heading to the Bears' offices."

"What's going on over there?"

"I have a meeting with one of the managers. That's not what I'm calling about though. You're going to be excited about this because you watch this show. You will never believe who I just ran into at a gas station."

"Is it an actor? Do you want me to guess, or are you just going to say it?"

I knew she ran into famous people all the time at my brothers' gym, so I figured she might not even care. "Are you busy right now?" I asked her.

"No, I'm off for the day. I just didn't know if you wanted me to guess."

"You'll never guess it. I didn't even know he lived in Chicago. It was that bad guy from Kings of the Pacific with the tattoo on one arm. Makoa's son."

"Kai?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"You're kidding. Ooh. You met him? Where?"

"At a gas station. And we had a moment."

"A moment?"

"No, I mean, we stopped for a moment. We talked. I was a gigantic doofus."

"What happened?"

"We were trying to get to the same fridge at the 7-Eleven. I didn't realize who it was at first because he had that face paint on in the show, but then it was obvious. He had the tattoos on his arm."

"What was that guy doing at a 7-Eleven?"

"I have no idea. It was random. I got too excited."

"Oh, no."

"It wasn't that bad. I told him my mom didn't allow me to drink energy drinks."

"You're kidding. Why would you say that?" She sounded so dumbfounded that I laughed. "Was he buying an energy drink?" she added.

"I think we both were. I don't know what he was there for, honestly. I think he said he was wasting time. It doesn't even matter. It was a silly conversation… but there was eye contact. He stared at me, and I stared back."

"I remember him from the show. I don't know his name. I'm driving right now, or I'd look him up."

"Caleb."

"Caleb is his real name?"

"Yes. I’m driving too, or I would search it. Can you believe I ran into him? What a trip."

"Did you mention knowing he was Kai?"

"Yes. We talked about it. I was a gushing fan who came up to him and said 'how could you kill your dad?' I may as well have asked him for his autograph. I wasn't cool at all. He thinks I'm the opposite of cool, probably."

"Aw, I hate that, because you're so cool," she said sweetly. "Are you still there? Why don't you go back in there—try to make a second first impression."

"Oh, my goodness, no. Just imagine. I was awkward enough as it was." I took a deep breath and stared at the road. "I wish I could do that all over again, though—start from the beginning."

"What was he wearing?"

"Jeans and a black shirt. Looking like a rockstar. He had hair gel, Blake. He was perfect.

"Short hair?"

"Yes. Not shaved or anything."

"Beard?"

"No. A little stubble."

"It's great that you met him, Lila! I'm sure you were fine. He was in a gas station, after all. I hate to say he won't even remember, but…"

"I don't know. He's just so… he just… his eyes… he stared right through me. I wasn't in love with him or anything, but I—" I stopped talking because Blake laughed. "What?" I said, like I was offended.

"Oh, my goodness, just go back in there if you were in love, Lila. You should have never driven off."

"I'm not going back. If anything, I'll look him up and try to message him. I don't know. I probably won't even do that. I don't know what I'll do. Probably nothing. It just stinks because I wish I would have acted differently."

"No, don't be hard on yourself. That's why it's a thing to make a bad first impression. It's normal. He's probably used to people being nervous around him—especially if he's intense-looking with the tattoos and everything. I didn't know they were real."

"I wouldn’t say he's intense looking. I mean, the way we were looking at each other was intense, but he's not intense looking."

"You're saying two different things, though. Did you make a bad first impression, or did you look intensely at each other?"

"Both," I said. "That's exactly the problem."