Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Conor
I walk out of my bedroom after my shower to find Eloise putting her purse over her shoulder, ready to leave the condo.
“Where are you going?”
She stops and looks up, her gaze running up and down my half-naked body. “I think we need a rule about being dressed at all times.”
I cross to the fridge and grab a water. For some reason, I’ve been dying of thirst all day. “Why? You like what you see?” I open the bottle and chug half of it.
Her eyes are locked on my abs, and I love the way her mouth is hanging slightly open. Nothing dramatic, but just enough to say she likes what she sees. “Should I prance around in a towel after my shower?”
“I wouldn’t complain.” I shrug. “And just so you know, those shorts are torture enough.”
She’s wearing short jean shorts and an oversized white blouse, along with all the jewelry she usually does, the gold necklaces and earrings and bracelets. One thing I’ve figured out since she moved in is that she’s not a yoga pants and T-shirt kind of girl. Even her pajamas tops match the bottoms. I’m not complaining.
“My attire is clothing. Yours is basically a scrap of fabric.”
“So are those shorts.” Swiping my water bottle off the counter, I head toward my bedroom. “Hold up, I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t even know where I’m going,” she says from behind me.
“I’ll only be a second.” I disappear into my bedroom, keeping the door open a sliver so I can hear if she tries to ditch me.
“Who said you were invited?” she calls.
“I don’t have anything going on this afternoon. Do you mind the company?”
I hear the breakfast stool slide out from the counter, and she huffs. “You’re not going to like where I’m going.”
“I’m not going for the where , I’m going for the who .”
I throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I’d love to throw on a baseball hat, but not with my hair wet, so I hurriedly throw some product in my hair, add a spritz of cologne to my neck, and walk back out into our shared space.
“There was no need for cologne,” she says, jumping off the stool.
“Are you wearing perfume?”
She stares at me, expressionless. “Yes.”
“Did you ever think the cologne wasn’t for you, but for others?”
She rolls her eyes while I grab my wallet from the tray by the front door and slide it in my pocket. She hasn’t moved from the kitchen.
“Well, let’s go. I don’t have all day, Lulu.” I purposely use the nickname that I love, but she doesn’t seem too keen on.
She grunts and passes me, a waft of her flowery perfume floating up to my nostrils causing my dick to stir.
We walk out of the security gate, and there’s another Nest sign with a similar note to the one before, addressed to me with the curls at the end of every letter. I tear it off and toss it in the trash as we head to the corner.
“Another letter. You have an admirer.”
“Not the one I want.” I raise my eyebrows, and she shakes her head, but I catch the small smile that plays on her lips. It hasn’t been long enough for her to move on from her ex, but I’m enjoying this flirtatious relationship we’re embarking on.
“What’s it like to be so wanted?” Eloise leads the way, obviously knowing where she’s going, but still yet to tell me.
“You would know.”
A laugh bubbles out of her, and her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow. “I don’t. Trust me.”
“You cannot tell me that men aren’t hitting on you everywhere you go.” I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her.
“Maybe I’m unapproachable.” She turns into a building, and I look up to see us entering a café. “I need some caffeine.”
I rush to grab the door for her. “I approached you.”
“Thanks.” She walks to the order line, and we stand together. “You approached me because you’re a fixer, remember?”
I notice a few patrons take second glances at me, but thankfully—because of my goalie mask—I’m not as recognizable as some of the other guys, especially Rowan. That man can’t disguise himself enough. Just in case, and because I don’t want to be interrupted today with Eloise, I tilt my head down and away from those looking.
“Can I call you Lulu?” I ask, changing the subject.
The barista calls us up to place our order and Eloise ignores my question. “White mocha cold brew,” she says, and when they ask for her name, she replies, “Lulu.” She flips around and sticks her tongue out at me before venturing down the counter to wait for her order.
“I’ll have a cold brew, black,” I tell the barista. “Name is Lulu’s sidekick.”
Eloise can’t fight her smile but tries to hide it by pretending to peruse the glass case filled with baked goods.
“Yeah, okay,” the girl says, ringing us up.
I pull out my wallet, but Eloise presses her phone to the POS system, and it dings.
“Why are you paying?” I frown at her.
“You’re my sidekick. You haven’t let me pay a dime—today is my treat.”
“Like a date?” I’m so tempted to touch her, but refrain. Instead, my hand nudges her along by her hip.
“Not a date.”
We stand away from everyone else, waiting for our names to be called. “If you’re paying for me, it’s kind of like a date.”
“It’s not a date. And to answer your earlier question, you can call me Lulu, but I can’t promise I’ll answer to it.”
Just then, the guy behind the counter calls her name and sets down her drink.
“He can, but I can’t. So unfair,” I say.
“Lulu’s sidekick,” the girl who made my drink says, sighing to her coworker before going to make another drink.
With both of our drinks in hand, we walk out of the café and down the street.
Eloise doesn’t tell me where we’re going, but I’d probably follow her wherever she wanted. All I think about is her, and it’s been hard to know she’s naked in the shower or wearing some barely-there pajamas to bed on the other side of the wall.
We cross a street, and she smiles at me as we walk up to a bookstore on the corner.
“Why did you think I wouldn’t want to come here? You assuming I’m a dumb jock?” I open the door, and she walks in.
“You don’t have any books in your condo.” She twirls around and walks backward. “Have you written your list yet?”
“No. But I’m thinking about it.”
“We could each read a book.” She twirls back around, and I admire her ass before she turns right and stops.
“If you want me in your bed reading you a goodnight story every night, just say so.”
She chuckles. “I have a feeling I’d wake up, and you’d still be there, spooning me.”
“Look how well you know me already.”
Her head is tilted up, reading the genres on top of the shelves. “Maybe I’m just a good judge of character.” She seems to find what she’s looking for and heads down an aisle with purpose.
When she stops in the romance section, I ask, “Are you telling me something? I’m game if you want to read an erotica book and reenact the scenes.”
She picks up a book and reads the back, ignoring me.
I walk around the section, checking out some titles like Vow of Revenge , about an academy for the kids of mafia bosses where apparently the dead fiancé from an arranged marriage shows back up.
“What kind of romance books do you like? The bad boys who push you to your knees or the sweet Prince Charmings on bended knee?” I lean my shoulder against the bookshelf to face her. “Something tells me you like a bad boy with a dirty mouth.”
Her cheeks pinken. Fuck, I love earning that reaction.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” I push off the bookcase. “It can be our little secret.”
“Why don’t you go look at the sports biographies or something?” She shoos me away with her hand. “I’m sure you’ll find a fan to fawn over you to keep you busy.”
I walk over to a nearby table. “I like it when you fawn over me.” I sip my cold brew. “Should we stop on the way home and pick up some cigarettes?” I quirk an eyebrow, and she groans, putting down the book in her hand and venturing down the aisle.
“Your ego seems to grow a little more every day.”
“You love my ego, don’t deny it.” I see a title of a book and pick it up. “ Faking it with #41 ? Sneaking Around with #34 ? Are these about athletes?” I flip it over and find out it’s about a team of hockey players. Scanning the table, I realize it’s all books about hockey players. “Is this a thing?” I hold one up to show Eloise.
She glances over. “Appears so.”
“The entire table is covered in just hockey romance books. I knew we had women loving us because we play professionally, but I didn’t know they’re writing novels about us.” I wave it at her. “Just think, you can have the real thing, and other woman can only read about having me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Or I can just read the book and avoid the aggravation of the real thing.” The corner of her mouth ticks up as she reads the back of another book she’s pulled from the shelf.
“I wonder if the other guys know about this.” I pick up another book, then another one, and realize that the majority of the time, the hockey player is a playboy. How cliché. “Do they write about other sports too?”
She returns the book she was reading to the shelf. “I haven’t read in a really long time. Since reading a book is on my list to do before I turn thirty, that should tell you that I have no idea what’s popular.”
“I get it. Don’t be jealous, Lulu. They can’t get the real thing.”
She grunts.
“Excuse me.” A woman comes by, reaching for one of the books on the table.
“Sorry.” I slide out of the way and watch her pick up a Piper Rayne book. “Can I ask you a question?”
She looks at me warily from the corner of her eye. “Sure.”
“This is hockey romance… is it popular?”
Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Yeah, it’s popular.”
“It’s what readers want?”
She nods.
“What about football or baseball?”
“Hockey is the most popular, I think.” She seems confused as to why I’m asking.
I clap my hands together. “Thanks. That’s awesome.”
Eloise peeks around the corner. “You might want to get out of the way. He’s about to blow up from an overinflated ego.”
The woman just nods and takes her book, leaving the area.
“You scared that poor woman.”
Eloise has two books in her arms. I hold my hand out, and she passes them over. None of them are about hockey players.
“This is disappointing. No hockey players?” I return them to her.
She walks by me. “Like you said, I have the real thing at home.”
I follow her. “That you’re not taking advantage of.”
She giggles and walks toward the counter to pay.
“I can’t wait to tell the guys about this,” I say, following her.
She stops and checks out the display of bookmarks. “You are pretty giddy over finding out woman like to read hockey romance.”
“It’s cool, you know? I love my profession, and I know woman ogle me and stuff, but to be a hero in a book…”
“Technically, you aren’t a hero in a book. It’s not nonfiction.”
“Okay, balloon popper, way to steal all my excitement.” She hasn’t, but I can’t help ribbing her.
I’m still in shock about the whole hockey romance thing. I have a feeling the bookstore might be Tweetie’s new pick-up place after I tell him about it.
“Well, you could go over and wear a sign around your neck that you’re a real-life single hockey player.”
“That’s false advertising.” I follow her to the checkout counter.
“You are a hockey player.” She places her books on the counter, and the girl scans them.
“But I’m not really single.”
“Yes, you are.” She shakes her head at me.
“I’m taken. I’m just not dating her yet.”
Eloise blows out a breath, shoots the cashier a smile, and pays for the books, ignoring me like she does when she doesn’t know what to say.
I probably shouldn’t be pushing and making it clear that I’m biding time until she’s ready, but I can’t help it. When I’m around her, I just want her to be mine.
Her phone dings, and it’s on the counter face up from when she paid, so I can’t help but read the text.
Tristan: I’m home. We need to talk.
I was wrong. It wasn’t her popping my bubble, it was her goddamn ex-fiancé holding the pin.