Chapter Eighteen Gavin
Chapter Eighteen
Gavin
A couple of months ago, I never would have thought I would drop my son off at his grandparents’ to pick up a woman I was seeing, standing outside her apartment building, waiting for her to come down so I could take her to my place for the night.
I never would have thought I’d spend two days planning an evening she wouldn’t ever forget.
But here I fucking was.
And as Emily walked through the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, the first thing I noticed was that she had a surprise for me. It wasn’t in a box, wrapped in paper with a bow.
It was on her body.
Goddamn it, this woman was fucking perfect.
The moment she was within reach, I pulled her against me, my lips pressing to hers before she could even get a word out. Even though the taste wasn’t enough, I pulled my face back so my eyes could take another dip down the front of her.
“Where did you get that T-shirt?”
Instead of the Deers T-shirt I’d asked her to wear, she had on Tampa’s logo and colors.
“I went shopping.” That smile, it was fucking beautiful. She locked her hands behind my head. “I know the Bears is your team, owner-wise, but since you played for Tampa, I figured this would be a little more special.” She rubbed her palms down my chest.
“The only thing better would be if my name and number were on the back.”
She pushed against my pecs. “You’re saying you’d love that?”
The thought alone had me grabbing her ass. “I would.”
She wiggled out of my grip and turned around, lifting her long blond hair to show me my name at the top of the T-shirt, spanning across her shoulders, and my number below in the center.
“Emily . . .” I pulled her back against me, my arms crossing her chest, and in her ear, I whispered, “What are you trying to do to me?”
“I just went in for a shirt. When I saw this one, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to wear you . . . that’s all.”
“I like that. I like that a whole lot.” I kissed her neck, her warm scent so heavy in that spot. “I cannot wait to take it off you.” I released her to turn her toward me. “But that isn’t going to happen until much later.”
She bit her bottom lip. “What do you have planned?”
“You’re still not getting that answer out of me.” I opened the door to the back seat and climbed in after her.
“Miss Wren, it’s nice to see you again,” Denis said to her.
“It’s lovely to see you, too, Denis.”
I slipped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward the center of the back seat, my mouth going to the top of her head, breathing in more of her warmth.
“Denis, do you know what Gavin has planned for this evening?”
He looked at me from the rearview mirror. “I don’t, Miss Wren.”
“And if he did, he wouldn’t tell you,” I added.
She twisted, craning her neck back, a smirk covering her face. “You’re saying I can’t drag Denis to my side?”
I laughed. “No. And legally—also no.”
She waved me away. “Jerk.”
Denis chuckled.
That smart mouth made my dick hard.
I held her chin. “It’ll be worth the wait.” As she set her phone on the seat beside her, I continued, “You brought nothing with you. You listened. I’m impressed.”
“Not an easy task, but yes, I listened.”
When she’d eventually go into my bedroom later tonight, she would see that my assistant had gotten everything she would need.
I didn’t know what half the shit was—there were bottles of all different colors.
But when my assistant was dropping the things off and I was putting them in my en suite, I didn’t let my mind really think about what I was looking at.
Or what this meant. Or that anytime Emily spent the night, she would have the necessities at my place.
Those thoughts were a lot to take in.
What I knew was that I liked having her in my SUV. I liked the thought of her spending the night. I couldn’t take my hands off her. And I was already thinking about the next time she could stay at my condo, and it wasn’t even the morning yet.
“I was with a patient when your mom came in and got Bettie, but I heard everything went well. Is she adjusting at home all right?” She dragged her fingers across the scruff on my cheek.
“Things are good. In fact, my mom is bringing Ben over there”—I glanced at my watch—“right about now. I’m sure Grandma has already put together a batch of cookies for him. She loves to bake.”
“And I’m sure she loves to have Ben over.”
“She does. So much so, she’ll convince my mom to stay for dinner to spend more time with him. My dad will end up over there, the three of them sold on multiple games of UNO. Ben’s a master convincer. The boy is far too slick for his own good. He knows how to charm.”
“Like his dad.” She winked. “He wouldn’t have to charm me. I love UNO.”
“No one over twelve likes that game.”
She laughed. “Well, I do, so you’re wrong.”
“Do you know how many rounds of that game I’ve played?” I groaned, letting out a loud breath. “It’s Ben’s favorite.”
“But you play.”
I nodded. “I’ll always play.”
Her hand went to the back of my neck. “You’re such a good dad, Gavin.”
“He’s the best dad,” Denis chimed in.
“I don’t know about that, but I’m ready to up the difficulty count. I’m going to teach Ben how to play chess.”
“Chess? That’s a tough game,” she said.
“He’s a natural-born athlete, but he doesn’t have the mental strength—not at his age and not at the level he’s able to play. That’s where chess comes in. A game that’ll toughen up his brain a little.”
Her brows rose. “Prepping him for the NFL?”
The SUV slowed in front of my building, and I looked at her and replied, “I’m prepping him for life. Which is hard as fuck. I don’t care what he wants to do or play, I just want my son to be happy.”
She smiled. “I adore you.”
“Ah. So the asshole type softens . . .”
“I did call you that, didn’t I?” She laughed and pinched her fingers together. “He softens slightly.”
When we came to a stop, I opened my door, getting out first, and I helped Emily to the ground. Before I shut the door, I thanked Denis, and I led her inside my building and into the private elevator.
She tried to lower the bottom of her T-shirt, lessening the amount of her stomach that peeked out. “I feel very underdressed.”
My stare took a dive down her body. “Why? You look amazing.”
“But you’re not nearly as casual as me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Nothing special, just jeans and a button-down.”
“And ridiculously hot.”
I laughed. “Well, I can’t help that.” I held her ass, spanking the bottom a few times. “Stop worrying. One of my favorite outfits on you is scrubs. This is tied with that. I don’t need you to get dressed up for me, Emily. I’m all about the athletic look, and you’ve got quite a handle on that.”
“You have this hidden talent where almost everything that comes out of your mouth is so unbelievably sexy.” She unwrapped her arms and looped them around my waist. “I want to eat the words you just said.”
“Mmm.” I leaned down and kissed her, and when the door opened and I immediately smelled dinner, I moaned again.
So did Emily. She closed her eyes and groaned, “Oh my God, what is that?”
“It’s your surprise.” I led her through the foyer and past the living room, stopping at the base of the kitchen, which was occupied by a chef and two helpers.
The chef was drying his hands with a towel hanging from his shoulder. “Gavin, it’s good to see you, my man.”
“And you, Walker.” As he came over to me, I shook his hand.
“Walker Weston, meet Emily Wren. Emily, Walker is the chef and founder of multiple restaurant brands. Horned is one he recently opened nearby in Portsmouth, Toro—a restaurant I’m begging him to open in Boston—and Charred, the world-renowned steak house that we have here in the Back Bay. ”
“I know it well. Charred is one of my favorites.” She clasped hands with him. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Walker.”
“Good to meet you,” Walker replied.
“How long has it been since you’ve been to Boston? When your book tour brought you through?”
He let out a long, winded exhale and nodded. “I believe so. But if I knew you had a kitchen like this”—his green gaze left mine to glance at his helpers—“I would have come more often.”
Walker was the same age as me, but the light in the kitchen was picking up some of his gray hairs. With the speed his company was moving and building, I knew the motherfucker had to be stressed. But it had taken only a phone call and he’d agreed to come in for the night.
I chuckled. “You have an open invite.”
“You’re not based in Boston?” Emily asked him.
“LA.” He rolled up a sleeve of his chef’s whites.
“No one cooks like Walker,” I told her. “My family has been a fan since the very beginning of his career, stumbling upon his father’s restaurant during a trip to LA.
That was many years ago, before the Weston brand exploded.
You know, his cookbook is the only cookbook my mom keeps permanently on her kitchen counter. ”
“You came all the way here for Gavin?” Emily’s voice was soft.
“And you.” My hand briefly went to her cheek. “I wanted you to experience the best.” I left her face to clasp my friend’s arm. “And this here is the absolute best.”
Walker returned the gesture, his hand going to my shoulder. “The first course will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you get comfortable. My staff will be up to pour you wine and get you anything you need.”
“I appreciate you.” My hand went to Emily’s lower back.
Emily thanked him, and I brought her outside and up the short staircase to the roof of the building.
The space had a small pool and hot tub, and several seating areas, one of which had been converted into a dining room for tonight.
Strings of lights hung above the table, and there were candles across every surface, music playing through the outdoor speakers.
“Is all of this . . . for me?” She gazed around, a look of awe on her breathtaking face.
“Yes.”
Her stare finally landed on me. “Gavin, I think you like me.”
I laughed. “You think so?”
She nodded.
“You might be right.”
She cupped my shoulders. “I cannot get over this. I don’t even have words to express what this is . . . and how much I love it.”
“You haven’t tasted anything yet.”
“I don’t need to. The effort, the gesture, this table, the view”—she looked at the city, the scenery easily taken in by how high up we were—“flying Walker in. I mean, my God. I’m . . . blown away.”
“Good.”
Her head tilted, her lips pulling wide before they rubbed together. “If we weren’t about to be fed, this T-shirt would be on the floor and I’d be straddling you right now.”
“I’ll remember that for after dinner.”
Her nails dug into my skin. “Which is when I’d like you to fuck me so hard.”
“Done.”
She smiled. “That’s not my only request.”
“I’ll fulfill every one.” I nodded toward the table. “But right now, go sit.”
I helped her into her chair and slid it toward the table, and once she was positioned, I took the seat across from her.
One of Walker’s helpers immediately appeared with a bottle of red that he poured in our glasses.
The moment we were alone again, Emily lifted her wine in the air. “To probably the best dinner of my life.”
“And to the beginning.” My eyes narrowed. “Our beginning.”
She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising at the same time.
“A much better toast than mine.” She sipped the heavy-bodied wine.
“You told me you were rusty. Yet this is technically date one, minus the coffee shop meetups that I don’t know if you can really call dates, and you’ve nailed it out of the park.
For the record, I searched for a football reference and couldn’t come up with one. ”
I smiled. “I like good food. When you know the best, it’s not hard to make that happen.”
“You mean, it wasn’t hard for you. There’s nothing normal about flying in the best chef in the country. At least, not in my world.”
“I don’t like boundaries.” I gripped the stem of my glass. “You’re going to realize that the more you’re with me.”
“Ya think?” She snorted. “But seriously, it’s hard to believe you’re not an expert at this dating thing.”
“I’m really not.” I shook my head. “I weighed a lot of different options. But I thought, given that this is Ben’s home, we won’t be able to spend a ton of time here unless he’s gone or asleep. So I figured why not just bring my favorite here.”
“It’s perfect.” She went quiet for a moment. “While we’re on the topic of Ben, can I ask you something? And once I ask you, if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.” She took a breath. “But I need to ask . . .”
“Okay.”
“Ben’s mom . . .”
I filled my cheeks with air and slowly blew it out. “What about her?”
“You’ve said Ben doesn’t have a mother in his life. Is she just not in the picture? Does she live far away? Did she abandon him?” She flattened her hand on the table. “I don’t want to assume anything, but I’m very curious about the whole situation.”
Seven years. In many ways, that felt like an eternity. It also felt like those years had passed in seconds. But every time I glanced at my son, I saw what that amount of time looked like.
It didn’t make it easier to talk about.
It didn’t make it hurt less.
When I filled my lungs, I felt the burn. “Ben’s mom passed away.”
Her hand shot across the table and reached for mine. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I didn’t know. Oh God, I’m positively gutted for Ben. And for you.”
“It’s okay.” I nodded. “Ben never got the chance to know her . . . so he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”