Chapter 2 #2
I could have convinced myself we were together just from that kiss and the way she cuddled into me. I hate to admit it, but it felt good for a second to have someone need me again. To have someone touch me, cuddle into me, treat me as theirs.
Turning back toward me, Ollie says, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your drink. Thank you so much again. I can’t tell you the kind of favor you just did for me. I truly appreciate it.” And with that, she takes her friend by the arm and starts to pull away.
I’m not sure what comes over me.
Maybe it’s the kiss.
Maybe it’s the thought of having to see Sarah around my sacred space.
Or maybe it’s the Scotch.
Before I can stop myself, I say, “You owe me.”
She pauses and looks over her shoulder. “What?”
I grip my glass and lift it to my mouth. From over the rim, I say, “You owe me.” I take a sip. “I did you a favor, so I think you should do me one.” I kick out the barstool next to me and nod toward it. “Take a seat.”
Her eyes flit from the seat and then back up to me. “If you think I’m going to sleep with you, you better think again.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” I say, even though the prospect of it is appealing. Wouldn’t mind tasting those lips again.
Her friend leans down, and even though it seems like he tries to keep his comment quiet, I can still hear him. “I think you should at least listen to him. He did just let you sexually assault him with your mouth.”
“Hey, I gave him three seconds to say no. There was no sexual assault. That kiss was consensual . . . right?” she asks me on a wince.
I nod. “It was consensual.”
“See. Consensual. Everything is on the up and up.” She gestures toward me. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some drinking to do tonight, and I’m sure you have the goal at hand. Have a good night.”
“Sit. Down,” I say in a firmer tone, which stops her.
She slowly turns on her heel. “Uh, excuse me?” she asks, a spark of fire lighting up her burning irises. “Did you just try to use some alpha-hero voice on me?”
“Alpha-hero voice? What the hell is that?” I ask.
“I don’t think he reads romances like you,” the friend says. “And I think he has a point. You owe him.”
“Ross, whose side are you on?” Ollie asks, flapping her hands.
Ah, his name is Ross.
Man, does he look like a Ross. The name fits him perfectly.
“Yours, Ollie. But he’s right. You do owe him. At least listen to what he has to say.”
“And what if he’s a predator, huh? You’re just going to let me sit next to a predator?”
“If anyone is a predator, it’s you,” I say. “You’re the one who kissed me .”
“Oh please,” she says, exasperated. “You kissed me back, and don’t even pretend you didn’t like it.”
Ross, being of sound mind, says, “He’s a hockey player. Pretty sure he isn’t going to risk his reputation on being a predator.”
“That’s what he wants you to think,” Ollie says, putting up a pitiful fight.
When Ross just gives her a look, she grunts out in frustration.
“Fine.” Ollie throws her arms up in the air.
“But I’m agreeing to nothing.” She gets a few inches from my face as she says, “You hear that? I agree to nothing!”
Reluctantly, she takes a seat on the barstool and slaps her clutch on the bar top. She turns toward me with her arms crossed under her breasts, which perks them up even more.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Ross says, slowly backing away.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Ollie asks. “You can’t leave me with this guy. For all we know, he could be a murderer ready to drug me and take me back to his lair, where he’ll sell my body parts on the black market.”
First predator, now a murderer. She sure does have a high regard for men who help her out.
“Yet . . . you kissed me,” I say.
“Out of sheer desperation. You saw the disbelief in Candace’s eyes. She needed to be put in her place.”
“I’ll be right over there,” Ross says, pointing to the end of the bar.
Ollie turns her attention toward the end of the bar. “Oh, near Fernando from accounting? The guy you’ve had a crush on all summer?”
Looking guilty as shit, Ross says, “He has his top three buttons undone. It’s clear he’s open for business tonight.”
“Dear God,” Ollie says while pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine, go flirt. But you are not to leave this bar until I’m safe from this overlord.”
“Overlord?” I ask. “Jesus Christ.”
“Well, come on. Can’t you just be a good Samaritan and do something for a damsel in distress without needing something in return? What happened to white knights?”
“Equal opportunity for all. That’s what happened,” I answer.
“Ugh, men.”
“So . . .” Ross says, rocking on his heels. “Am I good to go?”
“Yes, go. But don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.” He kisses Ollie on the head and then takes off, leaving me alone with the now disgruntled woman with the perfect lips.
“Okay, you have me. Now, what do you want?” she asks with a snap to her tone.
Yeah, what do you want, Silas?
I’m not even sure. I just know that I couldn’t let her walk away, not when I feel like I could use her the same way she used me.
Needing to collect my thoughts, I say, “Want a drink?”
“Actually, yes. Margarita on the rocks, no salt.”
That I can do. Facing the bar, I grab the bartender’s attention with a nod. I give him the order and request a refill for myself. While that’s being filled, I say, “Want to properly introduce yourself?”
“If I must.” She brushes the hem of her tight dress that has ridden up to her midthigh from crossing her toned legs.
Just from a quick glance at her shapely shoulders, small waist, and muscled legs, I can tell she works out.
“I’m Ollie Owens. I absolutely despise the woman who was just here because she’s a know-it-all anus who is mad at me for using one of her Post-it Notes.
And I think out of spite, she decided to date my ex, who I’m over, just so you know.
Nothing like freeing the guy who acted like a dead fish in the bedroom. ”
I nod. “And what is this assignment she speaks of?”
Ollie rolls her eyes just as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. I offer a thank you and bring my glass to my lips as she says, “Just the stupid end-of-the-year assignment for our internship that’s worth all of my credit.”
I nearly spit out my drink as I attempt to swallow, choking on the burning liquid. After a few coughs, I say, “Internship? As in you’re . . . in college?” When she nods, I mutter, “Jesus Christ, please tell me you’re of age.”
Her brows narrow. “Of course I’m of age. All college students are, you nitwit.”
Huh . . . she’s right. They are.
“How old are you?”
She tilts her head. “Twenty-one. How old are you ?”
“Thirty-one,” I answer.
“Ew, you’re in your thirties?”
The fuck?
“It’s not like I said I was sixty,” I snap.
“Still . . . thirties, so old.”
“It’s not that fucking old,” I shoot back. Although, I’m starting to really feel those long nights on the ice lately.
“Still, ten years difference? That means when I was born, you were hitting the double digits. You could have been my babysitter. You’re a decade older than me, a near generation. Ew, I kissed an old man.”
“You kissed an experienced man,” I point out, growing irritated. “More than I can say for your ex who looked like he still watches Rugrats on Saturday mornings.”
“What’s Rugrats ?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I say, dragging my hand over my face. “So what are you doing in college still? Getting your master’s?”
“No, bachelor’s in journalism, heading into my senior year of college.”
Jesus fuck.
She’s so young.
So fucking young that I know my boys would ask me what the fuck I was even doing talking to her. They’d give me so much shit if they knew.
“Bachelor’s.” I nod, trying to convince myself she’s way too young and I should just send her on her way. But as my phone dings next to me with incoming text messages, I’m reminded of my dilemma.
Sarah.
Sarah is back in my life even though I don’t want her to be.
“So you have an assignment?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink to help wash away my worries.
“Yeah. It’s the end-of-the-year article we need to write to earn our credit.
Candace decided who got what topic, and as you can imagine, she deliberately gave me hockey as my assignment, knowing I know nothing about the stupid sport.
” Not reading the crowd around her, that’s fine. “I hope her teeth fall out.”
I chuckle. “I could help you with that, you know. Since I play hockey and all.”
“But really, how experienced are you?” she asks.
“Pretty experienced. It’s my job.”
“Like . . . you’re a professional hockey player? I thought you were just, I don’t know, some club player or something people knew.”
I slowly nod. I’ve never met anyone who has at least not seen my face or heard my name. Vancouver plasters it all over the place.
“I play for the Vancouver Agitators.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and then they give me a slow once-over. “Like . . . the actual Agitators?”
“Yes, the actual Agitators.”
Her lips purse to the side. “Prove it.”
With a heavy sigh, I pick up my phone, ignore the texts from my boys, and type my name into the search engine. When it comes up with results—my face and Wikipedia info the very first thing—I turn it toward her.
She takes my phone and studies it. Her eyes flit up to me, then back to the phone. Then up to me, then back to my phone.
“Your hair is longer in person,” she says.
“That’s because hair grows.”
“You don’t have scruff in this picture.”
“Razors have to be used for something.”
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t see any tattoos in this picture.”
“Because they’re covered up. Jesus Christ.” I take the phone from her. “Are you really going to be that difficult?”
“Excuse me for wanting to make sure you’re not some impersonator trying to score women with a false identity of some poor schmuck who plays hockey for a living.”