Chapter Thirteen
Flying Colors
Livia
“…and that’s why I can’t ever show my face at a Chili’s again.”
I blinked at Carter over the rim of my cocktail glass, lips twitching. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Oh, but I only wish I was,” he said. “Listen, I thought it was the smoothest line in the book at the time.”
“To tell the waitress she had jalapeno eyes?! Carter, what does that even mean? Like her eyes were… spicy?”
“And green!”
“Oh, my God.”
“It gets worse.”
“Can it possibly?”
“As she stared at me with the very same blank stare you have right now, I followed up her silence with, ’So, this Triple Dipper, can I get it with the egg rolls, sliders, and your phone number?’”
“Carter…” I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head, shoulders bouncing as I tried to fight the laughter that was impossible to contain.
“Admit it… that’s kind of slick.”
“Like an oily car salesman.”
Carter grinned, boyish and unguarded, the firelight dancing in the gold flecks of his eyes.
Although our evening had started with him quite tense, he was relaxed now — loose in his seat, fingers curled casually around his whiskey glass, one ankle hooked over his knee like this was just another night out with the guys.
But it was a test, and another lesson — one I was finding myself enjoying more than I anticipated.
In the week since I’d last seen him, I’d been so busy with work I’d barely had time to think about anything else.
We’d had two Osprey players in our chairs, a new set of veneers rush-ordered for a local newscaster whose wedding photoshoot got moved up, and one of my regulars decided mid-cleaning that she wanted to “just try” a full Invisalign consult — during my lunch hour.
On top of that, my associate called out sick three days in a row, leaving me to juggle our packed schedule solo.
I’d been running on caffeine and that post-orgasm high Carter had left me with.
But that hadn’t been the only thing I’d taken home that night.
He’d also gotten under my skin with his whole comment about not taking on the world alone. Whenever I wasn’t focused on work, it was hard not to let my thoughts drift to the sincerity in his eyes, to the careful caress of his hand against my jaw.
And when those thoughts did pop up, I smacked them down like a basketball I was guarding the net from.
Two-million dollars.
Eggs frozen.
Set up for life.
I control when I have a kid and how.
I control every lesson between me and Carter.
This is a means to an end.
By the time Carter picked me up for our date lesson, I had myself back in check.
We were each two drinks in now, tucked in the corner of a rooftop bar that overlooked the Hillsborough River, the Tampa skyline glittering like scattered sequins in front of us.
String lights arched overhead. A firepit flickered at our feet, our chairs side by side and angled toward one another.
Music thrummed softly from the indoor lounge, muffled by glass doors and cool January air.
It was cozy and intimate and the perfect setting for a date.
It was also supremely uncomfortable for me.
Carter didn’t pick up on that — at least, not that I could tell. On the outside, I was the dominant instructor as usual. And yes, I did feel like I was back in control.
But I also felt like I was dancing around a room of eggshells.
I’d agreed to his request for this date lesson mostly out of my need to vacate his house after our last one. But I’d also been curious. He’d said he needed my help, and that was part of our agreement.
I just wasn’t as confident when it came to this part of intimacy.
I typically skipped dates, which was why my best friend had been so shocked when I mentioned I was going on one.
Why waste time pretending like I cared about what my future sub did for work, or making up some lie about my own background, knowing I’d never feel safe enough to share the truth, when all we both really wanted was to get naked?
But Carter was different. He wasn’t like me. He was… good. Pure. Eager to please.
He’d make a great boyfriend to someone someday. A great husband.
And that was part of why I didn’t love toying with the whole dating thing in our lessons. There were too many opportunities for pesky feelings to creep up — especially for him. And I didn’t want to hurt him.
That was the whole reason I’d set up so many rules.
Still, so far, I’d called the shots all night. We’d started inside, where I’d perched on a barstool with my legs crossed and a smirk in place, watching him psych himself up from across the room like he was about to approach a total stranger. That was the exercise: act like we’d never met.
He flubbed the approach twice — once leading with a compliment that landed too sexual, once with a joke that didn’t land at all.
I coached him through both, reminding him not to come in too hot, not to make it about him.
Ask questions. Be curious. Eye contact, but not too much.
And for the love of God, don’t open with “So, do you come here often?”
Eventually, he got me to laugh. That’s when I let him sit beside me. We ordered drinks and kept the game going. I pretended to agree to letting him take me on a date, and then we met outside the bar and acted like it was date night some days later.
He was in stride once that next phase kicked in.
He’d guided me to our table with a hand at my lower back.
He’d ordered our second round without looking at the menu, remembering that I’d ordered a dirty martini with extra bleu cheese olives, and sticking with a classic Old Fashioned for himself.
And he’d initiated conversation with ease, skipping over the shallow so, what do you do?
bits and launching right into people watching that transitioned smoothly into us trading stories.
He was doing well. Really well.
And that was the problem.
Because somewhere between lesson and leisure, the lines started to blur. And I didn’t like how that made me feel.
It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company. I did.
That was the issue.
It made me feel out of control, like the structure I’d crafted was flimsy. The safety of the roles we’d defined from the start were written in black and underlined in red. Teacher and student. Dom and sub. Boss and rookie.
But this? Cuddling next to him, legs brushing, hearing him talk about college and his guinea pig and the time he pissed himself in a bounce house as a kid?
This felt real. This felt… soft.
And intimacy — real intimacy — had never been something I trusted. Not since I learned how quickly it could turn into a weapon.
The waitress bringing us a fresh round of drinks had me blinking out of my thoughts. Carter looked her right in the eyes as he thanked her, and of course he made some endearing joke that had her laughing and flushing and me thinking you idiot, can’t you see that you don’t need me?
Then his attention was back on me, his grin wide, eyes glassy. “If you think that was a disaster, you should hear about my time at Hooters.”
“Oh, God, please, no.”
He laughed, sipping his whiskey with his eyes dancing as they watched me. His demeanor shifted — just marginally, enough for me to notice him rubbing his hands down his slacks and scratching at the hair on his jaw.
“There is another story I want to tell you, actually. For real. Not a joke.”
I finished off the last of the martini I’d had in hand, picking up my water next. “That sounds ominous.”
He let out a soft breath, sitting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His gaze was on the firepit now and my stomach tightened at the shift in mood.
“I want to tell you why I am the way I am. Why I need your help the way I do.” He paused, rolling his lips between his teeth before glancing at me.
“I’m sure you’ve thought about it surface level.
Like I’m just some guy who doesn’t know how to flirt or fuck or talk to a woman without making her cringe.
” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But it’s more than that.”
I tilted my head, softening. “Okay.”
“I just… I need to get it all out, and I—can you just listen? And try not to judge?”
That made my brows furrow. “Why would I judge you?”
He gave a tiny shrug, looking at his hands before he found my gaze again. “Because what I’m about to tell you is going to tell you a lot about me, and it’s not flattering.”
My heart squeezed at the sight of him, his head hung like an abused animal expecting to be hit again. “I’m listening.”
He was quiet for a beat before he started, voice lower than before.
“I grew up in Ontario. Middle-class, pretty standard childhood. Parents were sweet — strict, but loving. I started skating when I was three, playing hockey when I was four, and it became everything to me. I begged my parents to watch every Maple Leafs game, practiced year-round, and it just… it made me so fucking happy, Liv. My dad always says he never saw my real smile until I had a stick in my hand. As a kid, I played for hours in the street, on frozen ponds, in the kitchen when my mom wasn’t looking.
I’d pretend I was in the NHL, game on the line, last-second shot… ”
A soft smile touched his lips, then faded.
“And then, when I was fifteen, I made it to the OHL. It was a big deal. That’s where I met Coach Leduc.”
He said the name like it was venom in his mouth.
“That man was the opposite of any adult I’d ever come into contact with.
While my parents were docile and quiet, he was barking at me within minutes of meeting him.
He towered over all of us — nearly seven-feet tall, absolute giant.
He didn’t smile when he met me. I discovered real quick that he never smiled at all.