Chapter Three
DELILAH
“I can’t believe you didn’t consult me first,” Theo hisses beside me at the conference table the team is gathered around. “Hockey players are brutes. What if they say something stupid?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Brutes? You never seem to mind Olsson being a brute when you’re lusting over him while we watch the games.”
“That’s different,” he mumbles, his pale cheeks darkening. “I can appreciate their brutish form aesthetically without asking them to knock bowls off your counter or take out their teeth on camera.”
“I don’t actually know that many players who are missing their teeth,” I tell him. “And I have met most of the players on the Druids at some point or another.”
“Whatever,” he huffs. “I just wish you’d have run it by me first.”
“I panicked! You weren’t there.”
“I know. We should have rescheduled.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Really. I think people are going to love this.”
The network’s PR rep, Ben Carter, raps his knuckles on the table. His watery eyes always make him seem like he’s either suffering from perpetual allergies or on the verge of tears—but you learn to focus on other things after a while when he has your attention. “Hey, Delilah, still good? Did you have a chance to look at the proposal?”
“Yeah, it looks good to me,” I tell him. “Pretty straightforward. I’m glad we went with just one hour-long special for now. I’d hate to be contracted for more if this ends up being a disaster.”
“I thought the same,” he says with a nod. He glances at Theo, biting his lip. “Hello, Mr. King.”
“Hey,” Theo answers curtly.
There’s a beat of awkward silence before Ben shuffles away to talk to Gia, and I elbow Theo in the ribs. “You’re such a dick. He likes you!”
“He also looks like he’s been hotboxing his Prius. Seriously, someone needs to put some Visine in his stocking this year for Christmas.”
“Such a dick,” I echo under my breath.
Theo shrugs. “You don’t pay me for my preference in men.”
“Thank God.”
Gia checks her watch as she clicks her heels across the linoleum floor to take a seat on the other side of Theo. “They should be here soon.”
“Oh.” Strangely, the question on my tongue only occurs to me at this very moment. Maybe because this whole thing has been kind of a whirlwind of a week. “Did we ever hear who they’re sending? Sanchez is nice—the dumb to my brother’s dumber, but nice. Olsson has always been cool too. Either of them would be great.”
“Oh, actually,” Gia says with a slight frown, “I forgot to mention. They’re sending a return player. He’s been gone for a while. Apparently, he needs some good press.”
A shiver runs down my spine—from nerves or excitement I can’t tell. Nerves, I decide. Definitely nerves. Because with only a few sentences, I already have a fairly good idea who’s about to walk through that door, even as Gia says his name. Even as a knock sounds at the door and the handle turns to let a small entourage spill inside.
And as big of a space in my head that Ian Chase’s name takes up—his actual presence is a hundred times worse. Or better. I’m not sure.
He’s changed since I last saw him; his hair is longer, his gray eyes are harder—but even with the years between the last time I saw him and now, that small smile he gives me still does the exact same thing to my insides that it did when I was sixteen. Earlier than that, if I were really being honest.
“Lila?”
The recognition in his eyes is colored with a touch of confusion, which is fair, given that the last time he saw me, I was just a knobby-kneed teen with braces whose boobs hadn’t come in yet. He’s not the only one who did some growing up since we last saw each other.
“Hey, Cupcake,” I answer, pushing up from my chair and feeling my lips curl as I cross the room to meet him.
He makes a face. “We’re still on about that?”
“You don’t just forget someone eating half a dozen cupcakes and then throwing them up on my aunt’s favorite rug.”
He groans. “Serves me right for being your taste tester. Haven’t eaten a cupcake since.”
I laugh, and for a moment, we’re both just standing there, neither of us entirely sure what to do with the other. It never used to be awkward between us. Before, he’d have already picked me up and spun me around until I threatened him to put me down.
Finally, he extends his arms, pulling me into them. “Get over here, kid.”
Kid.
That really shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Kid. Seems ridiculous since my boobs are currently squashed against his abs like overfilled water balloons. If the awkward pat between my shoulders is any indication, I think he might be picking up on that fact also. I snort before I can stop myself, and he cocks his head at me as he pulls away.
“You do realize I’m two years away from thirty, right? I don’t think the whole kid thing applies anymore.”
He frowns, a wrinkle forming between his eyes as he considers this. For a moment, he looks almost uncomfortable. Like he’s just now considering that I’m not the kid he knew. My ego doesn’t know what to do with that. His eyes widen a fraction, and I feel the weight of them as they move over my face, flicking down the length of me so quickly I might almost miss it, but long enough that I feel a flush at the back of my neck. I watch his throat bob with a swallow, his lips turning down in a slight frown.
“I guess you’re right,” he admits quietly. “Habit.”
“Yeah, well.” I jut out my chin. “Definitely grown up now.”
There’s a beat of silence before, “Yeah, I guess you are.”
It’s an innocent statement, but it gets me all flustered just the same. Not very good for my argument about being all grown up.
“It’s good to see you,” he tells me.
I nod, my smile tight but miraculously still on my face. How did a beard and a few creases at the corner of his eyes somehow make him hotter?
“You too.”
“We’re so glad we could make this work,” Ben says behind me, busting up the meager moment we were having.
Ian glances over my shoulder to give him his attention, and ridiculously, I almost pout at the loss of it. What the fuck is that about?
A woman not much taller than me with graying, auburn hair shuffles past Ian, plopping down into one of the conference chairs. “Let’s get the paperwork signed. I have another meeting.”
Ian catches my eye, smiling at the look on my face. He leans in, lowering his voice. “My agent. Not big on nonsense.”
“Ah.” I chuckle. I hitch a thumb over my shoulder at Theo, who is alternating between trying to put distance between himself and a moon-eyed Ben and getting my attention to come be his buffer. “Mine. Very big on nonsense.”
“Better get this out of the way,” Ian says. His fingers touch my elbow then, my skin tingling from the contact. “Wanna grab coffee after? Catch up?”
He expects me to compose myself with just the two of us? Has he looked at himself in the mirror lately?
My mouth is a little dry, but somehow, I manage to get the words out. “That would be great.”
Another smile that I have to pretend doesn’t make my stomach flutter, and I mentally chide myself for acting like the kid he still thinks I am. I’m not sixteen anymore, and Ian has lived a whole life since I saw him last. Fanning the flames of an ancient crush is a recipe for disaster. Best to shut it down quickly.
I watch Ian take his seat, trying to ignore how his shoulders fill out the soft-looking gray cotton of his henley or the way his hair brushes against his collar.
Easier said than done.
Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird.
As many times as I repeat it in my head, I can’t ascertain whether it’s actually helping or not. The meeting went fine; Ian and I didn’t get much of a chance to chat anymore while our respective teams hammered out the details of the agreement and pointed out where we needed to sign, and save for a stilted exchange about where we could grab coffee—we’ve spent most of the walk from the studio in awkward silence.
I think it’s that we’re both realizing how many years have passed between us, how much life we’ve lived apart, how different we’re bound to be…It’s difficult to navigate. Neither of us can seem to figure out how to step back into the space we once shared.
“It’s just up here,” I tell him, pointing at the wooden sign hanging over my favorite coffee shop.
His head bobs with a nod, his long hair sliding against his shoulders with the movement. I can’t pretend that I haven’t been sneaking glances at the thick, red mass of his hair in the last hour. When he was still in college, he used to keep it shorter, more clean-cut. I’ve seen plenty of coverage of him during games, so I knew he had let it grow out—but every time I’ve caught glimpses of him over the years, it’s been under a helmet. Without one, it falls back like it’s perpetually fresh from a good run-through by his own fingers, tumbling over his ears and touching his shoulders in barely-there curls that elicit a strong urge to touch. More than once I’ve wondered what it might feel like if I were to run my fingers through it.
The smell of fresh coffee hits my nostrils when I step through the door that he opens for me, and it’s a bit of a balm for my frazzled nerves. The place is crowded, and falling into line means being shoved further into Ian’s side against both of our wills.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “They’re busy today.”
“It’s fine,” he tells me. “Place looks cool.”
“They make these blueberry scones that are basically better than sex,” I say offhandedly, immediately blushing when I realize what I’ve said. “Wow. Sorry.”
Ian’s cheeks tinge pink when I peek up at him, but he smiles regardless. “They must be some really good fucking scones.”
“The best,” I assure him.
God. It’s unfair that his smile looks like that. Beards are supposed to be for woodsy types and old men. On him, all it does is accentuate how white his teeth are, how perfectly straight. Not to mention the way it frames his lips. Which are plush and pink and entirely too soft-looking for my liking. It’s been years. It’s criminal that he got better-looking in that time.
“So, your show. Big star, huh?”
I roll my eyes. “Hardly. It’s a local network. It’s fun though.”
“A local network is still more than a lot of bakers are doing back in their kitchens. Don’t sell yourself short.”
I can’t pretend I don’t like the praise, but that could just be an echo of the girl who used to hang on his every word begging for scraps.
“Yeah, well…” I rub my arm. “It is pretty cool. A dream, really.”
Someone bumps into me then, jostling me to the side, and I teeter for a second before I feel Ian’s warm, strong hand bracing at the small of my back to steady me. I feel the weight of it as if it were touching me skin to skin rather than through the cotton of my shirt, tingles shooting up my spine from the contact.
This is getting ridiculous.
“You okay?”
I nod tightly, still hyperfocused on where his fingers are resting against my back. I thought I was prepared for this, thought that seeing Ian Chase again was just going to be a normal, easy thing, that my old crush was just that. Something that would be good and buried after all this time. Apparently, it wasn’t buried nearly deep enough.
I can see the moment that he realizes he’s touching me; his lips part and the pads of his fingertips press a fraction harder against my shirt, his hand flexing with movement before he lets it fall away. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact and letting his gaze scan the space around us casually.
“Really is crowded in here,” he mutters.
“I’m gonna hit the restroom,” I blurt out, real cool-like. “Order for me?”
“Sure. What do you want?”
I shake my head distractedly. “Whatever. I’m not picky.”
I’m already walking off before he can question me further, my cheeks hot and my body hotter. Just from a stupid fucking touch. An innocent one at that.
I don’t stop until I’m bent over the bathroom sink, splashing some cool water on my neck and telling myself to get a grip. I have to remind myself that Ian has never seen me as anything more than Jack’s kid sister. Hell, he’s still calling me kid now, after all this time. So obviously, nothing has changed. It would be utterly stupid to let an old crush have me acting like a fool.
I give myself a pointed look in the mirror, taking note of my freckled nose and my big brown eyes that make me look younger than I am, my full mouth forming a pout. No wonder he still sees me as a kid. I glare down at my even fuller chest.
“You guys were supposed to help me out when you filled in,” I mutter bitterly. “So much for that.”
I sigh as I grip the sink, shaking my head.
Stop being stupid. Ian is your friend. You’ve had plenty of time to get that through your head. Go back out there and act like a normal, twenty-eight-year-old woman and not a lovestruck teenager seeing a cute boy for the first time.
I nod to my reflection, vowing to do just that.
With my new resolution in mind, I feel more confident when I step back out of the bathroom. Ian waves me over to the little table he’s settled at, and I flash him a bright smile that isn’t awkward or stiff, because I can be normal around him, damn it. I can.
But my smile falters when I get to the table.
“What’s that?”
He follows the point of my finger to the drink he’s bought for me. “What?”
“The drink.” I eye the caramel-drizzled mountain of whipped cream, noting the sprinkles scattered over it. Not to mention the chocolate drizzle on the inside of the cup. “What is it?”
“You don’t like them anymore?” He looks confused. “This shit was all you drank back in the day.”
“You remembered my drink?”
His brow arches, looking even more confused. Like I’m the silly one for thinking him remembering something as arbitrary as a disgustingly sweet drink I used to indulge in once a week over a decade ago is unfathomable.
“I…yeah?”
I actually feel my heart beat faster.
That’s when I realize I’m in real fucking trouble.