Chapter Two #2
It had been four months since my first day, and I could admit to myself if to no one else that I was still trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing.
After I’d confided my stage-fright issue to Louie, he’d kept me in the newsroom, doing research.
Anything that kept me off camera. He insisted the more familiar I’d get with the sports teams, the less nervous I’d be if or when the situation arose for me to do an interview with one of them.
Any time I spoke to Neil, he’d reassure me to give it time, that a career in television reporting didn’t happen without putting in years of grunge work, yet I’d see new reporters, as young as me, get news spots. What did they have that I didn’t?
But I knew: the ability to formulate a sentence without freezing over each and every word.
I slowed my steps in front of Slapshots, the pub where Rip mentioned he’d be, but then walked on by.
It wasn’t the space for me. Places that reeked of frat-boy, bro-dudes were never my thing, and on a night of a home team win, those hormones would be running amuck.
That didn’t mean I wanted to go sit alone in my tiny apartment, so spying a coffee shop, I decided to sit for a few and have a cappuccino.
Sipping slowly, I people-watched by the window. I finished my drink and bought another to take home. I paid and reached for the cup—only to have it plucked from my fingers.
“Hey,” I snapped and whirled, to see Rip grinning down at me. I never felt small until I stood next to him. Two inches taller, but heavier by at least twenty pounds of pure muscle, Rip had that quality of lighting up a room and energizing the air.
God, he was perfect. Hazel eyes flecked with gold sparkled under waves of thick, dark hair that curled around his tanned, muscular neck.
A scar ran through one of his eyebrows—from an unfortunate run-in with an opponent’s skate blade when he’d been tripped on the ice.
I’d seen that game, and my heart had almost stopped at the sight of so much spilled blood.
But the scar did nothing to mar the beauty of his face.
And even tonight, with exhaustion rolling through him, he was still my perfect man. The one I never stopped dreaming of.
“I told you to come have dinner with me, but I saw you through the window, walking past Slapshots.”
The crowd behind us began to murmur, and Rip waved at them. “Hiya, folks. Great game, huh?”
For at least ten minutes he was besieged by fans asking for autographs and pictures, and he accommodated everyone. I finished my drink and tossed the cup, intending to leave, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Not sneaking off again, are you?”
“Rip, come on, I don’t belong there.”
His full mouth tightened. “Bullshit. You belong wherever you want to be.” Close up, I could see where bruises lay blue-black against his skin, and I spied various cuts and scrapes on his chin and cheeks.
He must be hurting. The game took both a physical and a mental toll on players. “And I’d really like it if you came.”
What would it be like to belong for just one night? My face must’ve revealed that inner longing, as Rip put his arm around me. “Please?” he whispered in my ear, sending a shiver through me I hoped he didn’t feel, but that I registered down to my toes.
“All right, I’ll come for one drink.”
He tightened his grip on me. “Great. Let’s go. The guys are waiting.”
Inside the bar, I found myself sandwiched between Rip and another player he introduced me to called Chitty, a big, young, blond guy who couldn’t stop talking.
“Great night, huh? I’m only a rookie, but damn, the excitement in the arena gets to me every time. It was fire.” Between bites of his burger, Chitty gulped his beer. When he reached for another, Rip shook his head.
“Nuh-uh, rookie. Learn to pace yourself. One per night during the season.” He slid my margarita to me. “You, on the other hand, can have as many as you want.”
A faint smile touched my lips. “I’m good with this.
” Normally I drank a sweet cocktail and would nurse that until the ice cubes melted, then set it aside before I slipped away, but listening to everyone recap the game, pressed up to Rip’s warm, heavy thigh, I drained the first glass, and recklessly, a second.
Another appeared in front of me. Three margaritas were two and a half too many for me.
My head felt fuzzy, and the room tilted a bit.
“Having fun?” Rip’s husky voice rumbled through me, and though I couldn’t make my lips form the words, I managed a semblance of an answer.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I knew you would. It’s great to see you again, Adrian. It’s been way too long. You’re all grown up.”
“Yeah. That’s me. All grown up,” I repeated and licked my lips, watching his gaze drop to my mouth. I shivered with unaccustomed lust, and my head spun.
“How old are you? Twenty-five?”
Defiant but hopeful, I met his eyes. “Twenty-eight. Old enough.”
“Not even thirty. Holy shit. I forgot how young you really are.” The rough pads of his fingers trailed along my jaw. Desire soaked through my blood and bones, accelerating from zero to two hundred. “Young and gorgeous.”
My fantasy had come to life, and I held on to this moment, wishing it could last forever.
“Well, well, mon amour, what have we got here? A new petit ami?” The mocking voice cut through my lust-soaked brain, and Rip stiffened.
His hand fell away from my face, and I instantly missed his touch.
Breathing heavily, I pinched my eyes to clear the fogginess of my vision and peered up at a giant of a man, golden hair flowing like a lion’s mane, a smirk on his handsome face.
Assessing dark eyes met mine, and I blinked.
He held hands with a husky, barrel-chested man, who stared at him as if the sun rose and set in his dominating orbit.
I didn’t miss the crowd surrounding us with phones in the air, recording every word.
“Go away, Denis.” Rip took a bite of his pasta, chewed and swallowed. “I’m busy.”
Denis Bouvier. Rip’s ex. The man he’d loved and lived with for years.
I’d seen pictures of him in magazines and in news clips, but he was even more impressive in person.
At least physically. Denis was bigger than most, with a commanding presence that ate up all the oxygen in the room.
No wonder Rip barely noticed I was alive.
“So I see. So young and pretty.”
Denis’s amused voice snapped my already tangled and confused nerves. “I’d better go,” I mumbled to no one in particular because Rip had locked gazes with his ex. I tried to rise, but I was trapped between Chitty and Rip.
“Shut up,” Rip told Denis, then tipped his head. “How’s it going, Gordie?”
“Good, really good.” He and Denis shared a look. “Should I tell them, babe, or do you want to make the announcement?”
“Mais oui. I want everyone to know, especially my closest friends.” A mocking smile curved his lips, and Rip tensed as the two men looked at each other with adoration.
Fingers entwined, Gordie raised their hands and kissed Denis. “We are getting married. I popped the question, and Denis said yes.”
“Mon coeur,” Denis murmured and nuzzled Gordie. As the rest of the team cheered their shared kisses, Rip grew stiffer. “Champagne for everyone,” Denis called out.
Rip grimaced but still accepted a glass for himself and passed one to me. “Congratulations, Denis, Gordie.” He tipped his glass to them, but I heard the brittleness in his voice.
I knew he had to be hurting, yet he showed grace, wishing his former lover well. I whispered in his ear, “That was sweet of you.”
“I’m a sweet guy.”
He took a gratuitous sip of his champagne and set the glass on the table. Feeling reckless, I gulped mine down.
Rip’s fingers played along my nape, fueling a painful ache in my groin.
When he nuzzled beneath my ear, I was acutely aware of Denis eyeing us.
Was Rip doing this to make Denis jealous?
He couldn’t be drunk—he hadn’t even finished half his beer.
If this was his bare-minimum seduction, it worked like a charm. I was about to melt into a puddle.
“I’m glad you came,” he breathed, lips tickling my ear. “Aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I am. Very glad.”
He nudged my cheek with his nose. “Neil’s little brother. I still can’t believe it’s you.”
“It is. All of me.”
“So I see.”
“I used to dream of this happening.” If I were sober, I would never have had the nerve to say it, but tonight I could blame it on the alcohol.
He held my chin, and my lids fluttered in anticipation of the kiss I was so desperately craving, but my lips remained untouched, and I opened my eyes to see concern mixed with longing in Rip’s face. “Adrian, I can’t.”
“Why?” I heard the whine of frustration in my voice. I was turned-on and close to achieving my dream. So damn close, I could almost taste it. Taste him.
“You know why.”
“Neil? Is that the reason? I don’t care.” I touched the scar over his eye.
“I do.” He twined his fingers with mine. “And I think if you were sober, you would too.”
I tugged his hand close. “I am sober.”
He snorted. “Yeah. I don’t think so.” He cupped my cheek. “It’s not that simple. He’s my best friend, and you’re…young.”
“Not that young.”
A huff of annoyance escaped him. “I’m thirty-six, almost thirty-seven. My twenties are a lifetime ago for me.” A gentle sweep of his thumb caressed my cheek. “Besides. You’re supposed to be like my little brother. It wouldn’t be right. And if Neil found out? God no. We can’t do this.”
It sure as hell would be right for me, but this wasn’t the time nor the place to argue my point.
The bar spun, and my tongue felt weird, as if it were too thick for my mouth.
Before I could stop myself, my head fell to Rip’s shoulder, and I sighed with contentment.
Maybe Rip was right and I’d had one—or three—too many drinks.
The bar had begun to empty out, and Rip squeezed my hand.
“Let’s go.”
“Hmm?” I stared up at his somewhat fuzzy face.
“I’m taking you home with me. You’re too trashed to go anywhere by yourself.”
In no position to argue, I let him pull me to my feet, and to my secret delight, he held me close. He steered me toward the door, and though there were plenty of people taking Rip’s picture along with the other players, his attention remained focused on me.
“Are you good?” he murmured.
Was he kidding? I was floating on air, my fantasy come to life. “Mmm. Yeah. Real good.”
He chuckled. “Okay, champ. Let’s get going and get some coffee and aspirin into you.” Rip waved to everyone. “G’night, folks. Hope to see you at the arena, cheering for the Blades.”
We walked outside, the cool night air hitting my face. It felt so good, and I breathed deeply to stop the world from spinning. It also gave me an excuse to hold on to Rip tight. God, he smelled so good. I nuzzled into his neck.
“Rip, Rip, is that your new boyfriend? How long have you two been dating?” someone called out from the crowd of people gathered on the sidewalk. “How do you feel about your old flame getting engaged?”
“No comment. Now please excuse us.” A car pulled up, and he opened the door and pushed me inside, then followed.
“I can go home myself, you know,” I protested but the truth was, I felt sick and hoped I didn’t throw up all over the car.
Gazing into my eyes, he covered my hand with his. “I’d feel better if you were with me.”
God. Me too. If only we meant the same thing.
“All right.”
It was a short ride from Downtown Brooklyn to his apartment in Dumbo, and I soon stood in his kitchen, drinking glass after glass of cold water. I popped the two extra-strength aspirin he handed me. All I wanted was to get into bed and pass out.
Way to go, Adrian. You finally get your chance, and you’re a drunken mess.
“You should feel better after you get some sleep. Come.” With his arm around me, Rip led me to a bedroom, and I kicked off my loafers. “Do you need help getting settled?”
“You’re not staying with me?” Disappointed, my lips pulled down in a pout.
“C’mon, Adrian. We already talked about it. We can’t. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
“You wouldn’t be. I’m not that drunk,” I lied, not revealing it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to me. “I’m all grown up, and I am not your brother. Please. Stay with me.” I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it aside.
“Adrian.” He sighed. “You’re way too tempting, but I can’t.” His lips brushed the top of my hair, and he squeezed my shoulder. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, he left me alone and closed the door.
Even with the aspirin and all the water I’d consumed, my head throbbed, and I fell on the bed, hugging the pillow. Dammit. I thought he wanted me.
I can’t believe I actually begged Rip to sleep with me.
A flush of embarrassment rolled through me. I squeezed my eyes shut as if that could block out how I’d thrown myself at him. God, could I have been more pathetic?
It wouldn’t have mattered if I were older. Rip simply didn’t want me. Guess it was another dream to add to the list of all my other ones that crashed and burned.