Chapter Three
Tia
The reception is half over before Briggs finds me as I'm coming off the dance floor, sweaty and ready for a break.
The band has everyone else on the dance floor, dancing their asses off.
Even Harlan is dancing with Sophie, impressively well, considering she's a trained ballerina and he's absolutely not.
Tables are deserted, the sumptuous meal half eaten.
Even the waitstaff has disappeared, leaving the rest of the reception hall looking deserted.
It's just me and Briggs. As soon as he steps in front of me, I consider darting back onto the floor…but I'm not that much of a coward. I may not like hockey players, but that doesn't mean I can't hold my own.
I don't run from anyone, especially not irritating goalies.
"Here," he says, holding out a bottle of water. "Thought you might want this."
I think about walking past him, but before I can even decide to do it, I'm reaching for the water. My eyes meet his as I pull the cap off and take a big drink.
He watches me the same way he's been watching me all night—like he finds me fascinating. It's unnerving as hell. The only thing fascinating about me is my inability to tell the difference between a charming liar and a dangerous snake. Believe me, I'm not that interesting.
Except Briggs won't stop looking at me like I am. And the longer he looks, the more I want him to keep looking. It's a frustrating problem to have, for all the reasons previously mentioned.
"Did you have fun out there?"
I stop drinking to look at him. "Maybe. Why?"
"Because you move like a dream, Tia," he says with a straight face. "I've been hard all fucking night, watching you."
I nearly choke.
I'd like to say copious amounts of wine are the reason I grab him by the arm, practically hauling him into an alcove behind a wall of flowers in the corner, I really would. Except…I've never been a big drinker, and I've only had one glass all night.
Wine has nothing to do with it. It's all him.
"What is your deal?" I growl, spinning on him as soon as we're alone. "I told you that I'm not inter—"
His big hands sink into my hips, yanking me up against him. "I heard you," he growls, dipping his head to brush his lips across my throat. "You lied."
"No, I didn't."
"Then why'd you drag me back here alone, beautiful?"
"To tell you…" I break off, moaning when he nips my throat. "To tell you to stop stalking me."
"Stalking you?" His chuckle vibrates all the way to my core. "You're the one who dragged me back here."
Right. Dammit.
"Yes, to tell you to leave me alone." I sink my hands into his hair, pulling.
It's part frustration, part demand. I want his mouth on me, dammit all.
I don't even know why. It's not like I know him.
Maybe that's the appeal. I don't know him.
This can be a one-time thing, a casual wedding hookup that ends as soon as we're finished.
I can be in control and decide how far it goes. I can take what I want and move on like it never happened. I never even have to see him again after this. There's no pain, no consequences. It can be purely physical.
And if he has some ulterior motive? Well, I can deal with that later, by killing him and hiding his body where no one will ever think to look.
Right now, I just want him to kiss me.
It's reckless and stupid, but it's what I want.
He nips my skin again, his stubble scraping. "You want me, don't you?"
"No. Yes." A soft, frustrated whimper climbs up my throat. "Stop talking and kiss me, Briggs."
He tips my head back, his mouth crashing against mine. I moan against his lips, my fingers digging into his scalp. God. He doesn't kiss me. He annihilates me, licking into my mouth like he's been dying to taste me.
I kiss him back the same way, frantic in a way that's brand new, desperate in a way I've never felt. My blood turns to steam in my veins, my core clenching painfully.
His hands tighten on my hips, drawing me closer.
"Are you wet for me, Tia?"
"See for yourself," I gasp against his lips.
He kisses me again, deeper this time. And then, "No."
It takes a second for my brain to catch up.
"W-what?"
He steps back, releasing me. "I said no, Tia."
I gape at him, my heart thudding unevenly, my brain trying to process. Did he seriously just say no? After following me around, flirting, driving me crazy, he's just…saying no?
What the fuck?
He cups my cheek, his smile soft. There's something in his gaze, something intoxicatingly, terrifyingly earnest. "Told you that I wasn't trying to fuck you," he murmurs. "I'm not going to treat you like some wedding hookup, baby. That isn't what this is."
Baby.
"Get off me," I growl, visceral panic surging through me as soon as he calls me that. I push against his chest, fight or flight kicking in, my stomach churning the same way it always does whenever anyone calls me that. The fact that he's the one who just did it makes it even worse.
I was actually going to…
Another wave of panic courses through me, threatening to close my throat.
There's no way I'm giving him whatever it is that he's after here. No way in hell. I don't care how much he pretends this is something else, it's not.
I don't even know him!
He definitely doesn't know me or anything about me.
Except…he steps back, lifting his hands in the air like he isn't a threat, as if he senses the panic and doesn't want to scare me. But it's all bullshit. Briggs Ward might just be the biggest threat I've ever met.
I push past him, my heart thundering so loud, it's all I hear.
Until he speaks again.
"When you're ready for me, I'll be waiting."
"That'll never happen," I swear. "Never, ever."
"Yeah, it will." His soft, confident laugh chases me from the alcove.
I'm not entirely surprised to find him waiting for me when I step into the lobby of my hotel early the next morning. I come to a stop in the elevator, just staring at him for a long moment.
He's leaning up against a column, his t-shirt stretched over the broad wall of his chest, his eyes locked on his phone. He's far too gorgeous, especially at six in the morning.
Panic receded as soon as he was out of sight last night, but I still tossed and turned all night, ill at ease and turned on at the same time. I even fucking dreamed about him.
This is a problem.
He rejected me last night because…why?
I don't know. He's playing some game I'm not interested in playing with him.
I could write off a wedding hookup. People do it all the time, right?
They don't have to mean anything. But the stakes of whatever game he's playing feel a lot bigger, and that's not nearly the same as a one-time wedding hookup.
I made the mistake of trusting a guy like him once. Six years later, I'm still not sure I'm entirely healed from the scars he carved into me in front of all his teammates and dozens of my classmates. I won't do it again.
The elevator doors try to close on me.
I sigh, hauling my bag out into the lobby. Aside from Briggs and the desk attendant, the giant lobby is deserted, thank God. I do not need an audience for whatever is about to transpire.
I take a moment to compose myself before stomping toward him.
He waits until I'm standing a foot away to look up from his phone. It's not because he doesn't know I'm there. Oh no. I think he knew the moment I arrived in the elevator. But this is part of his game—making me come to him, making me wait for him. He probably gets off on it.
"Who do I have to kill for doxxing me?"
"Doxxing you?" His lips curve into a panty-melting smirk. "I wasn't aware that's what this was."
"Someone gave you my private info without my consent so you could harass me," I sniff. "What would you call it?"
"Protecting what matters."
How he manages to say that with a straight face, I'll never know, but I just snort, shaking my head. "Does this charming stalker routine usually work for you, Briggs? Because, I gotta say, I'm not into it."
"You think I'm charming?"
I stare at him in disbelief before an abrupt laugh spills out. "That's what you got from what I just said?"
"It was the important part," he says with a shrug. "The rest is irrelevant."
"You being a stalker is irrelevant?" My brows climb toward my hairline. "In no world is that the irrelevant part of that statement, Briggs."
"I'm not stalking you. Sophie asked me to make sure you made it to the airport safely."
So…I'm killing the bride the day after her wedding. Awesome.
"Is this all of your stuff?" he asks, taking my bag before I can even attempt to stop him. "You need anything else before we go?"
"I am not going to the airport with you."
"Why not?"
I gape at him, not sure if he actually hears himself or not. "Are you serious right now?"
"Yes." He eyes me levelly. "You need a ride. I can get you there faster than an Uber."
It's way too early in the morning for this…for him.
"You know what?" I throw up my hands. "Fine. But we aren't talking, Briggs. Not a word."
"Not even one?"
I stomp toward the doors when his lips twitch, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
Unsurprisingly, his truck is pulled up right outside. He somehow manages to beat me to it, pulling the passenger door open for me with a ridiculous flourish. I just shake my head and sigh before climbing in, prepared for the longest ride in history.
To my surprise, he doesn't try to talk to me.
Instead, he turns the music up, humming along.
I spend most of the trip casting furtive glances at him as he drums along to the beat.
He's annoyingly chipper, like this is just another day.
Like he didn't reject me last night and then basically tell me that he's after more than a wedding hookup.
As if I didn't lose six whole hours of sleep because of him.
And I have no idea what to make of that. I'm still trying to figure it out when we make it to the airport, and he finally speaks.
"What terminal?"
"Delta."
He nods, getting in line behind a behemoth of an SUV.
We're almost to the front of the line when I feel compelled to speak again. "Last night was a mistake," I mutter. "It won't happen again."
"Whatever you say, beautiful," he says, far too agreeable.
I narrow my eyes at him, but he's focused straight ahead…smiling. What the fuck?
I don't think I even want to know. I knew goalies were strange, but this one is a whole different breed.
As soon as he pulls to a stop at the curb, I practically launch myself out of the truck. Does that stop him from putting it in park and hopping out? Hell no.
Somehow, he's beside me in three seconds, grabbing my bag before I can haul it out of the back. He holds onto it for a long moment while I try to tug it out of his hands. Yet again, he's so close I smell him over the standard jet-fuel and exhaust scent of virtually every airport in existence.
"You dreamed about me last night, didn't you?"
"Give me my bag, Briggs," I growl between gritted teeth.
"I dreamed about you," he murmurs. "All fucking night, actually." Before I can even react to that, he yanks gently on the bag, sending me toppling into him. His lips land against my ear. "Best fucking dreams of my life, Tia."
I whimper, actually fucking whimper right there on the sidewalk.
His body vibrates with laughter before his lips brush my cheek. "Have a safe flight. I'll see you soon, beautiful."
My only saving grace is the fact that he's wrong. He won't see me soon. He'll be here in Chicago, and I'll be safely at home in Minneapolis. If I have my way, he won't see me ever again.
That thought doesn't sting at all.