Chapter Six
Briggs
I'm not sure what I expect from Tia at dinner, but I'm pleasantly surprised when I arrive at Mina's to find her tucked into a corner booth, nursing a glass of wine and looking calmer than she was in her office today.
Candlelight reflects off the gold teardrop earrings in her ears, casting little halos on each side of her head. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, her gray eyes dark in the candlelight. The top of her dress hugs her curvy body, making my dick throb like a motherfucker.
Other diners are engrossed in their own meals and conversations, not paying any attention as I approach Tia. Soft strains of music float from speakers hidden near the domed ceiling, but it's not loud enough to be distracting. The entire place smells like cooking meat and rich spices.
Tia tilts her head back, her eyes darkening when she spots me.
She can't hide the way she startles slightly.
It's not like she's afraid of me or nervous, but more like she doesn't know what to make of me.
She can't hide the attraction in her gaze though.
Even if she doesn't want to like me, she does.
"Hey, beautiful," I murmur, leaning down to brush my lips across her cheek. To my surprise, she doesn't lean away. She just makes this soft sound that goes straight to my cock.
I pull away before I do something to embarrass her, sliding into the booth across from her.
"You look beautiful," I murmur, meaning it.
She stares at me like she's trying to decide if I mean it or if it's just a line, a hint of vulnerability in her gaze that makes my stomach ache.
I don't like it. And I really don't fucking like knowing that something—or someone—put that hint of vulnerability there.
Whoever it was has her guard up so high that she doesn't even trust herself.
Until she learns to trust herself, she'll never learn to trust me.
I need to find out what happened so I can start repairing the damage.
She needs to know that I'm not whoever hurt her.
I'm not the asshole she thinks I am. And the last thing I want to do is be the reason she walks around with brand-new, painful scars.
I'm simply the motherfucker who can't stop thinking about her, even when I know damn well that I should.
Even when I know that I'm crossing into obsessive territory here.
None of this shit is normal, I'm aware of that.
But she isn't normal, either. If she were, I wouldn't be here right now.
She's vital, necessary. I can't fucking explain that. All I can do is feel it.
"Thank you," she finally murmurs, dipping her head slightly. "I wasn't sure how long it'd take you to get here, so I ordered you a beer." She nods at the bottle on the table. "It's what you were drinking at the wedding, right?"
"You remembered," I say, grinning.
"Did not," she lies. "I asked your brother."
"Uh-huh. You called him up to ask him what beer I drink?"
She fidgets in the booth before grumbling wordlessly at being caught in a lie. "Okay, fine. Maybe I remembered. Happy now?"
"Thrilled, baby." I lift the bottle, taking a sip.
She squeezes her eyes closed, taking a deep breath. "Could you please stop calling me that?"
"Why?"
"I don't like it."
"Why not?" I ask, genuinely curious if it's simply because she doesn't like how intimate it feels or if there's some other reason.
She's hard to read sometimes. But if it's simply because it feels too intimate, I probably won't stop.
I want her to get used to intimacy with me—not just sex, but the other shit, the little parts of it no one ever thinks about, like pet names and soft touches and shared secrets.
If it genuinely makes her uncomfortable, though? Yeah, I need to handle that. I don't want her looking at me and seeing someone else. Fuck that noise.
I don't care who there was before me. They don't matter. If they did, she'd be with them. Instead, she's here with me because whoever was in her past didn't take care of her properly. They didn't deserve her. I plan to be the motherfucker who does.
"Maybe because you don't know me, Briggs," she says quietly, her eyes locked with mine. "And maybe because the last hockey player who called me that was an asshole."
My hand clenches around the bottle as she confirms what I'd already guessed. Still, I'm curious. Who was dumb enough to get close to her and then fuck it all up? "Who was he?"
"No one important."
"Tell me."
"Daniel Jordan."
I know the name, and I don't love hearing it now. From what little I know about him, the guy is a prick. He's not nearly good enough to play in our league, but he thinks he's hot shit.
"Minor league, center?" I confirm.
She nods, avoiding my gaze.
"You dated?"
"Yes." She swallows. "It didn't last."
I open my mouth to ask what happened, but a waitress steps up beside the table, silencing me. I pause long enough to glance at the menu, picking the first thing I see.
Tia already knows what she wants, so the whole interaction is finished in under sixty seconds before our waitress is off again.
"What happened?" I ask Tia as soon as we're alone again.
"It doesn't matter."
I reach across the table, placing my hand over hers. "It matters, Tia," I say softly.
She stares at me for a second, her expression startled, and then she sighs.
"We dated for a few months at the beginning of my freshman year of college.
He said and did all the right things, convinced me that he was this great guy who was really into me.
Turns out, it was all an act, and I was just a bet," she says, avoiding my gaze.
"A bet?"
"The whole team wanted to see who could sleep with Kingston's little sister first," she whispers.
"Jesus Christ. Did he—?"
"No." She quickly shakes her head. "He didn't try to force me. I, um, I was young and dumb to give him my virginity all on my own. I thought I was ready. I thought I could trust him." She makes this sound that's painful to hear. "Turns out, I was wrong."
"What'd he do?" I growl, my heart pounding.
"The morning after…" Her bottom lip trembles before she grabs her wine glass and takes a quick drink to hide it.
"I had to stand in the middle of the courtyard with dozens of people watching while he told his whole team that they all owed him cash for fucking me first. He told everyone that it was all pretend, that he just wanted to win their stupid fucking bet.
He even told them that I was a…" She swallows hard, her voice dropping, shame in her gaze.
"It's all anyone talked about for the rest of the year. "
"That little motherfucker," I whisper, my blood boiling. Who the fuck does he think he is? And who the fuck were his teammates? I'll hunt down every single one of the bastards. "I'll kill him."
She glances up at me, shadows of shame lingering in her eyes, as if she's the one who did something wrong. She isn't, though. God, no.
"Why?" she asks, like she genuinely can't fathom why I care.
"Because you didn't deserve that, Tia," I say honestly.
"No woman does. What you do with your body, who you give yourself to, and when is your choice to make.
You deserve the right to make that choice with full transparency.
He took that right away from you when he decided to lie and manipulate and use you.
" I shake my head, disgusted on her behalf.
He exploited and humiliated her, and he did it publicly. "You were what? Eighteen? Nineteen?"
"Eighteen," she whispers.
My god, she was still just a teenager. And the most fucked-up thing? There's an entire world of women out there just like her, women who gave themselves to someone they trusted for the first time, only to get trauma in return.
"You deserved something perfect, not a lifetime of regretting one of the first adult decisions you made," I murmur.
"You gave him a gift, and he ruined it. He's the one who fucked up, and that should be his burden to carry, not yours.
Any man who treats a woman like that doesn't deserve to touch another woman again.
He deserves to be put down like the rabid dog he is. "
And any man who turns sleeping with a woman into a fucking bet with his buddies deserves jail. No wonder no one has anything good to say about Jordan. He's a fucking prick. God, I'd love five minutes alone with him. Bet he wouldn't think he was such a hot-shot with my fist in his face.
Tia's lips quirk slightly, her expression softening. "Trust me, he isn't worth killing," she says. "He isn't even worth talking about. But I still cringe internally every time someone calls me baby."
"I won't call you that ever again," I promise, meaning it. I need her to see me when I speak to her, not him. As far as I'm concerned, she never needs to think about him again.
"Thank you." She takes another sip, her gaze bouncing between me and the table, like she isn't quite sure where to look now that she's told me her story.
"That's why you don't like hockey players?"
"I never said I didn't like them. I just don't date them."
Can't say I blame her, not after some shit like that. Goddamn, I want to put my fist through Daniel Jordan's smug face, just rip him to pieces.
Guys like him are precisely what's wrong with the world, and far too many of them are rewarded for being pricks instead of being treated like the garbage they are.
They get drafted, become bigshot CEOs, or politicians.
And women like Tia, the ones they preyed on, have to sit there and watch them succeed. It's fucked up.
Neither of us speaks when our waitress appears with our plates, setting them in front of us. Tia's stomach growls, and she laughs nervously, blushing.
"Hungry?" I ask.
She nods.
"If you need anything else, let me know," our waitress murmurs.
We both thank her before she hurries away, leaving us alone again. Tia doesn't waste any time unrolling her silverware to taste her food. Her eyes light up before she digs in.