Chapter 9 Alessia #2
His gaze drops to my mouth before lifting back to my eyes, slower this time.
Softer. Heat curls low in my stomach because of the way he’s looking at me.
When was the last time a man looked at me like this?
Never. I wonder, briefly, if he’d look again if I did it on purpose.
If I dragged my tongue over my bottom lip just to see what happens.
I stop myself before I end up looking like I’ve wandered in from the Sahara with terminally chapped lips and a hydration problem.
“Some believe Valentine’s Day replaced an old mid-February fertility festival that was wildly inappropriate and ended with women being paired off to men in a lottery.”
“Ah,” he says, leaning back with a slow grin. “I can see why you’d hate the holiday, then.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s completely misogynistic.”
“I agree.”
My eyes narrow as I study him. Why does he keep agreeing with me? Does he really agree, or is he just trying to appease me so that I stop talking?
“My brother-in-law Boone throws an annual charity event here at Brookhaven Brews to raise money for the women’s shelter.
Last year, he auctioned off a couple dates with his old hockey teammates.
Raised over a hundred thousand dollars for the shelter and they were able to completely redo their heating and cooling system plus put on a new roof.
Would have been inappropriate if they hadn’t consented to it. ”
“W-what? Your brother-in-law is the Boone Tremblay from the Manhattan Mayhem?”
“Well, he’s retired from the team now, and it’s sort of an extended brother-in-law situation. But yes. He married my sister’s sister-in-law. He lives here in Brookhaven now but don’t go around telling people that. He appreciates his privacy.”
I have no idea what to do with this new nugget of information. I was never big into hockey growing up, but everyone knows the Tremblay brothers. Three Canadian-born phenoms who basically said screw tradition and built their careers playing for U.S. teams instead.
They’ve become the backbone of American hockey. Which is ironic, considering Canada has still dominated the Olympics for the past eight years straight because of them.
“Well, that’s… surprising.”
He takes a sip of his drink and shrugs one shoulder like it’s not a big deal that Boone freaking Tremblay is family and probably lives a few doors down from me around the lake. Now I need to find out which one is his home.
“Well, beyond that,” I continue, trying to get my thoughts back on track, “this time of year is just cold. Dark and miserable.”
He shrugs. “I can see your point. That’s why it’s good to stay busy. Distract yourself from all the darkness before the spring can arrive.”
“I… yeah. I mean, I guess so.”
“You’ve gotta find things to keep your mind occupied and distracted so you don’t focus on the negative. What do you like to do in your free time?”
You. I think I’d like to do you in my free time.
Is what I want to say. Of course I’d never say that, but that’s all that my mind can think of right now.
And I swear on everything, if this wasn’t the guy that I thought was Roman, and if I didn’t start this date out so rudely, I think maybe Gabriel would want to do me too.
But here I am, reminding myself that this was supposed to be a casual dick-down appointment, not…
whatever this is. There’s no way I’m winning this date at all.
The sexual attraction is there, but I can’t get a read on him.
I can’t figure out if he’s playing me by agreeing with every point I’ve made, annoyed with me, or just a genuinely good guy.
He’s so... nice. Not openly flirting, just being, nice.
I’m certain that my defensiveness and scowling isn't helping my case.
“Sorry to interrupt. Are you two finished?” our server asks as she returns to the table. She’s a woman I’ve worked with once or twice before—super nice—but for the life of me, I can’t remember her name, and she isn’t wearing a name tag tonight either.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, handing over my mostly empty plate. Gabriel slides his completely clean bowl toward her with a smile, then hands her his credit card without missing a beat or making a comment about how this date didn’t go the way he or I wanted.
“You didn’t have to pay for dinner,” I say, frowning when she walks away. “I’m sure this night wasn’t what you expected.”
He just smiles, says nothing, not disagreeing or agreeing, and I have absolutely no idea what the hell to make of that.
When the server returns with his card, he thanks her, scribbles what looks like a ridiculously generous tip—trying to hide it from me like I’m not paying attention to everything that he does—and then stands. I follow his lead.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he says.
“Ah,” I tug at my dress awkwardly. “I actually walked here.”
“Oh.” His eyes sweep over my outfit. Hardly winter walking attire. “Let me walk you home then.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I know that” he says, his tone calm. “But I’d like to, Alessia.”
I hesitate, my thoughts tripping over each other. What am I supposed to say to that?
He knows I live with his cousin. It wouldn’t exactly take detective-level skills to track me down and set the place on fire.
Not that he would. For one, his cousin would murder him.
And for two… he doesn’t actually seem angry.
If anything, he seems calm. Maybe even amused.
He definitely doesn’t look disappointed about how the date went.
Yet all the scary thoughts I try to keep at bay rush to the forefront, the anger I’ve spent years directing at every man was aimed straight at him when I walked in—this guy who, honestly, has given me zero reason to think poorly of him.
I want to pull it together, I really do, but for some reason I can’t.
The whole point of this date was to get the first quick fuck out of the way so that I could put myself back out there.
Launch myself back into the treacherous waters of a dating pool I’m not sure even wants to include me anymore.
I want to stop being so defensive all the time, but I can’t stop my spiraling thoughts and I’m not ready.
So instead, I let myself be a bitch one last time because, I’m certain I won’t run into Gabriel again and I’m sure he’s already made up his mind about me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, a little too sharply. “I’m just not comfortable with you doing that.”
His brows pull together as he stares down at me.
He’s so tall, towering over me now that we’re outside the restaurant standing in the chilly, evening air.
It makes me feel small. But not in a bad way, just in a way that brings awareness to our size difference and how large and gentle his personality really is.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because” I huff, exhaling deeply as I try to push down the discomfort climbing up my throat. “I don’t know you.”
He doesn’t move. Just keeps looking at me like he’s trying to figure me out. Then, with a shake of his head and a low chuckle, he finally steps away from me, putting enough distance between us to solidify his point.
“Okay, I get it. I’ll leave you alone.”
And that’s it. He doesn’t press. Doesn’t argue with me anymore. Just turns and strides off like it’s no big deal and the entire night didn’t happen.
I watch as his big legs eat up the space toward a sleek, all-chrome motorcycle parked across the lot.
Of course he drives a motorcycle. It’s like he’s ripped straight from the pages of a romance novel written by women.
Probably part of an MC gang that gives back to the community, or, hell, maybe he’s the president.
I’ll need to ask Natasha about that later.
He doesn’t glance back as he throttles the gas, throws a leg over the beast that somehow doesn’t make him look any smaller, then slips on a matching, chrome helmet. But before the visor comes down, I see it—a smile and a wink.
“See you around, Alessia,” he calls out, his voice carrying over the quiet of the tiny parking lot.
And just like that, he’s gone, speeding off into the night like a storm leaving no trace behind and making me feel even emptier than I felt before.