Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
NOT ME
LOLA
Tully leans across the center console at a stoplight and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and my entire nervous system zings.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Just trust me,” he says, eyes bright with mischief.
“Hmm. I can’t,” I say, which is a lie.
I trust him in a way that feels reckless and exhilarating.
This is new for me, and I don’t quite know how to feel about it yet, but I’m living on the dangerous side and embracing the unknown.
This is our fourth date, and Tully is breaking all the rules I’d set for myself during college.
The first and foremost one being: DO NOT GET A BOYFRIEND.
It’s not like we’re official or anything, but…he’s all I think about.
I haven’t stopped smiling since we met, and I’m choosing to believe that’s a good sign.
He grins. “I don’t believe you.”
We pull into a nearly empty parking lot lit by soft amber lamps. Ahead of us, the glass facade of the conservatory glows like a lantern in the night.
“What is this? It’s beautiful.”
“Como Park Zoo and Conservatory,” he says.
I turn toward him. “They’re not closed at night?”
“Usually, but not tonight,” he says, triumphantly producing two tickets from his jacket pocket.
“A light show,” I whisper, taking a ticket.
Our fingers brush. That small contact sends a current up my arm, and I shiver. He notices, and his smile softens.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, because I am always ready for whatever he suggests, which is also very much not like me. I point at his tote.
“Whatcha carrying?”
“A surprise.” He grins.
“Goodness. So full of secrets tonight.”
“I like to keep you guessing.”
I press my lips together, feeling the mad urge to laugh. He makes me giddy.
Inside, the air is warm and humid, fragrant with damp earth and citrus blossoms. The conservatory is dim except for hundreds of tiny lights woven through branches and vines, glowing like captured stars.
“This is magical.” I turn, taking it all in.
“I thought you might like it.” His eyes crinkle at the sides. I love the way his whole face smiles.
“You brought me to a glowing indoor jungle at night,” I say. “You might be perfect.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “So glad you stuck around long enough to figure that out. Just don’t spread that news around. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I grin. From the way the girls notice Tully everywhere we go, I don’t think I have to say anything about him for people to see how perfect he is. He’s not only hot and funny, he’s good without being boring. Kind without being a doormat. Suggestive without being obnoxious.
And I’ve never felt the way I do when he kisses me. Even when he holds my hand, I get butterflies. I don’t do butterflies, okay? At least not until Tully. I didn’t think my body was capable of falling under any man’s spell, but Tully is different.
Everything I’ve learned about him so far only points to the fact that he is exceptional.
We wander through paths lined with orchids and towering palms. Colored lights shift slowly from lavender to gold to deep ocean blue. Somewhere, water trickles over stone. Tully pauses beside a cluster of luminous glass sculptures shaped like oversized flowers.
“Pick which one feels like you,” he says.
I study them. One is sharp and flame-like. Another curls inward like secrets. I point to one shaped like a bell, glowing brightly from within.
“That one.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Warm. With the best curves.” He grins. “Gentle. But if you look closely, it’s stronger than it seems.”
“You got all that from a glass flower?”
“I get all that from you.”
I look away before he can see how that lands. “I thought you’d pick that one for me.” I point to the sharp, flame-like sculpture. “All sharp edges.”
“That’s not how I see you.”
I swallow hard. “Your turn.”
He chooses immediately: a twisting cobalt bloom, edges catching the light like electricity.
“Bold,” I say.
He shrugs. “Loud.”
“Radiant,” I counter.
His gaze meets mine, and something quiet but intense hums between us. We don’t move for a few seconds. A child laughs somewhere across the conservatory, breaking the spell.
We keep walking.
In the tropical wing, condensation beads along the glass ceiling. The path narrows. Our shoulders brush with every step. He reaches for my hand, and my fingers lace through his. His thumb traces slow circles against my skin. I try to remember how to breathe.
We stop beneath a massive banana leaf arching overhead. Colored lights ripple across its surface. I lean my head lightly against his shoulder. He exhales and presses his cheek to my hair.
Later, we find a small bench near a koi pond. The fish glide beneath the surface like drifting embers. Tully pulls a paper bag from his tote and looks around like he’s not sure he’s supposed to have it inside.
I open it to see two still-warm hand pies from the bakery down the street. The bite I take is sweet and buttery and perfect.
A smear of filling lands on my thumb. I laugh.
“Hold on,” he murmurs.
He takes my thumb and wraps his lips around it, licking it clean. I take a sharp intake of breath, and my heart jackhammers. His touch lingers, neither of us letting go.
I tilt my face up toward his. We’re inches apart now. His eyes drop to my mouth, and the air shifts.
“Lola,” he whispers.
I close the distance. His mouth is warm and soft and so good. I slide my hand up into the back of his hair, and he makes a quiet sound that sends sparks down my spine. The kiss deepens, charged now, a slow unraveling. One hand clasps the curve of my jaw, and the other rests against my neck.
When we pull apart, we stay close, foreheads touching.
“Wow,” he breathes. “Every time we kiss, I think, ‘It can’t get any better than that’…and then it does.”
“You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“No. Never,” he says, grinning. “You’re the dangerous one.”
Laughter floats around us, and we both turn like we’re coming out of a fog.
“Hi, Tully!” one of the girls says.
“Hi, Tully,” the other two girls echo.
None of them act like they see me there, despite Tully’s hands still being on me.
“Could you sign my jersey?” The first girl pulls a Minnesota Golden Gophers jersey out and holds it up for Tully to see his name on it.
“Uh, I’m kind of in the middle of a date here,” he says, giving me an apologetic look.
She sticks her lips out in a pout. “It won’t take long. Please?” She puts her hands together, begging.
Tully sighs, but it doesn’t deter the trio. The other two pull out their Whitman jerseys too, along with a Sharpie, and they hold them out for Tully to sign.
“Sorry,” he says to me.
“She doesn’t mind, do you?” the ringleader says, giving me a snarky smile. “You’re a superstar,” she says to Tully. “Comes with the territory, right?”
She doesn’t bother to hide the fact that she slips a paper in his hand.
He looks at it and tries to hand it back, but she steps away.
He sets it next to him and signs the next jersey.
They linger for a few minutes when he’s done, and he answers their questions with one-word answers.
He’s putting out all the signals that he’s not enjoying this without being outright rude.
When they finally walk away, he turns and faces me.
“I am so sorry about that.”
“They were a bit pushy.” My eyes go wide. “Do you think they followed us here?”
He makes a face. “Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if they did. I didn’t want to be a jackass, but they were making it difficult.”
We both laugh, soft and stunned.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.
Outside, the night air feels cool after the warmth of the conservatory. The parking lot is nearly empty now. I’m happy to not see the girls lingering nearby.
I lean against the car, and his hand finds my waist.
“It’s been an amazing night.”
“The girls didn’t ruin it?”
My nose crinkles. “It wasn’t my favorite part of the night, but no, they didn’t ruin it.”
His thumb traces my cheek. “I’m glad. I’m not ready for the night to end.”
I look up at him. “It doesn’t have to.”
The question hangs there, fragile and electric.
“Come over?” he asks.
Every nerve in my body hums. We haven’t crossed that line yet. We’ve circled it and pretended we weren’t inching closer every time we touched. But tonight I don’t want to be careful. When we’re together, an us feels inevitable and a little bit sacred.
“Yes,” I say softly.
He gives me that heart-stopping smile.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide inside. As he rounds the hood of the car, he glances at me through the windshield like he can’t quite believe I’m real.
I feel the same way about him.
When he gets in, our hands find each other again before the engine even starts.
A chorus of wolf whistles hits us when we walk inside Tully’s house.
“Look who finally brought a girl home!” A guy’s voice booms from the living room, where he’s sprawled on the massive sectional with a beer in hand and a grin that promises trouble.
Two other guys are lounging nearby, controllers in their laps, a game paused on the giant TV. The house smells like pizza and whatever cologne hockey players—or college guys, in general—think counts as subtle.
Tully’s arm tightens around my waist. “Ignore him,” he mutters, but there’s a flush creeping up his neck.
“Impossible,” the same guy calls, sitting up straighter. “Lola, right? The one who’s got our boy walking around with hearts in his eyes. Welcome to the hockey house. I’m Dax. Watch out. We’re wild around here.”
One of the other guys snorts. “Speak for yourself.”
And the other just raises his beer in a mock toast. “Use protection, kids. We don’t need mini-Tullys running around.”
My face burns, but Tully just flips them off over his shoulder and steers me toward the stairs. “You guys are assholes,” he says.
Dax laughs. “We love you too, man. Have fun!”
We climb the steps quickly, their laughter fading behind us.
My heart hammers—not just from the teasing, but from the way Tully’s thumb keeps brushing slow circles against my hip.
The hallway upstairs is quieter, lined with closed doors and the faint hum of a furnace.
He pushes open the second door on the left and flicks on the light.
The room is bigger than I expected—and extremely lived in, messy even.
Dark bedding, a desk cluttered with protein shake mix and hockey tape, posters of old rinks, and one framed team photo.
It smells like him: clean soap, cedar, and a hint of something else.
He says the smell of the ice rink never quite washes off, so maybe it’s that, but I like the smell.
He closes the door, and it’s silent, just us.
He turns to me, and the teasing glint in his eyes is gone. Replaced by something raw, hungry, careful. He steps closer, slow, like he’s giving me time to change my mind.
I don’t. I want this. I want him.
I reach for him first. My fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him down. Our mouths meet, and it’s different from the kisses by the car—deeper, slower, like we can finally take our time.
His hands slide under my sweater, his warm palms against my skin, tracing my spine. I shiver and arch into him. He groans against my lips, low and rough, and it sends heat pooling low in my belly.
We stumble toward the bed. Clothes come off in pieces—his shirt first, then mine. My bra. His jeans. Mine. Every new inch of skin feels electric. I trace the lines of his chest, the faint scars from old hits, the way his abs tighten when I drag my nails lightly down them.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, looking at my body with reverence.
I slide my panties down my legs and smile when I hear his gasp.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “So beautiful.”
His tongue lines one of my tattoos, and I feel it everywhere.
I tug his briefs down, and my mouth waters when his cock bobs out, slapping against his stomach.
Long and thick and so ready for me. I bite my bottom lip, wanting to taste him, but he moves toward me, backing me up until my knees hit the back of his bed.
Then he lifts me and lays me on top of his comforter. He hovers over me, his eyes intense.
“You sure?” he rasps.
“Yes.” I pull him down. “Please.”
He kisses me again—slow, drugging—while his hand slips between us.
I gasp, hips lifting when he touches me the first time.
His lips lift as he watches me intently.
His fingers tease, circle, press. He’s patient, his eyes moving from my face to my core like he’s memorizing every reaction.
When I whimper his name, he leans in and smiles against my throat.
Then he shifts, reaching for the nightstand drawer.
The crinkle of the foil packet is loud in the quiet room.
He rolls a condom on, his eyes never leaving mine.
When he settles between my thighs, the blunt pressure of him at my entrance makes me tense for a second—nerves, anticipation, and desire all crashing together.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
I do.
He pushes in slowly. It’s a stretch, a burn that melts into something else entirely—overwhelming and divine. My nails dig into his shoulders. He stills when he’s all the way in, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.
“You okay?” His voice is strained.
I nod and rock my hips. Pleasure sparks up my spine. “Move.”
He does. At first, long, deliberate strokes that make me see stars, and then faster, deeper. The bed creaks under us. Our breaths mingle, ragged. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing tight. The other slips between us again, his thumb circling exactly where I need it.
“Oh, Trouble. Trouble, Trouble, Trouble. I want to do this all night. You feel so good,” he says.
“You too, Captain. Let’s do this forever.”
It’s too much and exactly enough. Heat builds, coils tight. I arch and gasp his name like a prayer. He buries his face in my neck, his thrusts turning erratic.
“Come with me,” he rasps, lifting up to look at me again.
I stare at him for as long as I can as I fall apart. And then the world whites out—pleasure crashing through me in waves so intense I cry out. He follows seconds later, a broken groan against my skin.
We stay like that for a few frozen moments, breathing hard. His weight is grounding, perfect. Then he lifts his head and kisses me.
“That was…” He trails off, searching my face.
“Out of this world,” I finish for him, smiling.
He laughs quietly and rolls us so I’m tucked against his chest. His heartbeat thunders under my ear.
“Yeah, it was,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. “Did you mean it about doing that forever? Because I am so in.”
He takes care of the condom, tying it off and throwing it in the trash near his bed.
I close my eyes and stretch, a huge smile breaking out across my face. “Might’ve been the heat of the moment when I said that,” I tease.
He tickles my side, and I yelp, laughing and trying to tickle him back. He lifts me over his shoulder and carries me to the shower, where he washes me and then quickly undoes all his work, licking me until I’m gasping his name.