Chapter 17
seventeen
. . .
Ceci
What.
The.
Fuck.
I don’t know what to think. What do I do? What do I say?
Aidan—Wish—gulps. “I’m sorry.”
“How long have you known?” My voice comes out scarcely above a whisper, and I lick my now-dry lips. Is this just a game to him?
“I put it together yesterday when I saw you here.” His ruddy cheeks flush a pretty pink, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I never meant to hurt you. I’m incredibly sorry that I did.”
“Why?” It’s the only thing running through my head. Why didn’t he show up?
“I got cold feet. You know how many people would love to say they’re friends with a celebrity?” He scoffs. “Not that I’m a celebrity. Being a hockey player, I’m subject to a fair bit of scrutiny. I couldn’t take the risk of you selling my secrets to the press.”
I roll my eyes. “Please.”
“It’s a valid fear. Look at what happened to Schwartz.”
The memory of a player getting into hot water last season floats through my mind. His ex-girlfriend spilled some pretty intimate secrets to the press, and it fucked with both him and the team’s performance.
“I’d never do that.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Aidan says, his voice pained. “I chickened out.”
My hands on my hips, I glare at him. “I have just as much to risk as you do.”
He gulps. “I know that now.”
“So what do we do now?”
He looks down, then thrusts a paper gift bag toward me. “This is for you.”
Cautiously, I open the bag, half expecting something to leap out. I’m still not convinced this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank. That someone isn’t going to jump out of the corner with a camera and yell Gotcha! I even check over my shoulder, but there’s nobody there. Just me and Aidan.
Wish.
Inside the bag is a pound of chocolates from one of the fanciest, bougiest chocolatiers in town. The box is filled to the brim with their specialty, a dark chocolate, coffee, and sea-salt caramel truffle that’s almost as good as an orgasm.
I’d mentioned once that it was my favorite. Damn, it must have been two years ago. Maybe three.
And he remembered.
I stare at him, trying to reconcile the man I know online with the one standing before me. I’ve only met Aidan twice—once at a foundation gala and then again yesterday. And it’s not like we talked. He muttered to Bex and then got the fuck out of here.
Did he know then? Was he putting the pieces together?
Drinking him in, I catalog the details as if I’m seeing him for the first time.
He’s tall and muscular—duh, he’s a hockey player.
His shock of red hair is cut in a trendy style and out of his face, and his short beard highlights the squareness of his jaw.
Whereas last time he was here in sweats and a T-shirt, today he’s wearing dark jeans and a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose corded forearms.
He’s staring at me, expectant, waiting for me to react.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.
“Go to lunch with me,” he says.
My breath catches.
“Let me have a do-over. Please. We’ll go down to the bistro, you’ll have your harvest bowl salad, and I’ll do my damn best to make it up to you.”
“I’ve got a lot to do…”
To my surprise, he smiles, his cornflower-blue eyes sparkling. “We both know you’re going to be up working until three o’clock in the morning.”
“Okay, you don’t have to call me out like that,” I joke.
He snickers. “You know I do. It’s basically my job, Annie.”
“Ceci,” I correct.
But he shakes his head. “You’re Annie to me.”
My mouth dries out. “I don’t know how we do this.”
He extends his hand to me. “The same way we wanted to do this the other night. Except this time, I won’t chicken out.”
“You’re not freaking out?”
“Nope. Not with you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why me?”
“Because I trust you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I don’t know Ceci,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue so perfectly. “I know Annie. And that means I know you.”
I swallow my fears. “All right. I guess we can have lunch.”
Aidan grins as I round my desk and disconnect my laptop from the dock. It takes no time at all to pack up my backpack, shrug on my coat, and grab the bag of chocolates. I can leave the flowers here overnight, but—actually, wait, no. That will only invite questions from Bex.
“Can you carry those for me?” I ask him.
He nods. “Don’t want Dr. Whitney to give you shit?”
“She’s impossible.”
His laugh warms me to my very core. “You love her.”
I smile, thinking of my friend and colleague. “I really, really do.”
“Did you drive here, or did you take a rideshare?”
He remembered I hate driving and regularly call a car rather than take public transportation. He really does know me.
“I didn’t drive.”
“Excellent. You’ll ride with me, then.”
He jerks his head, and I follow him out of the office, locking up. His footsteps echo as he strides through the halls of the practice facility with purpose. This is his domain. As captain, he’s king of the castle.
We don’t encounter anyone in the halls, which is good. I don’t know how I’d explain his carrying this enormous bouquet beside me.
His car is a sleek midnight-blue luxury SUV. He opens the passenger door for me, then ducks into the back seat and settles the flowers in the middle with the seat belt pulled across the vase.
The interior of the SUV is thick with the scent of cedar and citrus. A lemon air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror. A metal water bottle sits in the cupholder, and I spy a disabled-parking placard in the side pocket, but aside from that, the car is spotless. Devoid of personality.
Wish—Aidan—slides behind the wheel. “You’re okay?” he asks me. “Not freaking out?”
“Only a little bit,” I confess.
“Not a lot bit?” He smiles, his tongue trapped between his teeth, and I giggle, releasing some of the pent-up tension coiled tight inside me.
“Nope.”
“Good.” His blue eyes sweep over my face again, frank appreciation on his features, before he clears his throat and reaches for his seat belt.
He’s a safe driver, taking care to check his mirrors and stop all the way at every sign. His hands are exactly at ten and two. And when he brakes at a red light, every fucking time, he glances at me, as if he can’t believe I’m sitting in his passenger seat.
Me either.
We reach the bistro, and miraculously, there’s a parking space front and center.
I huddle into my coat as the icy January wind hits me.
There’s still snow on the ground from a storm a few days ago, dirty and gross, and when I stumble on a slippery patch of ice, his hand darts to my elbow to steady me.
My arm tingles where he’s touching me, even through my coat and his gloves.
Aidan opens the door for me, and I’m greeted by a gush of hot air. My face heats, and I pull at the knot in my scarf, trying to get some breathing room.
My favorite waiter bustles over to us. “Ms. Ramos. Hello. Dining in today?”
“Yes, please. Two.”
We’re halfway between lunch and dinner, so the pub is fairly empty.
“Would you like your usual table?”
“Thanks, Jamie.” I muster a half smile, my cheeks flaming. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed. Wish knows I’m here all the time.
What he doesn’t know is how much I work here. How I camp out, taking advantage of their kindness. The staff have never complained about me, at least where I can hear, mainly because of how well I tip them. They aren’t my friends, no matter how much time I spend here. I have to remember that.
I slide into the booth side of my favorite table, and Aidan takes the chair across from me, sitting diagonally so we’re not in each other’s space.
I’ve never understood couples—or anyone else—who share the same side of a booth when they don’t have to.
I like my personal space bubble, thank you very much.
Jamie bounds over to us with two glasses of water, a customer service smile on their face. “Would you like your usual, ma’am?”
I glance at Aidan, suddenly embarrassed.
“Yes, she would,” he says with authority. “I’ll have the same.”
“You don’t know my order,” I protest weakly.
He cuts his eyes to me, one eyebrow cocked. “Don’t I?”
“Okay, fine.”
“We’ll get that out for you right away,” Jamie promises.
“I had the salad the other day,” he continues once we’re alone again. “I was here for lunch the day of our meetup. And, um… I think you were here too.”
“This place is like my second office. I didn’t see you, though. Sorry.” I offer a weak smile. I was too wrapped up in my nerves and insecurities to pay much attention to anyone else.
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t know me from Adam.”
“I mean, I can call you Adam if you’d like.”
He grins, which makes me grin too. “No, thanks. I’d like you to call me Aidan. Or Wish. It’s up to you.”
“It’s going to take some time getting used to it,” I admit.
But Aidan just keeps smiling at me. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”