Chapter 1 #2
He’s even broader up close. All solid muscle and quiet intensity, like someone carved him out of granite and then gave him bedroom eyes for kicks. His Ice Wolves logo jacket hangs open, shoulders filling it, and I’m painfully aware that I’m staring at his chest.
It’s so, so good…
“Uh,” I say.
He waits.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, brows furrowed with concern. “Do you think smashing into me gave you a concussion?”
I lower my lashes and blush. “Your body isn’t that hard.”
His lips tilt into a smile as he studies me again, as if he’s trying to place me. I can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, the “Have we met?” hovering on his tongue.
But instead of asking, he exhales. “Sorry. Long night. I’m a little out of it.”
“Hmm,” I hum. “Bad night or just long?”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“Which one?”
“Both?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I walked out on my date because he was degrading me and my new job.”
In my pocket, my phone vibrates like it’s possessed, over and over. No doubt it’s Blaire, frantically checking in on me to make sure I’m not dead or kidnapped, or worse.
I ignore it.
Aaron Bishop looks down at me, thick brows raised. “You walked out on a date?”
My chin notches up proudly. “I did. And I’m proud of myself and want to celebrate.”
His mouth quirks, but instead of being impressed with me and saying so, he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “You heading somewhere else, or…?”
I glance up and down the city street. “I was on my way home, but…”
Aaron tilts his head. “But?”
“I’m not quite ready yet.”
He glances behind me at the bar, then down the tiny block. “Want to grab a quick drink or something? I’m not quite ready to go home, either.”
And here it is, my chance.
The one my best friend and I have joked about. The one I never thought would ever happen, Blaire’s voice echoing in my head. If you ever get Aaron Bishop alone, or get the chance to bang him, take it. Do it for the good of the people. For vaginas everywhere!
“Sure. I could do a quick drink.”
I fall into step next to him as he heads two doors down, a big shadow beside me. Mentally, I list all the things I’ve cataloged about Aaron since my brother joined the Ice Wolves and they became friends:
He plays defense. He’s known to drop gloves without hesitating if someone takes a cheap shot at him or a teammate. Has a reputation for being intense on the ice and almost painfully quiet off it.
My brother once said, You want Bishop on the ice when things get ugly, but they’ve also become friends. Declan told me that Aaron is usually the one planning team dinners, and treats them all like brothers, which I find interesting.
The media paints him as intimidating. Rude. Closed off and reluctant to do interviews.
But what the world doesn’t know?
He is kind.
Giving.
And I know this because three months ago, before I got my job offer with the Ice Wolves, I’d been at the children’s hospital—back when I worked for a nonprofit—delivering paperwork for a donation event. I remember making a quick stop at the nurses’ station to chat. Looked into one of the rooms…
… And saw Aaron Bishop kneeling beside a hospital bed.
Jacket draped over a chair. Massive frame folded down to the level of a little boy with a shaved head and a superhero blanket pulled up to his chin.
His hair was longer back then. He looked approachable. Happy. Less likely to bodycheck someone into oblivion. Now? He looks like he could break a man’s spine and fix a leaky sink without breaking a sweat.
He’d been speaking softly. Smiling. Holding the kid’s hand like they were fast friends.
No PR team.
No photographer.
I’d frozen, staring in on that private moment, unexpected feelings blooming in my chest.
Now, he’s walking beside me in the dark, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense as if the weight of the world is resting on them.
I’m acutely aware of how close he is when he pulls the door open to a place called Benjamin Frog’s. I slip through around him, my arm brushing against his shirt, sending a shiver down my spine.
Be still, my heart…
Once seated at the bar, he doesn’t touch the menu.
“Whatever local pale you have, I’ll take that,” he tells the bartender, who has a handlebar mustache and a twinkle in his eye. “You?”
“White wine, please.” I doubt I’ll drink a single sip, but I need something to do with my hands. “Whatever you recommend.”
Silence stretches as we wait and the bar hums around us, the trendy, upscale place I had no idea existed. I take a sip of the wine when it’s set in front of me. It tastes crisp and expensive and is entirely wasted on me.
I can barely concentrate on anything but his nearness; his knee touching mine when he shifts on the barstool. His forearms. The cuts and scrapes on his skin.
Covertly, I drink all of him in, not wanting to be obvious.
If you ever get the chance to sleep with Aaron Bishop, take it… Blaire’s words echo in my brain, followed by more vibrations from my phone buried in my purse. Why can’t I be more like her and be a more confident flirt?
“You don’t look like you need a drink,” I say finally. “You look like you could use a snuggle.”
He lets out a laugh, caught off guard. “A snuggle? Those are the vibes I give off?”
Yes. A great big mountain of a man who could use a hug. Or, you know… other stuff.
It’s that other stuff I’m afraid to offer, even knowing this is my one chance. Knowing I’m going to answer to Blaire for it once I finally get around to calling her back.
I am not a taker.
I am a giver, nurturer, bleeding heart do-gooder.
Ugh!
I do not proposition men.
“I mean, you look a man who appreciates a good hug.” Jesus, Juliette, please stop talking. You’re making it worse.
“I do, huh?” Aaron Bishop has barely touched his drink, hands wrapped around the glass. “That’s sweet of you to say.”
Sweet?
I am not sweet.
“You’re not secretly a serial killer, are you?” The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“No.” He smiles, chipped bottom tooth winking at me.
“Um…”
Do it, Juliette.
Do it.
You may never get this chance, and you dumped the guy you’re dating, who you hadn’t even had sex with, and you need to have fun for once.
“Out of curiosity, are you in a relationship?”
That causes him to frown. “Not anymore.”
I inhale, sucking in a deep breath of cold city air, and say, “If you wanted to come back to my place for a drink or something, you can tell me about your shitty day? And I’ll tell you about my shitty date?”
Heat creeps up my neck, my cheeks, and the tips of my ears. I am so embarrassed.
Who am I?
What am I doing asking this man to come home with me?
He crosses his arms, studying me. “No offense, but you don’t know me.”
Oh, but I do.
You are the man my brother has idolized since he joined Michigan three years ago.
You’re handsome and kind and have been more polite and patient in the last fifteen minutes than Preston has been the entire month I’ve known him.
If only you knew that I’ve seen you visiting sick children at hospitals, and know you organize dinners with your buddies and call them bro, and standing this close to you has my ovaries tingling…
“You don’t exactly give off serial killer vibes,” I rush to say. “We can sit on opposite sides of my very long couch.”
My hot skin gets hotter the longer he takes to respond.
“I’m good at reading people!” I babble. “And you don’t look ready to be alone. I know I’m not.”
Aaron exhales slowly. “Right. ’Cause apparently, I’m Mr. Snuggles.” Pauses. “Alright, yeah. Why the hell not?”
Exactly.
I grin. “Why the hell not.”
His dark eyes crinkle at the corners, amused. “I could use the company.”