Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Liam
We travel just a few blocks and pull up to a building that says Bergdorf Goodman a few minutes later. We probably could have walked to get here faster, to be honest. There are some Christmas decorations in the windows that look like something out of an old-fashioned movie.
“We’re going shopping?” I ask her.
“We’re going to run inside for a few essential items.” She scoots closer to me so we can get out on the same side of the car.
“Are they still open?” I look out the window and then turn to her. “I’m actually staying at The Plaza, which I think is right down the street. I can just run to my room and change.”
“The clock is ticking to get some socks and a pair of gloves for you.” She pushes me a little. “Open the door. It’s time to scoot.”
“Okay, let’s do it.” I exit the car and hold the door open.
I take her hand as she climbs out of the car.
“Thank you, Blitzen. Let’s go get what we need to continue our night of fun.” Her eyes are sparkling again, and she acts like she’s walking into a candy store.
“You like to go shopping?” I chuckle.
“Sure, but I’m more excited about what comes after the shopping. Okay, let’s split up and go get what we need and meet back here in ten minutes. Does that give you enough time to find everything?” She turns to face me.
“Just tell me where I need to go, and I’ll get it done. I’m a guy, so the first pair I see will work.” I hold out my hands and smile.
“Right, okay. You go that way.” She points behind me. “I’m heading this way.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder.
We both take off quickly, and I make my way to the men’s department and spot the accessories.
I pull a pair of light-gray wool socks off the fancy table, then move to the next section, where hats and gloves are displayed.
I’ll skip the hat, but I grab a pair of gray leather gloves.
Considering I’m wearing all white, I feel like the gray will blend in a little better than black would.
I mean, I’m no fashionista, but I can practically hear my mom’s voice in my head, leading me to the gray.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough if I made the right color choices.
I don’t know what I’m doing here. Bergdorf, of all places.
Holiday chaos, lights flashing, music on the speakers.
I left a wedding an hour ago. A wedding.
The kind of thing I usually bail on before dessert.
And now I’m in Midtown, chasing after a woman I barely know.
That’s not me. I don’t chase. I don’t … do this.
Commitments have never been my thing. Never wanted to owe anyone anything.
First, my focus was on college and football, with any free time devoted to my friends.
Now, my pro career is my top priority. Not that Vixen is looking for a commitment.
Actually, this spontaneous night in New York is exactly what I look for in a woman.
And yet I’m already wondering what will happen at the end of this night. What will happen tomorrow …
I should walk away—catch a cab, get back to the hotel, and keep the night simple before I have to head back to New Orleans tomorrow. But there’s something about this girl. About this night. The spark in her eyes, the way she laughs and almost dares me with her experiences. I’m not going anywhere.
I move over to the sales associate, who is looking at me like she wouldn’t mind seeing me naked.
“Is this all for you today, sir?” she asks.
I pull out my wallet and hand her my black American Express card. “This is all. Thanks.”
“Thank you for shopping with us, Mr. Pitz. Come back and see us soon.” When she hands me my bag, her finger grazes the top of my hand.
This woman is pretty, but nothing compared to my angel in red, who is probably waiting for me in the lobby.
I nod and smile politely, then turn and rush back to meet my Vixen.
As I turn the corner, I spot her. My Vixen.
She really is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and it’s a privilege to spend this time with her.
I mean, seriously, how did I get so lucky?
This gorgeous stranger rescued me from the most boring wedding I’ve ever been to and is taking me around her city during one of the most special times of the year. I’m slightly worried this is a dream.
She’s removed one of her gloves so that she can take the tag off of the red earmuffs in her hand. There’s a black-and-red plaid scarf draped over her arm too. There’s a bag sitting by her feet, which I’m guessing holds socks because it’s about the same size as my bag, which has my socks and gloves.
“Hey, did you get what you needed?” She nods toward the bag in my hand.
“Yep, I’m ready.” I hold out my arm, gesturing for her to lead the way.
Once she puts the earmuffs on her head, which look abso-fucking-lutely adorable, she winds the scarf around her neck. “We’d better get out of here, or they might just lock us in for the night.”
I shudder. “That would be my worst nightmare. Let’s go.”
“You don’t like the idea of that, huh?” She giggles.
“Um, no thank you. What if the mannequins come alive? Have you ever seen that movie? My mom used to put it on sometimes when I was little. Freaked me out.”
“I can’t say that I have seen that one. You’re too funny.” She pushes the door open, and we walk back out into the chilly night air. It stopped snowing a while ago, but it’s still freezing.
“So, how do we get to the rink?” I ask her.
“Well, it’s a bit of a walk, and time is ticking, so we’ll just grab one of these rickshaws to Wollman Rink.”
She leads us over to a rickshaw that looks like Christmas literally threw up on it. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Mariah Carey is blasting from the small speaker the driver has attached to the back of his seat, facing the bench seat.
“Are you taking rides?” she asks the driver.
“Yes, I am. Where you headin’?” he asks her in a thick New York accent.
“Can you take us to Wollman Rink?” She steps onto the platform and sits on the bench seat.
“Yep, that’ll be twenty.” He turns and looks at me. “You gettin’ in or what?”
“Right. Yes. Getting in.” I hesitate, eyeing the wheels like they’re about to file a complaint with OSHA.
The frame creaks when I shift my weight forward.
I mean, sure, I’m fit. I’m an NFL quarterback.
But I’m also six foot three and two hundred fifteen pounds of solid muscle. Not exactly rickshaw material.
Still, I climb in—gingerly—half expecting the whole Christmas cart to collapse under me.
“Come on, Blitzen. Don’t be scared.” She waves her hand toward herself, motioning me to sit with her.
“I’m not scared as much as I don’t want the tires to pop when I get in.” I chuckle, but lift myself up and into the seat next to her.
“Buddy, this ain’t nothing. You in?” The driver turns his head to the side, waiting for my answer.
“Yep, ready.” Vixen places her hand on top of mine and curls her fingers under mine.
I look at her and wink. “This should be … fun.”
She laughs. “Yes, it will be. We’ll be at the rink in no time. Are you ready to have your mind blown with my ice-skating skills?”
“One hundred percent ready for it. You aren’t some professional figure skater or something, are you? You gonna embarrass me on the ice?” I let go of her hand and wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her in closer to me.
Her head tilts from side to side. “Not exactly, but …”
“But …” I prod.
“I did play ice hockey from the time I was seven through college. I was a left wing.” She lifts her shoulder and looks at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Wow, that’s pretty amazing. So, you’ll definitely embarrass me on the ice then. Awesome.” I nod.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll hold your hand the whole time. I promise you, I won’t let you fall,” she whispers as she leans in closer to me. Then she places the softest kiss on my cheek.
I try to turn my head to meet her lips, but the rickshaw goes over a bump, leading us into the park, and she grabs on to the side.
“A little bumpy.” She turns her head, but I can see the pink coloring her cheeks.
“So, Vixen, what’s your favorite thing about Christmas?”
Her eyes soften, and for a second, the teasing slips away. “Hmm. I think it’s that feeling you get when you walk outside, and the air smells like snow, and everyone’s pretending life’s a little more magical than it really is.”
“That’s surprisingly deep for someone who just calls herself Vixen,” I tease.
She shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”
I grin. “For me, it’s the food. My mom makes these ridiculous sugar cookies, shaped like footballs. The frosting’s terrible, but … it’s kind of tradition.”
“Football cookies. That tracks,” she says, laughing. “Let me guess … you’re one of those guys who turns Christmas dinner into a competitive sport?”
“Only if there’s mashed potatoes involved.”
“Good to know,” she says, smiling.
I lean back and nod toward her. “All right, your turn for a tougher one. Least favorite thing about Christmas?”
“Oh, easy.” She lifts her gloved finger like she’s making a dramatic declaration. “Those inflatable yard decorations. You know, the ones that collapse into sad plastic puddles during the day? Terrifying.”
I laugh. “You’re anti-inflatable? That’s bold.”
“They just … stare at you when they’re half deflated. Like Frosty’s seen things.”
“I feel like that’s a personal story,” I say.
“It might be,” she says, mock serious. “You?”
I think for a moment. “Gift wrapping. I cannot for the life of me fold corners properly. It always looks like I let a raccoon do it.”
She laughs, head tipping back. “A big, strong guy like you taken down by Scotch tape. Tragic.”
“It’s humbling,” I say. “I’ve learned to lean into the ‘I tried’ aesthetic.”
She grins. “That’s what bows are for. They distract from the chaos.”
“Noted. I’ll add bows next year. Maybe even a little glitter.”
“Careful,” she warns. “Glitter’s a commitment. Once it’s on you, it’s forever.”
I have a feeling I’ll feel the same way about her when this night is over.