Chapter 20
brAXTON
It’s been a long few days of silence.
Other than the couple of texts exchanged with Maddox confirming our date for tonight, neither of us has mentioned the kiss at the club nor the way it’s furthered the rift between us.
I’ve put everything into work, hoping that it would help, but I should have known better. After eight years of doing everything I could to forget about Maddox, not once did it work.
He’s a thorn in my side. One that I can’t seem to find the strength to yank out.
Maybe I’m a masochist. When it comes to him, I very well could be.
That would explain why regardless of how much I thought I would be dreading dinner tonight, I found my best dress and shoved it into my work bag this morning. A tiny—okay, maybe huge—part of me wants to blow him away. Make him completely weak in the knees when he sees me.
But now that I’m thinking about it . . . I don’t remember taking the dress out and hanging it up. Wrinkles. So many wrinkles.
“Shit,” I breathe, snapping out of my thoughts and handing Dex the Doberman back over to his owner—a gentle yet sharp-tongued brunette named Cherry—and getting them situated with Micaela at the front desk. I throw my hand up in a quick wave to Cherry and rush off to my office.
My sneakers squeak on the waxed floor with each hurried step, and I nearly fall into my office in search of my bag.
I find it beneath my desk, in one of the little cubbies I like to store my lunch bag and water bottle that I never seem to actually drink from, and rifle through the contents before gripping onto the velvet material of the dress and pulling it out.
Hanging it up in front of me, it’s just as I suspected.
It resembles the skin of a hairless cat.
Groaning, I drop my arms and curl my fingers in the velvet. It’s too close to when Maddox told me he would be here to go home and swap dresses, but there’s no way I’m going out to whichever fancy restaurant he chose in this.
I’m about to pull my phone out and send out a very embarrassing text asking him to push dinner by an hour when there’s a knock behind me. Spinning around, I force a smile in Marco’s direction.
“I know, I know. I said I would be leaving early, and I’m still here looking far from ready to leave,” I huff.
The scrubs he’s wearing today are covered in mini Mickey Mouses wearing sunhats and swim shorts, but despite how much I might want to, I don’t ask where he got them.
One thing we both bonded over when we first met was our love for different patterned scrubs.
As far as I’m concerned, if I have the option to wear scrubs without a lame, bland colour, I’m going to. Holiday prints are my favourite, but—
“You look frustrated. What’s up?” Marco asks, coming into my office with his hands in his pockets and a furrow between his brows.
I hold the dress up. “Velvet wrinkles easy, and I kept it shoved in a ball in my bag all day.”
“Oh, that’s an easy fix. I have a travel steamer in my office.”
“You do?” Surprise is thick in my tone, and my cheeks flush. “I mean, that’s great. I don’t, but maybe I should think of getting one.”
He flashes me a grin and nods to his office across the hall. “I go out a lot after work to meet my parents for dinner. They’re the fancy type. Dress shirt and slacks without a wrinkle in sight.”
I follow him out to the hall and into his office, taking in the identical layout and similar furniture.
It’s clear he’s taken more time to get situated than I have over these past few weeks.
With picture frames and a jar full of Werther’s candies on his desk and even a couple of throw pillows on the small brown loveseat, he’s gotten comfortable.
I’ve only just managed to hang my credentials on the walls.
Marco shifts behind his desk and pulls out a small handheld clothes steamer and a fabric hanger. Impressed and relieved, I smile.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I say.
He winks. “I’ll take that title any day. Now, hand me that dress.”
I do, and he slides it over the hanger before walking toward the window and hanging the dress off the curtain rod. It takes him a few minutes to get the wrinkles out of the dress, and by the time he’s done, I’m antsy.
Glancing at my watch again, I inwardly curse when I see I should have been out front waiting for Maddox five minutes ago.
“Here you go. Wrinkle-free,” Marco sings, handing it over.
The deep green velvet material is what drew me to it in the first place, and no, that’s not because I know Maddox’s favourite colour is green. Or maybe it is. At this point, I don’t know if I trust myself as much as I should.
The dress is form-fitting, with a deep V between my breasts and the material tight over my hips and ass. There’s a slit up the left leg, from hem to just above my knee, and it shows just enough skin to be both sexy yet elegant. Paired with black heels, the outfit will look perfect.
I trail my index finger over the thin gold decalled straps—another selling point. “Thank you, Marco. I appreciate this so much.”
“Anytime. Feel free to use my steamer anytime you want.”
“Braxton,” a deep voice says, my name sounding growly and far too sexy.
A shiver travels up my spine as I slowly look up and over at my date for the night. I stare at Maddox and the crisp, black suit pants and matching long-sleeve dress shirt that are wrapped around his tall, muscled frame.
Thick thighs stretch the material of his slacks, and I wonder how tight his pants must pull across his ass, knowing exactly just how nice of an ass it is.
The black pants also cinch tight at his waist under an expensive-looking leather belt with a silver buckle that gleams in the dull office light.
He has the top button of his shirt undone, exposing a sliver of the black ink that must be scrawled across his chest, and he’s rolled the sleeves up once, or maybe twice, leaving his roped forearms open to greedy eyes like mine.
I gulp, and it’s louder than I anticipated, but even the prospect of embarrassment isn’t enough to tear my eyes away from this man.
A pulse grows between my legs when our eyes meet, and his nostrils flare, an almost angry look crossing his face.
But it’s not angry. It’s something dirty and intense, something that isn’t appropriate for work and definitely not when my co-worker is right here, watching like he has no idea what’s happening.
So, why haven’t I looked away and excused myself to get ready?
Why do I continue to stare across the room at him as if he might come storming toward me and take me in his arms?
I blink. Once, twice, and a third time as I finally break eye contact and take a physical and mental step backward.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Marco. I work with Braxton,” Marco says, words directed at Maddox.
“Yeah, great,” Maddox replies bluntly. I feel his eyes beating into my warm face. “We need to leave soon, or we’ll miss our reservation, baby.”
Parting my lips in surprise at the pet name, I find him watching me with an unwavering stare. He lifts his hand toward me, and with two slow steps toward him, I let it wrap around mine, hiding the zap that singes my skin when we touch.
Baby sounds so good coming from his mouth that I want to command he say it again. Fuck the consequences. But Marco doesn’t seem to want to let us leave without talking to the scowling giant beside me.
“Actually, I think I know you. You play hockey, right? The Warriors?”
Maddox tenses. “Yeah.”
“Maddox Hutton!” Marco shouts, eyes lighting up. “I saw your playoff highlights on TV last night!”
I squeeze the long fingers threaded through mine with a punishing grip when he takes a few seconds too long to reply. I’m not even sure if he was planning on saying anything in the first place.
“That’s me,” he mutters. “Do you want an autograph?”
“That would be great! Thanks.” Marco rushes to his desk and, after searching a couple of drawers, pulls out a pen and a pad of paper. “I don’t watch much hockey, but I think the Warriors made it to the second round, right?”
“Yeah. First game against Arizona is on their turf this Friday night,” Maddox says, and I file that information away for later.
He grabs the pen and paper from him and scrawls something that resembles an MH with a number 21 looped through it and then hands it back.
“Thanks again. I didn’t know you and Braxton knew each other.”
I smile slightly. “We grew up together but just recently reconnected.”
Suddenly, Maddox has his arm over my shoulder and is tucking me into his side. His cologne is familiar, and I breathe it in while sliding my arms around him, one pressed to his stomach and the other his back. He stares at Marco while I look up at him.
“Look, Marco. Braxton is my girl, yeah? She’s precious to me. Can I trust you to take care of her when I’m not here?” He sounds too serious. Too real.
My eyes fall to the ground as an ache rips through my chest. Fake.
“Of course,” Marco says.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. So, Braxton will see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. See you in the morning, Brax. Have a good night.”
I quickly look up and smile at Marco. He looks beyond uncomfortable, and I inwardly wince. This isn’t exactly the kind of situation I would have chosen for us all to fall into.
“You too. Goodnight,” I rush out, snatching my dress from the curtain rod before waving quickly and letting Maddox pull us from the office.
When we reach my office, he shuts the door behind us. Warm breath hits the top of my head, and I look down to avoid his eyes. There’s a spotless white sneaker touching the side of my dirty one. A barely there smile toys with my lips. “Why are you smiling?” he asks softly.
“Your shoes. You still wear sneakers with your dress clothes,” I whisper.
His chest moves with a laugh. “When I can get away with it. Tell me you’re wearing yours with this dress.” He toys with the gold strap, slipping his finger beneath it and rubbing the fabric hanger.
Good God. I’m jealous of a hanger.
“They won’t match,” I choke.
“They’ll match me, though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then leave the Nikes on.”
I go to pull away from him, but he tightens his grip, keeping me in place. With a completely dramatic scowl, I say, “Heels it is. Please let go of me so I can get dressed. I don’t want to miss our reservation.”
“You hate heels,” he pushes.
“Oh, let it go.”
“If you wear heels, I’ll end up needing to carry you out of the restaurant by the end of the night because your feet will hurt.”
I step out of his embrace, not letting him keep hold of me this time. Then, I turn to glare at him, holding the dress that should have already been on against my front.
“I’ve gotten used to heels over the past eight years.”
He arches a brow, a playful aura about him now. “Really? Should we make a bet, then?”
“Depends what the stakes are.”
“You don’t want to know what we’re betting on first?”
“You don’t think I can last an entire dinner with heels on, and I think I can. Am I missing anything?”
His smirk starts slow, growing and spreading across his face at a turtle’s pace. “Nope.”
I pop a hip. “You’re lying. Spill it.”
“Nope. Name your stakes, baby girl.”
“I’m not a fan of that nickname.”
He scratches at his facial hair, but I think he’s trying to hide his smile. For some reason, that has pinwheels spinning in my tummy.
“Baby is okay, but baby girl isn’t?”
“I never said baby was okay.”
“I took your blush and subtle smile as approval, but maybe I was wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter. It was for show, and it helped ensure Marco bought into the facade. I feel bad about lying to him, by the way. We didn’t need to bring him into this.”
“No? I think he needed to know you have a boyfriend. The guy looked at you too intently. I don’t like it.”
“Too intently?” I start to laugh, but he looks far from entertained. That only makes me laugh harder. “Come on. He’s a co-worker and a damn good vet. He’s been a great help.”
He nods stiffly. “Right. Well, that’s that, then.”
“Nope. Now you’re going to tell me the stakes of this bet and then leave me to get dressed. At this rate, I’m going to end up going in what I’m wearing.”
“Go for it. I don’t need you to wear a dress,” he says, shrugging.
I roll my eyes. “Right. I can see the Twitter posts already. Hurry and leave me be.”
“Fine. If I win, you have to wear my jersey every single day for the remainder of the Warriors’ playoff run.”
I scoff. “No way. I’ll have to wash it constantly. Especially if I have to wear it to work.”
“Sorry, but I’m not budging.”
“Okay, you know what? Fine. But if I win, you have to wear a pair of my scrubs out to dinner in Arizona.”
He roars a laugh that tingles my toes. “Your scrubs? No fucking way. Do you see what you’re wearing right now? Not to mention there’s no way they’ll fit me.”
I glance down at my scrub top and then back up at him. “What’s wrong with my scrubs?”
“They have clouds with smiley faces on them.”
“Exactly.”
“Are you pussying out on me, Maddox? Is the big bad hockey player too scared of a pair of printed scrubs to make a bet?”
His deep green eyes soften at the same time he whispers, “There she is.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiles weakly before dropping his head forward and shaking it. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I take the bet.”
When he looks at me again, it’s with a sadness that I feel down to my bones.
Without the right words to say, I feel like a failure.
The light mood we just created has been snuffed out by that damn darkness.
But instead of grappling for it like a helpless fool, I let it go with the plan of finding it again tonight.
“I’m going to get dressed. Give me ten minutes?”
“Sure. I’ll be in the waiting room.”
I offer him a smile, and he returns it with a weak one before leaving me alone in the room, a dress in my hands and a yearning for him that I can’t soothe.