CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EMERSON
“We love your work,” Barbara, the gallery owner, says. “We want you to show here.”
“Really?” I say with a wide but surprised smile.
“Really.” She laughs. “Why do you sound so shocked? Your paintings are amazing, Emerson.”
“It’s just …” I shift on my feet, my eyes glancing out the window as people scurry along the sidewalk. “I’ve had so many rejections along the way. I wasn’t expecting you to offer me space in your gallery, just like that.”
She smiles. “Welcome to the world of art, Emerson. And get used to the rejection. You’ll develop a thick skin to it eventually. That’s the excitement of it all, really.”
I look skeptical, and she laughs at my expression.
“I just mean that two people can look at the same painting and get something different out of it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that.” She waves her slender hand in the air. “The rejection will just make the victories sweeter. And anyway, screw the haters.” She smooths a hand over her perfectly straight, dark brown hair. “You’ll have to learn to paint for yourself, not for others. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning for you. You have big things in store. And I’m never wrong.”
Barbara’s tall and confident with the swagger of a seasoned New Yorker in her all-black attire. But she’s also surprisingly sweet. She came across as abrupt and short-tempered on the phone, so I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived here.
I discovered that Sam had posted my paintings on his social media sites a few days ago, which was how Barbara and a few other galleries saw my work. He took pictures of my work at the silent auction and took a few more of pieces in my art room at home. The posts have racked up more than three hundred thousand likes so far, and it’s still growing. Sam never told me. I learned about it from Mads and Suki. Suki called one day to tell me I was going viral. When I confronted the hockey stud about it, he smiled smugly.
“Thought you needed a push,” he confessed, pulling me into his arms—a place I’m quickly becoming comfortable with. “Are you mad?”
How can I be mad when everyone around me believes in my talent more than I believe in myself? He did me a favor. He opened those doors that I had complained were always closed to people like me. And he let my art do the rest.
The portrait I’d painted of Sam on the ice caused a special stir in Chicago, where Hawks hockey rules. I’m meeting with another gallery owner in the city next week. It’s not far from Suki’s place. That painting also caught the eye of someone in the Hawks management team. They want to commission me to do similar portraits of all the guys, and they plan to line the arena with them. I’m going to one of their practices next week to take photos of them in action, so I’ll have a reference point when I start working on them. I don’t know the lines of their faces or their personalities the way I’ve come to know Sam’s. But it’ll be a fun challenge.
“Thanks for your time, Barbara. And your offer.” We shake hands. “I’ll be in touch.”
I hide my chuckle as she abruptly walks away.
The sidewalks are full when I exit the gallery, reminding me of Chicago in busy parts of the city like Michigan Avenue. There’s unexplainable energy in places like this. I pull my coat around me and get swept up in the crowd as I make my way down the three blocks to my hotel. My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen, smiling when I see Sam’s name.
“How’d it go?” he asks after I answer.
“Great!” I reply. I explain Barbara’s offer and tell him details about the gallery. “And I need to get a website built to show my work.”
“That’s awesome, Doe!” The Chicago wind creates static across his end of the line. “I have a feeling this is just the beginning.”
I smile when he says the same thing as Barbara. “I hope so. It’s all thanks to you.”
“Yes, I’m responsible for your entire career,” Sam says sardonically, laughing a moment later. His deep voice drops another octave. “And I expect something in return for my kindness. Sexual favors will suffice.”
“Is that right?” I murmur, already imagining how I can repay him.
He’s silent for a moment.
“Everyone knows it was all you and your talent, Em. I just put it out there.”
“But it was your followers that caused all this.”
“I just posted it so everyone else could see what the rest of us already know.”
“And what’s that?” I tease.
“That you shouldn’t be making lattes or babysitting hotheaded hockey players. You should be painting and sharing your talent with the rest of the world.”
“I happen to like babysitting hockey players …” I pause at a red light and wait for official permission to cross the street. “There are lots of perks to it.” My blood heats when I think about Sam bending me over another table the night before last. I’m finding that I like that dominant, demanding side of him. In the bedroom at least.
“I’ve got a bonus for you when you get home,” he murmurs.
My smile is slow and wide. My cheeks flush with heat. We can’t seem to get enough of each other.
Butterflies and fireworks.
I hope it always stays like this.
I walk across the street with everyone else when the sign changes.
“I’ll be back tonight,” I say into the cell.
“Promise?”
“Swear,” I whisper, nodding to the doorman when I step inside the foyer of the hotel.
“I’ll be waiting.” I can picture his sexy smirk across the line. “I love you.”
My grin grows. I duck my head. It’s the first time he’s said it to me during the day, over the phone. I wish I could record it so I could play it over and over again. Those three little words in his deep, gravelly voice affects me in the best possible way.
“I love you,” I say back. It still sounds strange. It feels strange.
I fell in love with Sam Anderson. The cocky hockey player that I swore I’d never look twice at. Life is surprising.
We disconnect the call, and I step into the elevator, pressing the fourth floor. I lean against the wall and sigh contentedly.
I’m not sure how it happened, but I’ve gone from a full-time barista to a full-time hockey sitter to a professional artist in the blink of an eye. Somehow, what felt like the worst decision of my life in the beginning—accepting the job to watch over hockey’s bad boy—turned magically into this. I don’t know how I got here. All I’m sure of is that I get to do what I love most in the world, and they plan to pay me well for it. The Hawks commission alone could buy me a brand-new apartment. Not one as expensive as Sam’s, but still. And the work will keep me busy for months.
Once I arrive in my room, I spend the next hour changing clothes, eating room service, and packing for the trip home. A taxi takes me to the airport a short time later. I board a flight to Chi-Town, and before I know it, I’m walking through the door of the apartment. Laughter tickles my ears when I cross the threshold. I see Mads sitting at the kitchen island with Ollie on the chair beside her, drinking a beer.
“Hey,” I say, pleasantly surprised. “What are you two doing here?” I leave my bag by the door and slip off my shoes.
“Came down to raid the fridge,” Ollie admits.
Sam is rinsing some plates in the sink and placing them in the dishwasher.
“After hearing about this bomb new chef that Anderson hired, I had to come taste the food for myself.”
Whatever issues Sam might have had with Milo the first time they met; they melted away after Sam tasted his amazing food day after day. Plus, my hockey player made it clear that we’re together now, so Milo toned down the friendliness .
“And what’s the verdict?” I ask, already knowing firsthand.
Ollie removes one of Milo’s cards from his pocket to flash it at me. “He’ll be getting a call from me tomorrow.”
“Good decision,” I say. I place a box containing dessert on the counter. I stopped by a bakery nearby on my way home.
“I thought Mads would be cooking for you,” Sam jokes to his teammate.
Ollie smirks, and Mads flips Sam off. I just laugh. We all know Mads doesn’t cook. She’ll be the first to admit it.
“I don’t see you preparing meals around here either, Sam,” Mads accuses.
“I can make a mean burger,” he claims.
My brow arches, and he smirks at my expression. I’ve never had one of these burgers.
“And some bomb-ass pancakes.”
“I’ll be expecting some of this home-cooked food soon, roomie,” I say to him.
“If you’re lucky.” Sam leans over to kiss me when I pass by, his hands wet and busy in the sink.
Mads watches with a critical eye, and Ollie tries to hide his grin. Sam and I have spent most of our time alone, so our friends haven’t really seen us together, though I’ve filled them in. Well … somewhat. Our bubble felt too good to let everyone in on it too soon. But I’m not hiding it either.
“Speaking of roommates … I have good news for you two.” Mads rubs her hands together and narrows her blue eyes.
“What’s that?” I ask, removing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water.
“Sammy boy has passed some sort of invisible test with the execs,” she declares.
My brow furrows.
“The powers that be have decided he’s on his best behavior now and a sitter is no longer needed.” She looks directly at me. “You will officially be relieved of your duty soon.”
My face falls, but I try to hide it behind my glass. I was planning to stay until the end of the hockey season. My mind was set on it. I thought we had more time, and I like playing house with him.
“She isn’t going anywhere,” Sam counters, slamming the dishwasher closed and wiping his hands on a towel. He turns his attention to me. “That is, unless you want to leave.”
The room is quiet as everyone watches me, waiting for my answer. The longer I hesitate, the more the tension grows on Sam’s face.
“It’s late,” Ollie says suddenly, rising and depositing his empty beer bottle in the recycle bin. “We need to get going.”
Mads hugs me, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Call me tomorrow. I want details on the art stuff and … whatever this is that’s going on between you and Sam.”
I wink as she pulls away and force a smile, but my attention is still with Sam and the conversation we’re about to have.
When the door shuts behind our friends, Sam walks closer. He places his hands on my shoulders after I set my glass on the countertop beside me. “I don’t want you to leave. What are you thinking?”
“What are we doing?” I ask, watching his face closely. “What is this to you?”
“Is this a relationship status talk?” He smirks, but he doesn’t back away.
“I guess it is. I mean, I’m living here. We’re sleeping together every night. What do you want?”
“I want you. And only you.” He says it so matter-of-fact, just like he lives his life.
Sam is used to getting what he wants. And he wants me. Something warms inside my chest. I could’ve never pictured a scenario like this the first time we met. Me coming out of the bathroom at that random college party and him drunk, standing in the hallway with that arrogant attitude. I never saw myself wanting him. He was a shallow, cocky hockey player who cared little about anyone other than himself. But he’s so different now. He’s changed for the better. And I had no idea that years later, we’d be standing here, face-to-face, and he would be saying these words to me. Or that I would be dying to hear them.
“We did everything backward,” I admit.
He brushes a piece of hair from my face.
“Who says?” he asks, drifting closer.
I wind my arms around his neck and my fingers in his silky hair. “Most people start dating first, then move in together or get married or something.”
His lips brush against mine.
“I can afford a place of my own now.”
I want to stay, but I don’t want him to feel pressure with me staying here. This is his place; I want it to be his idea.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs against my lips. “Stay.”
“You sure?” I whisper, searching his eyes.
“Positive.” His hands stroke up and down my back. “You were just gone for one night to New York, and my bed was so cold. I expect to have you in it every night and not because you’re contracted to be here. I want you to want to be here.”
“I have a few terms.” I tilt my head.
He chuckles. “Oh, you do, huh? Okay, let’s hear them.”
He sways us gently as he holds me close. His body heat warms me.
“I get to keep my art room.”
“That’s a given,” he agrees. “It’s more work to move everything out anyway.”
I smack his chest, and he catches my hand, not releasing it.
His thumb strokes my wrist. “What else?”
“I keep my bedroom.”
His brow furrows. “Why would you want to do that? Did you miss the part where I want you in my bed every night?”
“I think it would be good for both of us. That way, if one of us needs space, we have it.”
“I don’t need space,” he insists.
“You might,” I argue.
“I don’t need space,” he reiterates, his tone hardening. Then, he sighs and glances away. “Fine, keep your bedroom. But you aren’t staying in there.”
I smile.
“Anything else?” he asks.
“That’s all.” My smile widens triumphantly. “For now at least.”
Sam gets a mischievous look on his handsome face. I see a flash of what he must’ve looked like as a rebellious child. “I have some rules of my own.”
My brows arch. “Oh? I’m a little scared to ask.”
“You have nothing to fear, Doe.”
“Let me hear it,” I say, reaching up to kiss his delectable lips when I can’t resist any longer.
He groans. “I want you naked on my bed in about five seconds …”
“Is that one of your rules?” I tease.
He smirks. “I might make it one.” He grows serious, refocusing. “Okay. Rule number one: you have to wear that drapey, off-the-shoulder shirt at least once a week.”
I roll my eyes. “My painting shirt?”
He nods.
“That’s easy to agree to. I prefer to wear it when I work, and it looks like I’ll be painting a lot more now. Number two?”
“I want you to travel with me to away games still.”
“Sam, I can’t drop everything and travel with you all the time. I’ll never get any work done.”
His mouth drops into a pout.
“I will sometimes,” I acquiesce. “But when I decide it’s a good time.”
“When we decide,” he amends.
“We’re a we now, huh?”
He dips to place a chaste kiss on the tip of my nose. “Damn right we are.”
“Okay, second rule is agreed to. We will decide. But I get the final decision.”
“Why are you so stubborn?” He strokes my cheek, gazing at me like it’s a characteristic he admires.
“Because you force me to be.”
He chuckles. “I can still picture you storming into that club in Seattle and dragging me out of there.” He reaches down to squeeze my biceps. “Who knew you were packing so much strength in these little muscles?”
“I might be small,” I say, “but I’m mighty.” I flex my bicep.
“Indeed you are.” His hands slide down until he grabs my butt. His eyes drop to my mouth.
“And no bunnies,” I add.
He looks back up. “You did hear me when I said I only want you, right?”
I stay still, just watching him. Maybe I need to hear him say the words again.
“No other women,” he confirms. I can spot the sincerity in his expression. “And no other men for you either.”
That’s easy to agree to. I’m a one-man woman. And no one compares to Sam anyway.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He nods once.
We kiss to seal the deal. I pull apart when my stomach starts to growl, walking over to the box of bakery items I brought home.
“What’s that?” Sam asks.
“I bought some goodies on the way home,” I confirm, flipping open the lid. There are some cookies in here—two brownies and two lemon cupcakes.
Sam reaches inside, selecting the cupcake. His tongue darts out to lick the icing. “Lemon,” he murmurs more to himself than me.
“I saw that lemon cupcake you had in the cupboard a few weeks ago, so I bought a couple. Is it your favorite flavor?” I ask.
He looks solemn when he answers, his mind somewhere far away. “I think it might be.” His eyes sharpen as he comes back to the present. “My parents and I eat these twice a year after my mom gets a clean scan, showing her cancer is still in remission.”
“Oh.” My mouth gapes. “I didn’t realize it had meaning.”
“It does,” he confirms. “It means something great. That the cancer is still gone.”
I lift the second cupcake from the box and peel away the paper holder. I take a bite and chew, swallowing the sweet treat before I speak. “It tastes even better, knowing that.”
Sam watches me intently. “Exactly.” He reaches over, tilting his cupcake to smear the frosting across my lip. Then, he follows, licking it off with his tongue ever so slowly. I close my eyes, a soft grin forming. His mouth crashes into mine when the frosting is gone.
In the end, the cupcakes aren’t eaten until the next morning. Because one kiss turns into another. Then, the touching begins. And when Sam carries me into his bedroom, passing by my paintings that he purchased at the auction, where they now hang on the wall, all thoughts of cupcakes are forgotten.
My arrogant hockey player. The lost boy who turned out not to be so lost after all. He just needed someone to have faith in him so he could believe in himself. I never thought I’d be the girl for him or that he would turn out to be the man for me.
But sometimes, the wrong choices get us to the right places.
And put us right where we belong.