Chapter 2
RAIDEN
The hostess led us through the low-lit restaurant with practiced efficiency, weaving between tables while Marissa stayed close by my side.
It was a small, upscale place I liked on the Upper West Side.
Dim lighting, quiet jazz, and waitstaff that never even acknowledged my fame.
Nor would they put up with another patron interrupting my meal. It wasn’t flashy, but I loved it.
I was already fighting the urge to touch her—my hand on the small of her back or my fingers curled around her wrist. Anything to ground myself in the fact that she was real and sitting down to dinner with me.
She moved like a dancer, and I knew from the second I saw her that she’d trained her body to obey under pressure.
I hadn’t known the sport at first, but it clicked the moment she mentioned it—figure skating.
The balance, control, and how she carried herself like she was always half a breath away from a triple spin.
The hostess stopped at a curved leather booth tucked in the back corner. Marissa slid in, tugging off her coat and shaking out her hair like she wasn’t aware that every move she made hit me right in the chest.
Dinner should’ve been a slow burn. Candlelight. Conversation. A glass or two of wine. But with her across from me, the wick was already soaked in gasoline, and I’d been holding the match since the moment she walked into the press room.
Marissa looked fucking edible. She’d pulled her hair down, and now it fell in loose waves to the tops of her breasts.
The lighting gave her skin a warm glow, and when she leaned forward on her elbows to look at the menu, her tits were propped up on the edge of the table.
I didn’t even pretend not to stare. She caught me and arched her brow but didn’t say a word. Just let a smirk curve her mouth.
This siren was trouble. I knew it in my bones.
“I don’t usually say yes to strange men who pull me into side hallways.” She glanced up at me while she skimmed the appetizer list. “Just FYI.”
“I’m not strange,” I deadpanned, leaning back. “I’m strategic.”
Her lips twitched like she didn’t want to smile, but she was losing that fight. “Strategic. Right. That’s the word we’re going with.”
I shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”
The server came, interrupting our repartee. We ordered, and then we were alone again.
“So.” She lifted her water glass. “Let’s hear it. Tell me something real. Something not football related.”
I liked the way she talked. No hesitation, bold and direct, very New York. It was unusual for someone from the South—something I’d guessed because she had just the faintest hint of an accent.
I leaned back in the booth, one arm stretched across the top. “Something real, huh?”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” She tipped her glass toward me, the ice clinking softly. A wicked smile split my face, and she laughed. “Something real, as in not a sexual fantasy.”
I sighed and nodded once. “Fair.”
Her laugh this time was unguarded and real, her head tipping back just enough to show off the curve of her throat and her nose wrinkling adorably. I felt the sound settle in my chest like a drug. She had a damn good laugh. Low and smooth, sending tendrils of desire through my body.
I couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just that she was hot. She had that thing…presence. Confidence. A mind as sharp as her wit. And when she laughed like that, I wanted to bottle the sound.
She dropped her chin and grinned down at her napkin, folding the corner like she needed somewhere to put her energy.
“I grew up in Chicago.”
Marissa snapped her fingers. “I knew it!” I cocked a brow, and she smirked. “It’s mostly the way you sometimes pronounce things, like ‘cot’ instead of caught. And how you say ‘pop’ instead of ‘soda.’”
I couldn’t help laughing at that. “Apparently, I’m still a Midwesterner at heart.”
Her eyes danced merrily as she teased, “And that Midwestern grit. Did you live in the city?”
I nodded but paused when the server brought our food and waited until he was gone to continue. “I grew up in River North until I was about to start high school, then we moved to Lake Forest.”
Marissa was taking a sip of her wine but choked on it when I answered her question. She swallowed hard, then coughed several times. I slid around the bench seat and patted her back, waving off the manager who had taken a step in our direction with a worried frown.
“Are you okay?” I asked when she was breathing normally again.
“Yeah. I was just a little surprised. Aren’t those neighborhoods super ri—” Her cheeks turned pink. “Um, isn’t Lake Forest on the list of, um, the wealthiest suburbs in the nation?”
I shrugged and cut into my steak. “Probably. I come from old money.” I winked at her. “But not the flashy kind, with gold-plated faucets and Ferraris for sweet sixteens.”
She giggled, and the sound hit me in the chest again, spreading warmth.
“My dad’s a lawyer—real estate contracts and trust law.
My mom stayed home with us. They both came from money, but they raised us to work like we didn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, we had the perks—private school, solo lessons, and we could do just about any activity we wanted because the cost wasn’t an issue.
But they made sure we knew how lucky we were and didn’t turn out to be entitled assholes.
Respect wasn’t optional, chores were nonnegotiable, grades had to be earned, and we played community sports right alongside kids who didn’t have half what we did.
My parents didn’t give a shit how much your family made—only what kind of person you were. ”
“Sounds like they were amazing parents.”
“The best,” I replied, my voice thick with affection. Then I grinned. “My older brother and two younger sisters are okay, I guess. But we bicker like it’s a contact sport.”
“Sounds like how I am with my younger brother. My parents keep expecting us to grow out of it, but I’m not so sure,” she chuckled, spearing a piece of roasted beet from her salad.
I watched the way she chewed. Unhurried. Casual. Like she had no idea how hot it was, the way her mouth moved. The way her lips wrapped around the rim of her glass. I shifted in my seat and took a drink of my own to cool down.
“What about you?” I croaked. “Tell me something not football related.”
“I’m from Mississippi."
I snapped my fingers, mimicking her earlier reaction. “I knew it!”
She narrowed her eyes but was suppressing a smile. “You did not!”
Cocking my head to the side, I watched her, captivated by her every movement. “Maybe not Mississippi exactly. But I had a suspicion you were from the South. You’re very polished, but you’ve got a couple of soft vowels when you’re not thinking about them.”
Marissa groaned. “I worked four years to scrub that accent, and you figured it out in the first ten minutes.”
“It’s cute,” I insisted. “Why lose it?”
“It’s not that I was ashamed of my Southern roots.
” Her tone and expression were open and honest. “It’s simply that diction is incredibly important in media.
I have to make sure that everyone can understand me, so a neutral accent is best. And the viewers don’t automatically assume you have a bias, which is essential when you’re reporting on sports. ”
I rubbed my jaw. “I wouldn’t have thought of it that way. But it makes complete sense.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, thoroughly enjoying our meal, but I was too determined to know everything about her to let her finish before I asked more questions. “You mentioned figure skating on the drive over. Did you do it competitively?”
“Yes. In fact, I went to Adrian College, a liberal arts school in Michigan that had the first varsity figure skating team in the country. They made it a collegiate sport.”
“Is that why you chose to go there?”
“That and a scholarship. I skated competitively until junior year, but a knee injury knocked me off the Olympic track. I loved figure skating, but I’ve always been a fan of pretty much any sport.
So I pivoted to journalism with a minor in sports media.
It was a smart move because I love what I do.
” There was no longing or regret in her voice when she mentioned skating, and she’d lit up at the mention of her job.
“Although I’m still finding my footing. Football wasn’t even supposed to be part of my beat.
I’m usually covering skating, diving, or obscure sports no one pays attention to outside the Olympics. ”
I chuckled at her description. “So what happened today?”
“Dave came down with food poisoning. Your team’s PR called my editor and told him to send someone—anyone.
I was closest. So here I am. I should probably feel bad that he got sick”—she blushed and stared down at her food—“but I don’t because it finally gave me the opportunity to be seen in a different capacity. ”
“So I’m not your ticket to fame and fortune?” I joked. “I’ll have to figure out another way to convince you to go out with me again.”
Marissa’s expression turned coy, and she looked at me through her lashes. “Free meals?” she suggested with a giggle.
She had no fucking idea how sexy she was right at that moment. But my dick was very, very aware.
I grinned wickedly. “Anytime. But I have other talents that will satisfy you more than food.”
She inhaled sharply, and her deep blue eyes simmered with heat. But to my disappointment, she didn’t take the bait.
“Your turn to tell me something,” she murmured in a shaky voice.
It was gratifying to see that she was just as affected by me as I was by her. However, I’d give her a little more time before pushing her to admit it.
I leaned in, my forearms braced on the table. “I’m opening a delicatessen.”
That made her blink. “Wait, seriously?”
I nodded with a grin. “The Tight Line Delicatessen, near Hudson Yards. Opens in May.”
“What kind of name is that?” she asked, incredulous, but amused.
“A football one,” I answered smugly. “Micah Daughtry is my partner. Tight end…linebacker. We’re going full theme with it, too. The slogan is ‘Stacked. Pressed. Always in formation.’”
She laughed, and the sound punched something deep in my chest. It was the kind of laughter that made you want to hear it again. Made you want to earn it.
“That is…” she breathed out, still smiling. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s genius,” I countered. “Wait till you see the menu.”
“I don’t even want to know.”
“Oh, you do. Trust me.”
She stared at me for a second like she didn’t know whether to be curious or change the subject.
We continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily as we ate our entrées.
I tried not to watch her, but I couldn’t help it.
The way her lips moved, the way her tongue swept the edge of the fork.
Unintentionally sensual. She didn’t know the power she had.
Or maybe she did. Either way, by the time dessert hit the table, the air between us had gone heavy, and I was strung so tight I could barely breathe.
She ordered the chocolate torte, and I picked out the cheesecake, although I didn’t take a bite of anything after she started eating. I couldn’t. I was too fucking focused on her mouth.
Her eyes fluttered closed for half a second, and a soft hum escaped her lips.
I was going to fucking lose my mind.
She took another bite. Then another. The tension between us coiled tighter, each movement she made ratcheting up the heat until it was a living thing clawing at my chest.
My dick was hard as hell. I couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d taste, or how she’d sound moaning against my mouth. I wanted her. Now. Not later. I couldn’t handle even another five minutes of pretending we weren’t about to combust.
She licked a smudge of chocolate from her lip, unaware of what she was doing to me.
That’s it.
“We need to leave.” I reached for my wallet and tossed down enough cash to cover the meal twice over, then I stood and held out a hand.
She blinked. “What?”
“Now.”
I didn’t give her time to argue. I took her hand and tugged her out of her seat. She came easily, a little breathless, her eyes wide and locked on mine.
I moved behind her, using her to shield the very real, very hard problem in my pants.
Outside, the cold air hit my overheated skin. I raised my hand to hail a cab, not trusting myself to speak yet. Not until I could get her somewhere private. Where I could do what I’d been dying to do since she smirked at me from the third row.
A yellow cab slowed at the curb, and I grasped at my control as I turned to her.
“This is your only chance to walk away, Marissa,” I warned, my voice gritty with restraint I was losing by the second.
Her breath caught, and she double blinked.
“If you come with me, I’m taking you to my home…where I am going to fuck you hard and deep until you’re screaming my name.”
Her eyes went wide, and her lips parted, but she didn’t move away.
I stepped in, my hand on her lower back, urging her even closer. “Then I’m gonna do it all over again.”