Page 15

CHAPTER 15

OLLIE

W hen I’m alone in the car, it has always been my prime time to do some reflection. I like listening to podcasts that motivate me, or sometimes I amp my day up with a playlist…that actually works really well during the season, too. But today I need to call my sister Mia back. She’s already left a few messages on my voicemail, so it’s time.

When she answers on the first ring, I sing hello in her ear as she grunts her disapproval.

“What?”

“You’re in an unusually good mood,” she points out.

“I am. I’m out right now and picking someone up, so we need to make it fast before she gets in the car.”

I realized what I said after the words fell from my lips.

“She?” My sister’s voice goes up an octave and she somehow manages to stretch a one-syllable word into three and sing it back to me.

“Yes.” I sigh. “She. I have what you call a date.”

“In my experience, it is or it isn’t.” She pauses, and I swear I can hear her laughter in my ears even though there is none. “So which is it?”

“It is one. At least, it’s one I want to be a real date, but it could be a fake one.” I think when I asked her out yesterday she knew I meant this to be a real one, but much like all of the other great men who have come before me, I didn’t double-check. “I’m gonna call it real until it isn’t.”

“Anna, huh?” Mia’s voice slams in my ear. Mia is my oldest sister, the one who was gone and already at college when I met Anna, so she’s one of my only family members who has never met her. But she’s heard about her over the years. “So Anna must know by now about the torch you carry for her.”

“I’m taking my time in revealing the man I am,” I joke. “Seriously, though, why are you calling?”

“I’ll be in town soon, doing Mom’s books. I told her I’d have the end of the financial year ready for her to look over when she gets back from that retreat next month.”

Mia is the accountant in our family and, lucky for my mom, she didn’t move too far away, just to the next state over, Maryland. Mia’s handled the books for the crystal shop Mom co-owns since she got her degree. In fact, I’m pretty sure the shop was her first client.

“I’m out of town next week for a few games, then back. Let me know when you’ll be here and I’ll clear my schedule.”

“You sure? I mean, if Instagram is anything to go off, you seem to be extremely busy with your very good friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, never too busy for you.” I drop the car a gear, slowing down as I pull up outside of the Denault home. “I’m here, though, and need to go.”

“Don’t want to be late,” she teases.

Once she disconnects, I leap out of the car. I’ve been ready for this moment for years, and now that it’s here I can hardly stand it. I’m finally getting my chance to take Anna Denault out on a date.

I swear I make it from the car to her front door in two bounds, much like a superhero, to press the doorbell. I only have to wait a few seconds before the door opens and Anna steps into view.

“Hi,” she whispers and I freeze in place.

She is beautiful. Anna’s hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, with curls that are thick and wavy, framing her features like she’s a painting hung in the finest museum. The dark forest green dress she’s chosen hugs her curves perfectly, showing off her décolletage while also giving nothing away, and the familiar scent of lavender hits my senses.

I take all of this in while my heart begins to slam wildly inside my chest. She is stunning.

“Hi,” I say, holding out an arm for her. “You look—incredible.”

“Thank you,” she says, smoothing her dress as a pale pink flush stains her cheeks. She drags her eyes up to meet mine. “You clean up nicely yourself. For me or for the sneaky pictures we know people will take tonight?”

“I told you,” I say as she closes the door and locks it. “I’m trying to impress you.”

It was meant as a fun toss away, even though I am trying to impress her, but more like a reminder. Yet, I’m rewarded when she takes my outstretched arm and snuggles up to me as we head down the steps and back out to where my car waits on the street.

As I open the door for her, she turns around and faces me, grinning mischievously. “Remember when you had that old Ford Escort, and now you drive a Mercedes.”

Chuckling, I wait until she’s inside the car before closing the door and walking around to hop inside myself.

“It’s strange sometimes,” I acknowledge, “but it’s good to look back, remember how far I’ve come.”

I point the car toward the center of town and we make our way to the restaurant. If I was a worrier, I’d have tried to plan out our conversation, made it so we had things to talk about. I’ve done it in the past with other dates, but other dates weren’t Anna. Our conversation flows smoothly, effortlessly. It’s the kind of talk you have when you have history and a shared story between the two of you.

We cover topics ranging from our old friends whom we keep up with, who’s married now and who had a baby, to Danny’s health and all the way back to my youngest sister’s surprise party last year, which I hosted. She’s quizzing me about my record collection when we pull up to the valet at the restaurant I’d chosen.

“Tommy’s?” she asks, emitting a low whistle after and making me crack up. “This is serious territory, Ollie.”

“It’s dinner, Anna, don’t be scared.” My door opens and valets help us both step out of the car. When Anna walks around to my side and joins me, I reach out and place her hand in mine, thrilled when she wraps hers right back.

If I was even worried about tonight or nervous at all, it’s forgotten. There’s an ease we have with one another, a shorthand, and it’s showing. Even as we’re led through the restaurant by the hostess, with more than one head turning as we do, I feel at peace.

Once we’re settled with drinks and our appetizers on the way, she hits me with her first question.

“So,” she says, letting her elbows lean on the table as she grins my way. “We’ve known each other a long time. I know you like hockey, you’ve threatened to give me a latch-hook rug in the past, and I’ve found out you have an affinity for jazz now that you’re an adult.”

I hold up my beer. “Guilty.”

“What else is there to Ollie that I don’t know about?” She leans back in her seat and eyes me. “Are you an assassin? Double agent? Maybe you work with the elderly?”

“While both assassin and double agent would be mildly cool, and also horrifying, you’re right about the volunteering.”

“That’s right.” She leans closer again. “Gambler’s Anonymous. It’s nice that you are giving back to help others who have been affected by it.”

“If anyone understands what they’re going through, from the point of view of a family member, it’s me. It was bad when I was little. My dad would take off for weeks on end and spend any dollar amount in our family bank accounts he could get his hands on.”

Anna’s eyes cloud over with sympathy. “Really?”

“There were winters when we were in high school that no one knew we had our heat turned off the day before. There were times I had to take cold baths, for weeks in the winter, because my mom was trying to find the money to pay our bills.”

“Those were times he took off?”

I nod. “Long story short, once I started playing with the Renegades I noticed that even though I was excelling and doing what I’d always wanted, I felt empty. That’s when my sister, Mia, introduced me to the River City Gambler’s Anonymous group.”

“It’s also called GA too, right?”

Our server appears, sliding a shrimp cocktail in front of Anna and the salad I ordered in front of me.

“It is.” I grab a fork and dig in, still talking. It’s so easy to do this with her, I’m surprised I’ve not talked about this part of me before. “I’m grateful I’ve been given the chance to spend my time with some of their recovered addicts.”

“What do you do?”

“I help organize events that keep those in recovery busy. When Mia lived here, she would plan something every other weekend for the GA group. From a bowling meetup to a movie night out, potluck dinners and jazz nights…whatever we could do to help keep them strong.”

“Is that why you like jazz?” she asks as she takes a bite of her food.

“I introduced the group to jazz, thank you,” I say with a laugh and a touch of irony. “Funny enough, my dad is the person who introduced me to jazz.”

“Oh.” She chews and watches me. “You know, my dad has a record player. I busted it out of the closet the other night.”

“You did?”

She nods. “He’s got some old records, but not jazz. I’m going to have to go shopping for some tunes.”

“I can help you if you’d like? Maybe when I’m back from this next away stint, we can make a date to go to the record shop down on the riverwalk.”

“I’d like that.”

Something in Anna’s voice makes me pause with my fork almost to my mouth. I let my eyes meet hers and I set my fork down. There is something in this moment that is so sweet and special, the way her eyes are sparkling from the candlelight, the music playing in the background, the chatter of people talking around us.

And then, there’s Dixon. Dixon who’s standing at the bar with another person at this very moment, waving at us.

“Well, well, well.” Dixon grins as he catches my eye and threads his way through the tables over to where we sit. I stare at my plate. “I saw the two of you over here and had to come say hi.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Travis Richards says, hot on Dixon’s heels. Travis is a well-known agent not only in the league, but also around the Renegades locker room seeing as he’s the man who reps a few of the guys on the team. “Good to see you, Ollie. Was hoping to catch up with you while I’m in town.” His eyes land on Anna. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Yes we did,” Dixon says as he pulls out a chair and helps himself to it. He pats the one next to him and looks at me pleadingly. “We can stay for a drink?”

“Are you asking or wanting an invite?” Anna retorts with gorgeous sarcasm, making both men crack up. She holds up a finger. “One drink, Dixon, that’s all you get. You only need one anyway because we’re in game season.”

“I like her,” Travis says sitting in the chair next to her. “I’ve seen you before at the arena. I’m Travis.”

She shakes his hand. “Anna Denault.”

“You’re Ben’s assistant?” Travis’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he looks my way. “You’re dating the coach’s assistant?”

Before I can answer, Dixon intercepts. “Oh, he’s doing something alright,” he says, segueing into another topic. “Like trying to stay relevant.”

I kick him under the table and hide my delight when he jumps. As Dixon scowls, I blow him a kiss.

“And you?” Travis asks, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Assistant to the great Ben Masters. Do you like it?”

“That seems to come up a lot lately,” Anna notes. “There’s never a dull moment. I like that I get to help be a part of something bigger than me without feeling dwarfed by it all, and I’m taking care of someone who can’t take care of themself in some way. The little bit I do helps them be greater.”

“Wow.” Travis nods with approval. “You’re the perfect assistant.”

“I try.” She shrugs. She takes the last bite of her appetizer and points at Travis. “How about you? Do you like being an agent?”

“I love it,” he says, leaning in and putting his elbows on the table. “You mention helping people and that’s why I got into it. I know some guys who play football and they basically needed protection from the big world of sports. There’s a lot more to it than meets the eyes, and these guys,” he says, pointing to both myself and Dixon, “need someone to help steer them and keep them in a straight line while they do what they do best. So, short answer is I love what I do and wouldn’t change it for another job ever.”

With each word, Anna’s eyes sparkle more, grow a little wider. It’s as if he’s teaching her a masterclass and she’s hanging on every word. If I wasn’t so sure of what I’m creating with her, I would probably feel a little jealous, but I know her well enough to know that while she is intellectually being turned on right now, and in front of me, it’s because there’s a penny dropping for her with something he’s saying.

“You make it sound like the most epic career there is out there.”

“I think it is, at least for the right people.” Travis looks around. “Dixon, there’s a seat at the bar now.”

“But we still have to have a drink,” Dixon whines, mostly for Anna’s benefit but a bit for mine, too.

“We can order a drink there, it’s the bar. Let’s leave these two alone and go.”

“Fine,” Dixon says with an exaggerated huff. He takes two steps before he spins back around. “But we’ll be back for dessert.”

As they make their way across the room, our server appears to clear our plates while another one seamlessly slides our meals in front of us. As we dig in, I reach out and place my hand on Anna’s.

“I would like to take this moment to solemnly promise something to you. Something I need to say and say now.” I know my tone is firm and sounds stressed, but I want to convey the importance.

“What is it?” she asks, covering my hand with her other one.

“We’re taking dessert to go.”

The silence at my house is more than golden, it’s a promise: because as soon as I got in the car, I made sure to text Dixon and threaten his life if he came home too early. Not that I’m going to attempt anything untoward with this woman, but come on. A guy needs a minute to make an impression, you know?

“I’m so glad you like tiramisu,” Anna moans as she stabs at her bite and tosses it in her mouth. We made a beeline for the living room as soon as we got back, both of us kicking off our shoes and sitting on the couch with three takeout boxes full of sugary goods.

“Go easy,” I say, using my food to point to her dessert. “We still have a baked cheesecake and a flourless chocolate something ahead of us.”

“It’s a chocolate souffle.” She laughs, opening its container. She dips her fork into it and holds it my way. “Have you ever had Tommy’s chocolate souffle?”

I shake my head and she holds the fork closer yet. “Try it.”

“You’re a sugar bully.” I sound annoyed, but I’m not. She presses the fork closer, so I lean in and wrap my lips around it, taking the bite. And it is delicious. “Whoa.”

Anna smiles as she dips her fork back for more and takes a bite herself. “I know. It’s so ridiculous, isn’t it?”

I flip open the other container and, using my spoon, dive into it and get her a bite of cheesecake. “Okay, I tried yours now…have you had this?”

She eyes the spoonful of cheesecake. “No. I’m a ‘cheesecake in NYC only’ kind of gal.”

“You haven’t lived yet, then.” I eat the spoonful and smack my lips. “Tommy’s head pastry chef is from New York, so this,”—I say, using my empty spoon to point at the cheesecake—“is the real deal.”

I scoop another helping and hold it out to her. “Try it?”

Anna looks at the spoonful, then back to me as she leans toward it, her mouth open. I watch as she wraps her lips around the spoon, her eyes meeting mine as she does so, and holding my gaze as she takes the bite and pulls away. She holds it steady until she can’t any longer and closes her eyes to let the punch of it all rush over her.

“Oh, wow…this is a foodgasm!” she exclaims, making me laugh. As she sits back and giggles, I notice a stray bit of whipped topping from the tiramisu has made its way to her bottom lip.

“Um,” I say pointing to my lower lip, mimicking where the food sits. “You’ve got something here.”

Her hand flies to her mouth and she wipes madly, somehow missing all of it. “Did I get it?”

“No,” I say, laughing. I point toward her face. “It’s there.”

She repeats what she just did, wiping at her face only to somehow still manage to miss the whole thing entirely.

“Now is it gone?”

“Can I?”

“Yes, please. I’m the worst at this. If I don’t have food in my hair, I’m like ‘did I even eat today?’”

I put down my spoon and reach across, using my fingertips to gently wipe away the stray topping. My hand is in a position so it cups her cheek, and I let my thumb do the wiping as she allows the full weight of her head to rest in my proverbial hands.

Everything that follows from here happens so quickly. I don’t know what comes over me, but instead of wiping the whipped cream on a napkin or even my lap, I slowly raise my thumb to my mouth and lick it off, fully aware that Anna’s eyes are locked in on me and watching my every move.

Her tongue slides along her bottom lip, that gorgeous bright pink pillow that I swear beckons to me. As her eyes slide back up to mine, there’s a brief moment where I could pull back and stop this, reminding us both that this all started because of a need. That this is the line we talked about that we don’t want to cross.

But that sounds boring. I’m not doing safe, not tonight. Instead, I lean forward, closing the space between us, my pulse hammering louder with every inch. Her breath catches, her chest rising and falling in time with mine. When our lips finally meet, I keep it soft at first, testing. Her lips are warm and sweet, and I swear I taste a hint of whipped cream still lingering there.

To my delight and pleasure, Anna doesn’t hesitate. She leans right back into me, her hands sliding up my chest and curling into the fabric of my shirt like she’s holding on for dear life. It’s all the encouragement I need. My hand, still cradling her cheek, slides into her hair, tangling in the silky strands as I deepen the kiss, my other hand allowing my fingertips to dance along her spine.

The world around us fades, and I let my mouth find its way along the length of her neck. I let my lips graze the soft skin there, taking my time as I make my way to her earlobe, refusing to stop until her whimper tells me I’ve hit my mark. I pull away, but only long enough to look her directly in the eyes and check in, and when I see she’s fine with where we’re at, I keep going.

My anxiety over wanting her is replaced by the intoxicating pull of her mouth on mine. Her lips part, and I feel her shiver in my arms. It’s enough to drive me wild. I tilt my head, angling the kiss just right, letting the heat build until it’s impossible to tell where I end and she begins.

I’m disappointed, but understanding, when she breaks away long enough to breathe, her forehead resting against mine as we both gasp for air. Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips swollen and glistening.

“Ollie,” she whispers, her voice breathy but laced with the same need I’m feeling. Her grasp grows tighter and I can feel the shift in her energy. I need to slow this down, if not for her then for us.

I pull back and grin, my thumb brushing her cheek again. “I’m stopping there.”

Anna’s eyes snap open. “What?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to do more, but…” I push back a few stray bits of her hair from around her face. “I want it to be right. With you. I’m not that kind of guy, and I don’t ever want you to feel like any part of this is something you don’t want to do.”

“I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted to be,” she insists, tugging on my shirt and pulling me back toward her as I laugh.

“There’s a reason this is all happening.”

“That’s what I said,” she says, sitting up straight. “That it’s a reason or a season.”

I know the saying, and I notice she doesn’t add in “lifetime,” but I press on. “I want to know we’ve both got our heads on straight.” I shake my head as I sit back against the couch. “I can’t believe I’m the one slowing this down.”

Anna reaches out for my hand, taking it in hers. “Extraordinary circumstances.”

“They are.” I stare at where her hand, so small in comparison to mine, rubs the back of my wrist. “Even more reason for me to protect us.”

Her fingers pause, her thumb brushing over my skin in a way that sends a jolt straight through me. “You are protecting us,” she says softly, her voice steady but full of something I can’t quite name.

Then she shifts closer, and suddenly she’s right there, her knees bumping against mine as her free hand rises to cup my jaw. “But right now…” Her voice drops to a whisper, her lips hovering just inches from mine. “Maybe we don’t need protecting.”

Before I can argue—or agree—she kisses me.

And that’s it. Every coherent thought I had about taking it slow, about caution, evaporates the moment her mouth touches mine. Her lips are insistent, warm, and addictive, pulling me under like a tide I don’t want to fight.

My hands find her waist, tugging her closer, and she responds instantly, leaning into me, her fingers threading through my hair. Her body molds against mine, her every movement deliberate, like she’s as caught up in this as I am.

I lose track of time—seconds, minutes, who cares? The only thing that matters is her: the way she tastes, the way she feels, the quiet sounds she makes against my mouth that send sparks racing down my spine.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, her forehead resting against mine. Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, and there’s a teasing glint in them that makes me want to kiss her all over again.

“Extraordinary circumstances,” she murmurs, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

I laugh, low and a little unsteady, my fingers tracing circles at her waist. “Yeah. Definitely extraordinary.”

And then, because I can’t help myself, I pull her back to me, losing myself in her all over again.