Page 9

CHAPTER 9

DALLAS

I can’t remember the last time I sat through a dinner with a boner, and yet here I am, wedged between Happy and Hannah, trying not to stare at the most beautiful woman in the world conveniently placed directly opposite me, my dick hard enough to cut a fucking diamond.

Damn she looks good. She looked hot that night, wearing the dress that showed off her legs. She looked sexy the other day in the office, wearing the dress that emphasized her hips and ass. Tonight, in a loose sweater that hangs off one of her shoulders, giving me a glimpse of the smooth skin I had my lips pressed against in bed, and a pair of blue jeans that makes her ass look edible, make-up free, with her blonde, chin-length hair left natural and wavy, Emily is perfection in its rarest form, and I am hard as stone.

I practically plowed Robbie down when he went to answer the door earlier. I knew full well who was going to be standing on the other side because Fran has prepared me. She also told me to act natural, and I tried. I really did. But when I opened the door and saw her there, those big caramel eyes bugging up at me, I think a part of me died—that playboy part of me who’s spent most of his adult life keeping a tally of all the women he’s fucked for no other reason than shits and gigs.

I shift in my chair in an attempt to ease the pressure in my balls, but it’s futile; the big guy is not playing tonight. When I glance up right in time to see Emily open wide and pop a whole piece of sushi in her mouth, I swear I almost jizz in my goddamn pants. I drop my chin to my chest, staring at my plate, taking a few deep breaths. Houston, we have a problem.

“So, Emily,” Vera pipes up from the other end of the long table. “Are you seeing anyone?”

My gaze lifts from my plate to Emily in time to see her shrink a little under the weight of all the focus suddenly on her; I get the feeling that she doesn’t like attention, but it’s not just that. Despite the small smile she offers, there’s something contradicting in her eyes. I saw it that night she came home with me, and I’m seeing it now. And whatever it is, I don’t like it one bit.

“No.” She shakes her head.

“You’re single?” Vera perks up even more.

My hand balls into a fist, and I don’t miss the way Fran and Robbie’s eyes dart to me.

Emily takes a deep breath, lips pressed together in a tight smile. “Yeah, I am.”

At that, Vera squeals. “Oh my God! I have the perfect guy for you!”

That was the wrong time to take a swig from my beer. The mouthful goes down the wrong pipe, and I’m suddenly coughing and spluttering, gasping for breath like my life is on the line. I drop my beer bottle onto the table with a clatter, which has a domino effect and crashes into Hannah’s wine glass, causing a whole fucking commotion.

“Fuck’s sake, Dallas!” Hannah jumps up from her seat, her jeans splattered with wine.

“Dude…” Happy snickers beside me.

Fran and Robbie are giggling between themselves .

Vera ignores the chaos and continues. “So, his name is Callum. He lives in our building.” She turns to her boyfriend, Tyler, slapping his arm. “Don’t you think they’d be perfect together?”

Tyler shrugs noncommittally.

Vera rolls her eyes, turning back to Emily. “Oh, my God, he’s so hot. A literal fireman!”

I’m on the verge of yelling SHUT THE FUCK UP, VERA, but thankfully, before that happens, Emily interjects. “I’m going to have to stop you there,” she says, a hand held up in the air. “My dad was a fireman for forty years, and I love him dearly, but dating one is a hard no.”

Vera frowns, her shoulders slumping in defeat while I bite back a victorious grin.

I’ve barely been able to concentrate on the Jersey versus Buffalo game playing on the television. We’re playing Buffalo tomorrow night, and while they’re coming off back-to-back games and bound to be dealing with a little fatigue, their winger, TJ Lewis, has one of the most dangerous slap shots in the league. I spent most of today’s on-ice practice in the crease, copping shot after shot, and most of the dry land practice working on my reflexes. If anyone should be watching the game on TV, it should be me. But I’m not. Sure, I’m looking at the screen, but I have no idea what’s happening because I’m entirely too focused on the pretty blonde currently talking to Fran over by the fire.

Vera and Tyler left earlier because Tyler had a gig downtown. He’s a DJ with his own residency at a club down in the Lower East Side.

Hannah left not long ago.

Now, it’s just me, Robbie, and Happy sprawled out on the huge sectional, watching the game, while Fran and Emily talk quietly between themselves, sipping mugs of tea .

I know I’ve said it before, but man, she’s beautiful. Illuminated by the glow of the fire, she has this softness about her. The curve of her cheeks, her plush lips. She’s a masterpiece. And the most absurd thing of all is I get the feeling she has no idea just how perfect she is.

I know she has some insecurities because the night we were together, she refused to let me see her naked. It was her hard line, and I respected that. I was also secretly stoked because she agreed to wear the hockey jersey I gave her. My hockey jersey. She didn’t know it at the time, but she fulfilled my biggest fantasy that night by letting me fuck her while she was wearing my number, my name splayed across her back, and she had no idea. My dick twitches now at the thought.

My phone vibrates where it’s resting on my chest, pulling me from my thoughts. I pick it up and my brows knit together to see a new text message from Mason. Who’s literally four-feet away from me.

Mason: You should offer her a ride home.

I glance at him, meeting his eyes to see him wink like a conspiratorial bastard. I’ve only had the one beer. Well, half a beer because I spilled the rest all over the table. I look to where Happy is lying on the opposite section of the couch, intently focused on the TV.

Me: What about him?

Mason: He’s so far up his own ass, he won’t even realize you’re gone.

I laugh under my breath. He’s not wrong.

Glancing back at where Fran and Emily are still chatting, I consider Robbie’s suggestion. It’s getting late. How was she planning on getting home? The thought of her catching an Uber—or worse, the subway—alone at this time of night makes my spine stiffen. Nope. Not happening. I’m taking her home. No question about it.

Sitting up, I stretch my arms over my head, yawning louder than necessary and causing everyone to look at me.

“Dude, you sound like my dad after Thanksgiving lunch,” Happy scoffs, focusing back on the game.

I roll my eyes, pushing up to my feet.

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” I say, louder than my yawn.

“This isn’t La Guardia, Dallas,” Fran quips. “You really don’t need to announce your departure.”

Robbie bites back his smirk, staring straight ahead at the TV.

I glance at Emily, meeting her eyes momentarily before she quickly looks away.

“How’re you getting home, Goldie?”

She bristles at the nickname I’ve designated for her, and I can’t help but smile.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs.

Fran pipes up then. “How are you getting home? It’s late.”

She shrugs. “I was just going to order an Uber.”

“No way!” Fran interrupts. “Nope. You should go with Dallas. I heard some woman was attacked the other day by a guy who carjacked an Uber and posed as the driver.”

I don’t know if that story’s true. I really hope it isn’t, for that poor woman’s sake. But regardless, I could kiss Fran right now.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Emily scoffs.

“Nah, it’s true. I read about it on CNN,” Robbie suddenly chimes in, still staring at the television. “Apparently, it’s this crime ring. There’s been, like, three separate incidents in the last week.”

Okay, so now I’m definitely not taking no for an answer. Hell, I don’t even want to get in an Uber if it’s true, and I’m a six-four, two-hundred-pound professional puck blocker.

“Come on, Goldie,” I say. “I’ll let you choose the music.”

She glances at Fran once more before rolling her eyes and, with a huff, she stands, glaring at me with a muttered, “Fine. ”

My subconscious cheers, and I hurry to grab my jacket and Emily’s coat from the closet, collecting my keys from the side table and sliding on my boots. Hell, I’m like a damn dog, waiting impatiently by the door for walkies. Get it together, man .

Emily says her goodbyes, Fran walking her out, and I offer her a reassuring smile, holding her coat out. In a perfect world, she’d turn and allow me to drape it over her shoulders, maybe even lean in and press a kiss to the soft skin just below her ear. But, of course, that doesn’t happen; she takes it from me with a muttered thanks, shrugging it on herself and ignoring me completely as I open the door for her.

I glance at Fran who gives me a sly wink, and, with a small salute, I pull the door closed and walk to the elevator, moving to stand next to Emily as she stares up at the floor counter with intense focus.

The elevator arrives and we hop in, saying nothing on our way down to ground level. Stepping out, we walk through the lobby, the night doorman waving as we head out into the cold night air. Still, we say nothing as I lead the way down the sidewalk and around the corner to where I parked.

Pressing my fob, the silence in the side alley is inundated by the chirp of the alarm disarming and Emily pauses, gawking at my car.

“You okay?” I check.

“You drive a Lamborghini?”

I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shakes her head, but I catch the hint of a smile pulling at her lips as she mutters, “Of course, you do…”

I reach the car and open her door for her, not missing the unimpressed look in her eyes at my chivalry. But I ignore her, grinning cockily instead as I say, “Let’s get you home, Goldie.”