Page 9

Chloe

Even after the late night, I don’t sleep in.

My body doesn’t let me.

I head to the shower and get dressed for the day.

Since we’re heading to the mall, I find a pair of jeans and pair them with a soft white sweater and a pair of short ankle boots.

I let my hair air dry while I do some work before Gunner gets here.

I still think it’s ridiculous that he’s picking me up, but I guess if we’re supposed to be a couple, it would make sense that we ride together.

I nurse a cup of coffee while I sit at the table.

I’m cutting it a little close when I head back to the bathroom to straighten my hair and do my makeup.

But when Gunner knocks, I’m ready.

I throw my purse over my shoulder, grab my phone, and head to the door.

I open it before he can knock again.

“Morning,” I say as I step out and pull the door shut behind me.

“Morning.” His voice is gruff, like he isn’t quite awake yet.

He’s probably exhausted after last night’s game.

“We can do this another time,” I offer, but he shakes his head and turns away.

I try not to think about how good he looks this morning.

He pulls off casual too well.

Way too well.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt.

I realize absently that we practically match, but I don’t point it out.

When we get to his truck, he opens the door for me.

I think he puts out his hand, but I ignore it and climb up and settle into the front seat.

He closes the door behind me and gives me about five seconds to calm myself before he joins me.

But being in his truck does the exact opposite of calm me.

I take a deep breath and immediately regret it because it’s heavy with the scent of Gunner’s cologne.

I don’t know what he wears; I've never asked him. But I do know, he’s worn the same cologne since the first day I met him. I love it because it’s not musky like some guys wear; it’s sharp and strong, kind of like the man himself.

He’s quiet as we begin the drive, not that that surprises me. He’s always been on the quiet side; it serves to make him more intimidating to people. I've never found him that way, though.

He’s just.

.

.

Gunner.

He’s the same guy who didn’t say a word last night after following me home.

He didn’t wave, didn’t honk the horn; he simply drove off after I went inside.

That’s just the kind of guy he is.

But now that I’m in a truck with him, I’m not sure I can handle the silence.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Go ahead.”

I turn it on, not at all surprised to hear sports radio playing.

It soothes me; I love sports radio.

The longer we drive, the more I feel myself beginning to relax.

It lasts until he pulls into a parking lot.

I frown.

“Where are we? I thought we were going to the mall?”

He frowns and looks over at me.

“The mall? Why?”

“To go ring shopping.”

“We’re not shopping for a ring at the mall, Chloe.” He climbs out of the truck, leaving me staring after him.

I scramble out my door, closing it just as he comes around the front of the truck.

“I didn’t dress to go to a fancy place,” I practically hiss at him.

My words don’t faze him.

“Neither did I.”

Suddenly, nerves hit me, and I have no desire to go inside.

I remind myself that this is a business venture, and that seems to help, as does the hand at my back propelling me toward the store.

“They’re not going to have anything cheap here,” I tell him as we get close to the door.

“Why would we want something cheap?”

I stop and look up at him.

He looks genuinely confused.

“It’s a fake engagement, Coftman. We’re not spending money on a nice ring.”

“Okay.”

I narrow my eyes at his easy answer.

“I’m serious.”

He nods.

“Got it.” He opens the door and urges me inside.

“Mr. Coftman. Ms. Liessman,” a man in a three-piece suit greets us.

I want to close my eyes, but I don’t.

This is going to be a disaster.

I feel like an idiot for not dressing nicer.

The only thing that makes me feel remotely better is the fact that Gunner is casual as well.

Technically, I’m more dressed up than he is, so I try not to let it bother me.

Gunner puts a hand on my back, and I’m reminded that we’re supposed to be a happy couple.

I plaster a smile on my face and go for professional.

“Good morning.”

The man in the suit introduces himself as Tony.

“Mr. Coftman described you to me in great detail, Ms. Liessman,” he begins.

His words shock me to silence.

“So, I pulled several rings I thought you might be interested in. But feel free to look for any other ones you want to try.”

I’m still trying to recover from the fact that Gunner described me to the man.

I don’t think I want to hear how that went.

“I would love to look at the ones you picked out,” I say with as much professionalism as I possibly can.

I follow the man over to the glass counter and try to keep my hands from shaking.

He opens a case that has six rings nestled inside.

I catch my breath as I take them in.

My eyes run over each ring, starting from the left to the right.

Each ring is.

.

.

expensive.

That’s the only word that comes to mind.

I feel Gunner’s eyes on me, but I don’t know what to say or do.

“Please, try them on,” the man urges.

I really don’t want to.

I glance up at Gunner, and he takes a step closer.

The man seems to understand that we want privacy, and he moves away from us.

“These are really expensive,” I say under my breath.

I don’t even have to look at the price tags, not that there are any.

I just know they are.

He glances at the man across the room and then back down at me.

“Do you like any of them?” he asks.

I glance back at them.

They’re all so.

.

.

big.

“Coftman, why don’t we just get like a fake one?” I whisper.

His eyebrows knit together.

“A fake one?”

“Yeah. This isn’t real. Why don’t we just get a fake one?”

“A fake ring?” he asks.

I nod.

He scowls.

“I’m not getting a fake ring.” He looks back at the guy.

“She doesn’t like any of these.”

“Coftman,” I mutter under my breath.

“You don’t,” he says without looking at me.

The man is in front of us a moment later.

“No problem. Let's find something you do like. Would you like to describe what you’re looking for?” I give him a blank look because I have no idea. I have never once considered what kind of engagement ring I would like. At my silence, the man continues. “Why don’t you look around. Point out some pieces you like, and we can go from there?”

I nod and move away from both the salesman and Gunner. I start at the far end of the shop and begin to browse. But it’s sheer overwhelm. I move from case to case, but they all start to blur together after a little bit. Gunner and the salesman keep their distance, and I start to feel panicky. I have no idea what to pick; I have no idea what the prices are. I have no idea what I’m doing. Gunner steps in front of me a moment later. “What’s wrong?” His voice is low.

I look up at him, feeling vulnerable. “I have no idea which one to pick,” I whisper.

“Okay.”

“There are no prices, nothing’s marked. I have no idea if I’m looking at a thousand-dollar ring or a twenty-five thousand-dollar ring.”

He frowns. “It doesn’t matter.”

I rub my forehead. “It does to me.”

“Which one do you like?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” I say in exasperation. “If they had a hockey section of rings, I could figure it out,” I say, trying to joke. He doesn’t smile, and I fight the building headache. He leaves me to myself and walks over to the salesman. They talk a few minutes and then shake hands.

“Let’s go,” Gunner says.

I frown. “We’re done?” He nods. “But we didn’t pick out a ring,” I point out.

“I took care of it.”

“I—” I close my mouth. “Okay.” I follow him to the truck. I’m actually relieved. This way I don’t feel guilty if it’s super expensive.

“Hungry?” he asks as he backs out.

“I’m fine,” I wave him off. Fifteen minutes later, he pulls into a restaurant. “I said I was fine,” I remind him.

“I’m starving.”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” He parks and grabs a non-descript ball cap off the dashboard and shoves it on his head, pulling it low over his eyes. I’ve seen all the guys do this when they’re out and about. It rarely works. Guys as big and tall as Gunner don’t just melt into the crowd. Even if people don’t recognize who they are, they recognize that they’re someone . I glance at my phone and notice several missed calls, texts, and emails—all work-related. “You go on in. I have to follow up on some things.” I open my email on my tablet as he climbs out of the truck. A moment later, I’m startled when my door opens. I look at him in surprise.

“Come on. Work can wait.”

He tugs on my arm, and it’s either follow his lead or fall out of the truck. With a sigh, I close my iPad and climb down. I glance at the restaurant, taking note for the first time. “We’re at a diner? You like diners?”

“What’s wrong with diners?” he asks, looking down at me.

I frown. “I don’t know. They’re just so...greasy.”

He smirks and opens the door for me. I take in the bright vinyl seats and try not to grimace. The hostess does a double take of Gunner, and I resist the urge to sigh. “Good morning,” she says a little too brightly. “Just the two of you?” Gunner nods, and she grabs menus. She keeps up a steady stream of conversation all the way to the booth. I can tell she knows Gunner is somebody; she just hasn’t been able to work out who yet. I don’t make any attempt to help her. I watch as Gunner slides in, but I don’t move.

The woman finally leaves, and Gunner turns to me. “Are you going to sit down?”

I look down at the booth and grimace. “Do I have to?”

He laughs. But a moment later, he shrugs out of his sweatshirt and then hands it to me. I look at it and then back at him. “You can sit on it.”

“It’s white,” I say, grimacing.

He shakes his head. “Just sit down, Miss PR.”

My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “It’s what Aiden used to call you before he knew your name. It kind of stuck. Now, are you going to sit; or do we need to go somewhere else that isn’t beneath you?”

I glare at him before I finally throw his sweatshirt on the bench seat and sit on it. “It’s not beneath me,” I mumble.

“Good morning, I’m Kathy. I’m going to be your waitress this morning. What can I get—Oh my word.” She pauses. “You’re Aiden Brooks.”

A strangled laugh escapes me, and I grin broadly, patting his hand. “What do you want to drink, Aiden?”