Nothing.I took my shot and missed. Now I have to live with the consequences. “I don’t know.” All I know is that I can’t stay here. Savannah’s somewhere in this city, near enough to touch, too distant to have.
I check my texts to her. She still has her location on for some reason. I open the map and blink a few times at the address.Here. This building. The same one where I’m currently sitting.
I don’t believe in fate, really, but it feels like there’s a thread that connects us, everything in the universe pulling me toward her. The same feeling I’ve gotten only one other time in my life—when I drove all night to try out for the only team who would return my calls. I know what it’s like to work for something.To earn it.
So I tell Clara and LeBlanc good night and throw myself out of the booth, ready to find Savannah. To win her back—no matter the cost.
Chapter Thirty-One
Savannah
Brayden walksme off a private elevator into a rooftop restaurant with a spectacular view of Millennium Park, his hand resting protectively on my lower back.
The hostess scrambles from behind her stand to lead us to our table. As we pass, there’s a ripple of conversation from other diners. “Forsyth—” and “his brother—” and, once, “cocaine.” That last one gets my attention. Enough to distract me as Brayden insists on pulling out my chair.
“People are staring at us,” I whisper.
“People are staring atyou. I can’t really blame ‘em with you in that dress.”
“What dress?” I ask, teasing, because I spent the Uber ride over here trying to tug down the hem of my short black dress while Brayden hovered his palm over my knee like he was going to put his hand on my bare thigh.
Brayden doesn’t answer, not directly. Instead, he kisses my neck, lips brushing the tendon there that feels especially sensitized. A place he’s never kissed me before.He’s just doing it for show.Just like he kissed me on the plane and in theclubhouse hallway and a dozen other times… A feeling, warm and liquid and dangerous, settles in my belly.
I sit down and Brayden takes the chair opposite me, legs extended until our feet brush under the table. Something no one else can see, and yet, he doesn’t draw back, and I don’t want him to.
I fiddle with my lock pendant as the waiter takes our drink order, the metal of it warm from where it sits on my skin. I get a flash of Asher’s mouth around it.When you wear that, I want you to think of me.I can’t stop, somehow, the way I can’t stop thinking about Brayden when I’m with Asher.
“Fuck, Adler’s here.” It takes me a second to register what Brayden just said. I turn around. Asher is right there, stepping off the elevator and craning his head around the dining area as if he’s looking for someone. The crowd does that same murmur, louder this time. Right, Asher played here. From across the table, Brayden’s expression goes stormy. “Wonder what he wants,” he grits out.
Me. I swallow the thought in a gulp of water, wishing that our waiter had delivered our drinks. “I’m sure he’s just having dinner. He used to live in Chicago.” Briefly, I wonder if he’s meeting a former teammate. An ex.You have no right to be jealous.But I am, a burning sensation no amount of water will extinguish.
Asher is at the hostess stand, pointing to our table, a four-top with two unoccupied chairs. Maybe he’s being friendly and coming to say hi.Since when are he and Brayden friends?Either way, he’s walking over here. “Be nice,” I warn Brayden. “People are taking pictures.”
Brayden’s lip curls in distaste as Asher makes his way toward our table. Unlike Brayden, who’s wearing pants that came from a dry cleaner bag, Asher’s in a T-shirt and ripped jeans. The collar of his shirt is just stretched enough to see one curl of his tattoo.For some reason, the place on my chest where he sucked a mark—long since faded—starts to throb.
Asher gets to our table, rests his hands on the back of the chair, but doesn’t pull it out. “This seat taken?”
“No,” I say, just as Brayden says, “Yes.”
Asher snorts. “Which is it?”
“Fine.” Brayden says it like they might not be in a fistfight, but the possibility is there. “Don’t you have friends in Chicago, Adler?” he asks once Asher sits.
“Sure, I’m with two of them right now.”
Brayden rolls his eyes. “You and Savannah are not friends.”
“Isn’t that up to Sav?” Asher says my nickname like he’s trying to make a point. “And does that mean we’re friends,Forsyth?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Aw, I thought we were getting somewhere.”
“So you crash my dinner out withmy wife?” What Brayden has called me a few times, but never it that tone. Like I’mhis, not as a thing he’s bought but a person to protect.
Asher raises an eyebrow. “If Savannah tells me to leave, I’ll leave.”
Our waiter chooses that moment to finally come back, bearing our drinks—a mocktail that’s clear and not too sweet for me and a club soda with lime for Brayden. The waiter turns to Asher. “Anything for you, sir?”
