Billie loves being right up against the glass, preferably in the corners where the guys get checked against the boards the most. She’s surprisingly loud given how quiet she is in daily interactions. Loud and violent. She loves the restrained violence of the Scorpions’s aggressive fore check.
Billie tilts her head and then shrugs. “We’ll see how we’re both feeling when we get there. Not sure either of us are going to be interested in being crammed in like sardines with fans.”
Relief flashes through me like a sheet of lightning, and I know Billie sees it. She gives a softer smile and then squeezes my hand.
“I’ll be back in a few hours, and we’ll make sure this order gets delivered on time.”
Once she disappears out the back, the heavy steel door closing heavily behind her, I carefully reapply my lotion and turn on the purifier I purchased after I’d nearly given a hockey player my virginity in a club two weeks ago. I’m entirely uninterested in drowning in the orchid perfume for longer than necessary right now. Then I settle into the work of building the four bridesmaid bouquets, carefully arranging them and letting my mind quiet with the flow of the work.
Chapter Nine
CARYS
The bell from the front of the shop rings as I’m finishing wrapping ribbon around the second bouquet, ripping me from the quiet space in my mind.
“One minute!” I call.
There’s no response, just steady footfalls across the wood floor. I tuck the ribbon and drop the stems into the shallow cup of water, barely ensuring the ribbon doesn’t get wet. I wipe my hands on my apron and then double-check there aren’t any tears left on my cheeks as I rush to the store front. Just as I’m passing over the threshold, I crash into a hard chest. A heartbeat later, lemongrass surrounds me like a warm blanket.
“Whoa,” Rhett murmurs.
He palms my waist just like that first time I ran into him, the heat of it searing through my apron and shirt. I swallow all the butterflies filling my throat as I take a half-step away. He’s dressed casual in dark jeans and a gray hoodie. A ball cap sits low over his eyes, and a pair of sunglasses hangs from the neckline of the hoodie. He sets a bag on the counter behind him without looking away from me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, a heavy frown pulling at his lips. “Have you been crying?”
I plaster a smile on my face and take another step away from him, not trusting my lotion to hold. “Just a long day with this client order.”
He searches my face before his eyes skim over the rest of my body. I can’t help but perfume at the attention, a fire starting low in my belly. It breaks through my lotion like it’s not even there. The smell of orchids emanates out from me. His nostrils flare, and his Adam’s apple moves with a swallow.
“I…” His voice shoots straight through me, and my scent pulses out even stronger.
He swallows again. He shoves his hands into his pockets. I don’t dare move. Every fiber of my being wants—needs—to plaster myself against him until his scent is burned under my skin. It’s such an overwhelming force, I’m trembling with it. I press my hands into my stomach. My perfume strengthens, and I blush, the heat of it tracing down my throat and onto my chest. His eyes close, his eyelashes so long they brush his cheeks, and his chest moves with a deep, slow breath.
“Focus, James,” he mutters. “You gotta focus.”
His voice is ragged, trembling like my body. Does he feel this, too? This unholy drive to mark and claim andtake? As if in answer, his lemongrass scent falls over me, reaching across the feet between us like it’s a living thing of its own. A whine swells up my throat, so fast I’m not quite able to contain it. His nostrils flare as his body tightens, ready to pounce.
“Y-you have lunch?” My voice is surprisingly steady, all things considered.
“Yeah,” he mutters. He blows out a hard breath and rolls his shoulders back. Then he focuses on me again, the brown of his eyes even brighter than before. “I brought you lunch… and a coffee. Billie mentioned it’s been a bad morning.”
He turns and grabs the bag before following me into the back room. I quickly put away the finished bouquets and the remaining prepped flowers then wipe down the big work table so there’s a spot for the food. He sets the bag and disposable coffee cup carefully in the center of it before turning to me. There’s a resolve in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“I want to take you out,” he says.
I tilt my head. “Like a date?”
He gives a single nod. My scent surges again even as nerves close my throat.
“My dad?—”
“I don’t care.” He cuts me off with a scowl. It’s instinct to freeze. His hands ball into fists and then loosen. His tone is gentle when he continues. “I don’t care if it gets me in hot water with the team. I want to… to at least take you to dinner.”
I swallow, trying to tamp down the nerves.
“I… I’m not interested in a fling,” I say. My brain rebels against me, clamoring to get me closer to his heat and his scent. Instead, I turn away from him and reach for the bag of food. “I’m not built for them. It’s probably best if we just pretend?—”
He grabs my wrist, and I cut off with an embarrassing squeak.
