I'm not sure what I expect from Tia at dinner, but I'm pleasantly surprised when I arrive at Mina's to find her tucked into a corner booth, nursing a glass of wine and looking calmer than she was in her office today.
Candlelight reflects off the gold teardrop earrings in her ears, casting little halos on each side of her head. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, her gray eyes dark in the candlelight.The top of her dress hugs her curvy body, making my dick throb like a motherfucker.
Other diners are engrossed in their own meals and conversations, not paying any attention as I approach Tia. Soft strains of music float from speakers hidden near the domed ceiling, but it's not loud enough to be distracting. The entire place smells like cooking meat and rich spices.
Tia tilts her head back, her eyes darkening when she spots me. She can't hide the way she startles slightly. It's not like she's afraid of me or nervous, but more like she doesn't know what to make of me. She can't hide the attraction in her gaze though. Even if she doesn't want to like me, she does.
"Hey, beautiful," I murmur, leaning down to brush my lips across her cheek. To my surprise, she doesn't lean away. She just makes this soft sound that goes straight to my cock.
I pull away before I do something to embarrass her, sliding into the booth across from her.
"You look beautiful," I murmur, meaning it.
She stares at me like she's trying to decide if I mean it or if it's just a line, a hint of vulnerability in her gaze that makes my stomach ache. I don't like it. And I really don't fucking like knowing that something—or someone—put that hint of vulnerability there. Whoever it was has her guard up so high that she doesn't even trust herself.
Until she learns to trust herself, she'll never learn to trust me. I need to find out what happened so I can start repairing the damage. She needs to know that I'm not whoever hurt her. I'm not the asshole she thinks I am. And the last thing I want to do is be the reason she walks around with brand-new, painful scars.
I'm simply the motherfucker who can't stop thinking about her, even when I know damn well that I should. Even when I know that I'm crossing into obsessive territory here. None of this shit is normal, I'm aware of that. Butsheisn't normal, either. Ifshe were, I wouldn't be here right now. She's vital, necessary. I can't fucking explain that. All I can do is feel it.
"Thank you," she finally murmurs, dipping her head slightly. "I wasn't sure how long it'd take you to get here, so I ordered you a beer." She nods at the bottle on the table. "It's what you were drinking at the wedding, right?"
"You remembered," I say, grinning.
"Did not," she lies. "I asked your brother."
"Uh-huh. You called him up to ask him what beer I drink?"
She fidgets in the booth before grumbling wordlessly at being caught in a lie. "Okay, fine. Maybe I remembered. Happy now?"
"Thrilled, baby." I lift the bottle, taking a sip.
She squeezes her eyes closed, taking a deep breath. "Could you please stop calling me that?"
"Why?"
"I don't like it."
"Why not?" I ask, genuinely curious if it's simply because she doesn't like how intimate it feels or if there's some other reason. She's hard to read sometimes. But if it's simply because it feels too intimate, I probably won't stop. I want her to get used to intimacy with me—not just sex, but the other shit, the little parts of it no one ever thinks about, like pet names and soft touches and shared secrets.
If it genuinely makes her uncomfortable, though? Yeah, I need to handle that. I don't want her looking at me and seeing someone else. Fuck that noise.
I don't care who there was before me. They don't matter. If they did, she'd be with them. Instead, she's here with me because whoever was in her past didn't take care of her properly. They didn't deserve her. I plan to be the motherfucker who does.
"Maybe because you don't know me, Briggs," she says quietly, her eyes locked with mine. "And maybe because the last hockey player who called me that was an asshole."
My hand clenches around the bottle as she confirms what I'd already guessed. Still, I'm curious. Who was dumb enough to get close to her and then fuck it all up? "Who was he?"
"No one important."
"Tell me."
"Daniel Jordan."
I know the name, and I don't love hearing it now. From what little I know about him, the guy is a prick. He's not nearly good enough to play in our league, but he thinks he's hot shit.
"Minor league, center?" I confirm.
She nods, avoiding my gaze.
