Page 3 of Keep Me Close

Because the problem isn’t a lack of women.

It’s Cheyenne fucking Benson.

And problems like her don’t just disappear because you turn up the music. The only thing that makes the situation bearable is knowing that she’s all the way across the country in LA.

Far away.

Safe.

Exactly where she needs to stay.

2

Knox

I loosen the top couple buttons of my shirt while riding the elevator up to my place as my mind tumbles back to the woman at the club who offered to come home with me. In hindsight, shooting her down might have been a tactical error on my part. Maybe it would’ve helped me stop thinking about a certain someone else.

I drag a hand down my face, remembering the first time we were introduced and just how knocked off-balance I’d been. Six years later, Cheyenne has become the bane of my existence. I really need to figure out a way to get her out of my system once and for all, because I can’t keep doing this.

The first time I saw her, she’d been standing in my parents’ kitchen with a glass of champagne in one hand while wearing a short, sparkly dress that looked like it had been made to catch every eye in the room.

Well, it worked.

Her auburn hair had spilled over her bare shoulders, and her makeup had been flawless. She’d looked every bit like the reality TV star she was. She’d smiled at my mother, charmed the hell out of everyone around her, and fit into the McNichols household like she’d been born into it.

When her gaze had landed on me, there hadn’t been a single spark of interest.

No curiosity.

No flirty smile.

Nothing.

Instead, there’d been a quick once-over and a bored look that said she’d already decided exactly what kind of man I was.

That had been it for me.

It wasn’t the dress or even her gorgeous face, though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d been completely bowled over by both. It was that she hadn’t been impressed. Not by me or the McNichols name. Not by the charm that usually got me whatever or whoever I wanted. She’d looked at me like I was just another good-looking hockey player with an ego problem.

And for some fucked-up reason, that stuck.

A soft chime interrupts the whirl of those thoughts as the doors slide open to my penthouse. Coming home alone has never bothered me. After growing up with three siblings, our house was always mass chaos. In the best possible way, of course. Then throw in that my father is Gray McNichols…

Yeah, that Gray McNichols.

Pro hockey legend turned ESPN broadcaster, and you get the picture.

So, I like the quiet.

Usually.

Except tonight.

Right now, it crawls along my skin like an incurable rash. All I want to do is shrug off the melancholy that’s been eating at me these past couple weeks. Maybe the guys have the right idea and it’s time to settle down.

Or not.

Who knows.