Page 38 of Bound

Because—

I just wanted to go on a real date…

I can talk my way into her room, maybe even into her pants, but?—

A real date.

She deserves that and so much more, deserves the fucking world.

And that’s not going to happen if I have her room number.

It can happen if I’m smart, if I take care of her, if I make sure to give her all she deserves before she wises up and kicks my ass to the curb.

“Meet me in the morning for breakfast?” I ask softly, mind already spinning. We’re in New York City—if there’s ever a place to give someone the world, it’s here.

“Breakfast?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I whisper back, my mouth hitching up in the corners.

She blinks, a flurry of emotions cascading across her expression, too fast for me to tease out.

But then her chin is coming up, her shoulders are straightening, and she nods.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby at ten.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Claire

I nibble at my bottom lip and hesitate just outside the sunlit lobby, gaze searching for Jackson, half expecting this to be some sort of cruel joke.

That Jackson will come to his senses and not show up.

That I’ll be standing here feeling inadequate until I manage to make my legs work enough to go back to my room and hide.

“Coming through!”

I realize that I’m blocking the hallway leading from the elevators to the lobby itself and jump to the side, allowing the employee with a huge cart through.

Not that I have a choice—it’s either that or find myself beneath the rattling wheels as he determinedly makes his way across the lobby.

It’s not just the man who’s making noise, the entire space is busy with activity. There are people checking out, the aforementioned staff zipping through, shoes clicking on the marble floor as they accomplish their various tasks for the day. Across the other side of the sunshine-dappled room, therestaurant, currently serving breakfast, is hopping—including a large conglomerate of the Breakers crew consuming all manner of waffles and pancakes, cereal and granola, fruit and coffee.

Yeah, it’s ten in the morning.

But hockey is played late into the night—three hours for the game (unless it goes to overtime, in which case they end even later). Then there are press conferences and post-game cool downs and workouts. Add in meeting with the training staff to address an injury or to keep the guys feeling good enough to endure the brutal eighty-two game season and early mornings aren’t the norm.

Not if we can help it, anyway.

We, because I work with Luc and the team in charge of travel plans to try to make it as easy on the guys and staff as possible.

“Kitty cat.”

I jump again, but this time it’s to whip around and slam into a big, strong chest.

Jackson’s not as tall as yesterday since he’s not wearing his skates, but the moment his body meets mine, I feel it.

It.

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