Page 10 of Dream Girl Drama

“I won’t,” she whispered. “I couldn’t.”

“Good.”

He nuzzled the crown of her head, hesitating briefly before loosening his arms.

Chloe blew a kiss over her shoulder and jogged for the parking lot, already counting the minutes until she saw Sig Gauthier again. There was no way this dinner was going to be a fraction as interesting as him and what he made her feel.

Oh, but she was wrong.

Chapter Three

Sig pulled up to the lavish estate and raked a hand down his jaw, hoping to drag the dopey smile off his face. No chance of that, though. Hell, smiling was the last thing he’d expected to be doing before a rare meeting with his father, but here he was.

Chloe Clifford.

Son of a bitch.

Meeting the girl of his dreams wasn’t on his bingo card when he woke up this morning. He didn’t have some mental archetype of how his dream girl would look. How she would act. Make him feel. None of that. Up until the lobby of that country club, he’d been fine being single. Getting a little action on an as-needed basis, but never feeling pressed to commit.

But Chloe?

Yeah, he already knew he’d commit to that. Fuckinghard. She already wanted to come to Boston, didn’t she? He’d just do the long-distance thing until she decided it was right for her. And he’dmakeit right. He’d bring her down to Boston and show her everything. Every corner. She didn’t think she was built to thrive there? He’d help her believe the opposite.

Sig unbuckled his seat belt, because the stiff nylon was adding pressure to a chest that already felt like a powder keg. He rubbed at the twinge at the center, but it wouldn’t go away. Something happened tonight. Something important. God, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

Might as well admit it, too. He couldn’t wait to fuck her.

He shook his head on a pained laugh as his cock started to fill and extend, testing the denim fly of his jeans. Not a good time for a hard-on, but he’d been fighting one since she’d opened her mouth for his tongue and rubbed her belly against him. She liked making trouble outside of bed. What kind would they make inside of one? The goddamn filthy kind, if Sig had his way. He didn’t know any other way to fuck and something told him she wouldn’t mind being thrown into positions those country club boys could only dream about.

Get this dinner over with.

Track down the girl. No.Lockdown the girl.

Take her back to Boston tomorrow, if she was willing. If not, he’d buy a new truck so he could make the three-hour trip as often as necessary. It wouldn’t be easy during the season, but nothing worthwhile was easy, was it?

When Sig was ten, his mother couldn’t afford to buy him hockey gear. With the tryout approaching in just a few weeks, he’d gotten on his bike and tracked down every secondhand, beat-up pad, helmet, and jersey in the county. He’d actually tried out for the under 11s team in mismatched skates. And when the other kids had made fun of him in front of his mortified mother, he’d informed them they were all pampered pussies who needed their parents to take them shopping. No one had bothered him after that—and Sig had kept that attitude all his life. One he’d developed for his mother’s benefit, but over time, had become his method of thought. Of dealing with his lack of funds or his lowball contract.

Occasionally, he looked at one of his higher-paid opponents and thought it would be nice to make eight figures. To buy a vacation house in Hawaii. Drive a Porsche SUV. But his mind would come back withbutyou don’t need it.

Parting with his faithful ride would suck, but breaking down again between Boston and Darien would suck more. Even the AAA mechanic he’d eventually called out to the country club parking lot had pondered out loud if the old bucket of bolts was worth saving. At least the guy hadn’t taken long to arrive—only twenty minutes—so while he was late for dinner, he wasn’tthatlate. Which was good. Because the sooner this dinner was over, the sooner he could find Chloe and finish what they’d started.

God, he was going to make her fucking scream.

Sig breathed through his nose for another minute until his erection subsided, then got out of the truck, his boots crunching in the crushed shell driveway. On his way to the twenty-foot-wide porch, adorned on both sides by sculpted bushes, Sig passed a fountain, smirking at the cherubs spitting water at one another. The woman who owned this house had probably paid tens of thousands for those weird, naked angels. Unreal.

He turned his attention to the house. How many people actually lived in this mansion perched right on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Sound? If the answer was any less than ten, this much space was unnecessary. The entire Bearcats team—and the coaching staff—could live in this place comfortably.

Did Chloe live in a house similar to this?

Ignoring the way his neck tightened at the definite possibility, Sig rang the doorbell, took a deep breath, and braced.

With the distance in their geography, not to mention the pandemic, Sig hadn’t seen Harvey in almost six years. Prior to that, when Sig turned eighteen, he’d been required to track the man down, since Sig’s mother hadn’t kept in contact. Over the years, the relationship between Sig and Harvey was strained. Contentious. Truthfully, he didn’t know if there was any benefit to seeing Harvey. As far as Sig was concerned, the man was an unrepentant social climber who married for comfort—read:money—and this woman had to be nothing more than his most recent target.

Still, despite all his father’s faults, part of Sig couldn’t seem to quit his stubborn attempts to bond with his father. Even if that connection was tenuous. Small. Harvey had been as absent as a father could be, but Sig had always dreamed of looking up into the stands and seeing a dad. It was a need he couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how old he got. How successful. On the rare occasions his mother flew in from Minnesota to watch him play, her presence meant just as much. So much that he hated himself for wanting more. Especially since he never quite found any common ground with the man who’d fathered him.

Shaking off his nerves, Sig rang the bell and immediately rolled his eyes at the grandbongsound that nearly shook the marble foundation of the porch. Self-important much?

A woman in a uniform answered the door, smiling brightly as she gestured him inside.

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