Page 37 of Bad Call
“It’s crazy.” I pat the small paper along my face, my golden-brown eyes sparkling in the reflection as I do. “I never thought I’d be worthy of another chance. But he’s been so patient—so reassuring that we’re going to be okay. I’m just trying to be grateful for every moment I have with him, and trust that life will take us exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
Do I still have fears? Of course. But what if Emmett was right all those years ago? What if I was running from something that never really existed in the first place? I spent years thinking I was protecting myself from an eventual heartbreak, but all that got me was loneliness and despair as I watched him attempt to move on. If I hadn’tcome to Cleveland—hadn’t found my way back to Emmett—that would still be my reality. Seeing him in photos with supermodels and actresses, wishing I hadn’t given him up, will always plague my nightmares, but those days are over now.
Now it’s just the two of us, fighting for the future we should’ve had a long time ago.
THIRTY-FOUR
EMMETT
“Hey, Veronica,”Theo says to the server as she places our drinks down on the table. “Is Finley okay? I haven’t seen her in a while.” He pulls at the label on his beer bottle, trying to act nonchalant, although I know he’s anything but. I swear, he only comes here to be near her, which is hilarious since he can barely find two brain cells to rub together when he is.
She props the drink tray on her hip. “I think so. She’s been feeling kind of sick, so she’s switched shifts a few times. Something about the strong scent of men’s cologne up here making her puke, I guess.”
He swallows, nodding as he thanks her quietly. She walks away, none of us grilling him about why he cares so much, because we know he has a massive crush on her. Eventually, he’ll come clean, but I know what it’s like to want someone you can’t have, and I’ll be here when he’s ready to talk.
“Oh, shit,” I say, my eyes falling to the bottle in front of me and realizing that Veronica brought the wrong beer forStella. She loves her Christmas Ale, even though I swear it’s the most disgusting thing ever. The spice is overwhelming, and if it gets warm, it’s like drinking window cleaner—but I’ll be damned if my girl doesn’t get whatever she wants tonight.
I step up to the bar, lifting a palm and garnering the bartender’s attention. She smiles in acknowledgment, sliding a glass of amber liquor in front of a patron before walking my way.
“I ordered a Christmas Ale, but got this, instead,” I cringe. I hate to bother her, since the VIP area has been fairly busy tonight, and this may be the only lull before the hockey game ends, and it gets really crazy. The Crunch players will be here soon, likely radiating testosterone and adrenaline, so she’ll have her hands full. They’re good guys—just on another level after playing.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” she replies. “Unfortunately, we might be out since we were on our last case, but let me go in the back and see if we have some hidden.”
I laugh, thanking her as she disappears, hopefully to locate at least one or two more bottles for Stella. I make a mental note to stock up when it’s back in stores, so she can have it whenever she wants.
“Emmett Hayes. I thought that was you,” a feminine voice says, and I turn just as a petite blonde slides up next to where I’m standing. Her black dress looks like it’s painted on, her high heels giving her at least six inches. Her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail on top of her head, and her overlined lips are painted a bright pink. Her tongue darts out to wet them as she reaches up, dragging her long nails down the sleeve of my shirt.
My brows knit as I pull back, trying not to recoil so quickly that it comes off as rude. But I already know what’s happening. It’s something I’ve experienced at least once every time I’ve been here—and in every other city I’ve lived in since I was drafted.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I ask, even though I know I don’t. I’ve barely spoken to anyone besides my teammates in Cleveland, and I certainly haven’t entertained any women. I have nothing against the guys who have had one-night stands after an evening of drinks and dancing—I just haven’t felt the urge since moving here. It’s almost like fate was telling me to hold on just a little bit longer, because my soulmate was on her way.
“I’m Cheyanne,” the woman purrs, ignoring my attempt to put space between us as she steps closer. I back into the bar, glancing over my shoulder in hopes that the bartender is on her way back with Stella’s beer. But I’m not that lucky, an uncomfortable sigh pushing from my lungs as the woman continues. “I’m like, your biggest fan. One of my friends told me she saw you here last week, so I had to give it a shot. I was dying to meet you.”
I back up a few inches before extending my hand between us. We have a lot of amazing fans who are women, so maybe she really did just want to introduce herself. Even though I’d rather it not happen on a night out with my friends, I wouldn’t say no to a selfie or autograph. “Nice to meet you, Cheyanne. Thanks for the support.”
She slips her palm into mine, any semblance of hope that she had noble intentions fading away as she steps closer, her breasts pressing into my arm. I release theconnection, once again moving away, but she goes on, looking up at me through her dark, full lashes.
“I was thinking maybe we could get out of here,” she says, biting her lip coyly. I have absolutely no desire to continue this conversation, but I also don’t want to be cruel, so I attempt to let her down easy.
“Thank you for the invite, but I’m seeing someone,” I reply, the words tasting like vinegar as they pass over my tongue. Stella may not currently be my wife on paper, but she’s a hell of a lot more than someone I’mseeing. However, the last thing we need is to be bombarded by paparazzi and interviewers before we’re ready to talk about our relationship. We haven’t exactly been hiding, but our friends are really the only ones who know the details right now.
“Mmm,” she hums. “She doesn’t have to know. I can give you my number, and you can call me the next time you’re lonely.” My stomach roils as she skims my arm again, the touch so incredibly imposing that I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her to back the fuck off. My back presses harder into the wooden bar behind me just as something silver shines in my peripheral vision. I whip my head in its direction, finding Stella completely frozen as the lights in the room reflect off her sequined dress. Her face is blank, bottom lip quivering as she watches the woman, who I already shot down, look up at me with determination written all over her expression. She clearly thinks she can make me reconsider, even though there isn’t a chance in hell I ever would.
My first instinct is to rush to my girl—to tell her it’s not what it looks like, and to beg her to understand. But Ithink better of it.This is it.This is her chance to look her fears right in the face, and for us to move past them together, instead of running in opposite directions.
Our gazes lock across the room, and I lift a brow, daring her to make a choice. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, fingers toying with the hem of her dress as she takes in the scene for a few beats longer. Cheyanne is still going on with her proposition, but I can’t hear a word of it over the blood that’s whooshing between my ears.
C’mon, Wild Girl. I’m yours. Now, come get me.
As if she can hear my thoughts, Stella snaps back to the here and now, her chin lifting and shoulders pushing back as she struts my way. I choke out a relieved sigh, my heart continuing to beat like a drum inside my rib cage. The anxiety that was flowing through me just moments ago has morphed into intense pride, making me feel like I just took a hit of the world’s strongest drug.
She eats up the space between us, her dress sparkling like a disco ball as her luscious hips sway. I’ve never seen such fire in her eyes, the confidence in her posture unfaltering and so fucking sexy. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to meet her halfway and drop to my knees, thanking her for choosing me—for choosingus.
She steps up beside me, gaze narrowing on Cheyanne as she shoots daggers her way. Stella’s delicate fingers wrap around my arm, her head tilting into my bicep as a sweet, but lethal, smile stretches across her face.
“Hi,” she says, offering her free hand to the other woman in introduction. “I’m Stella Hayes. Emmett’s wife.”
Oh, fuck yes.
