Page 62 of Wallflower
Dad disappears inside the house, and I pull the door almost closed to give me and Chord a little privacy. He stands with hisarms crossed and a cocky twist to his lips, and unashamedly drags his gaze down my body, lingering on the spot where his jersey meets my thighs.
“You’re fucking stunning, Wallflower.”
I blush and look around even as my heart flies with pleasure. “Chord.”
He grins and moves closer, then snakes his arms around my waist to pull me against him for a soft, lingering kiss.
I should pinch myself to make sure this is real, but if it isn’t, then I don’t want to wake up. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“I don’t want to see you cry,” he says as if he thinks he has the power to protect me from heartbreak. The stupid thing is, I believe he might. “Whatever you need, whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“Thank you.”
I offer my lips, and he takes them again in a kiss a little less gentle, a little more needy.
Chord skates his palms over my arms. “Before you go inside, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Not good. Not bad.” He smiles tightly, but his lips have a sardonic twist to them. “Just a fact of life when you’re spending time with the hottest player in the NHL.”
He’s not usually so self-deprecating, and I don’t like it. “Is this about the pictures?”
His eyebrows shoot upward. “You know about them?”
“Yes. I woke up to a dozen social media tags attached to pictures of us at The Slippery Tipple and in the city—plus five hundred new followers.”
“Okay. Interesting.” Chord nods slowly as he slides his hands around my waist, but there’s a crease between his brows that wasn’t there before. “I know it’s too early to put any labels on us… right?”
I force myself to meet his earnest gaze. Like the way we danced, like our first kiss, like the way he touched me last night, Chord knows how to lead, so I agree with him even though I’m not sure I want to. “Right.”
His throat works as his grip tightens on my hips. “So, we have to work this out with the world watching. Does that bother you?”
“I mean, it’s uncomfortable and weird…” The line on his forehead grows deeper and I stop myself before I can admit that I am, in fact, a little troubled. “Why? Does it bother you?”
He hesitates. “No, but I’m used to it. It’s part of the job.”
“Are you sure?” I rub my thumb over the line on his forehead. “I bet there are lots of lousy things that are part of the job, but they can still upset you.”
Chord presses his lips together as focus turns inward. “At the risk of sounding like a poor, rich professional athlete, the truth is that dating in the public eye hasn’t worked out well for me. I seem to attract either women who see hockey and money and throw themselves at me or women who see hockey and money and run in the opposite direction.” His hands move in slow circles over my lower back, as if by soothing me, he can soothe himself. “I know you’re not the first kind, and I’m hoping like hell you’re not the latter.”
I look at Chord—really look, so he knows I mean this—but still, his eyes are a little guarded.
“Well, here’s the thing.” I skate my hands up over his arms, following the carved lines of his muscles from wrist to shoulders, then cup his face. “When I look at you, I don’t see hockey, and I don’t see money. I don’t see the fame or any of those things that might have burned you in the past. I see a good man with a big heart. I see you and like you, despite—not because of—all those other things.”
Chord’s shoulders relax, and he pulls me close so he can rest his chin on the top of my head. “So, you think you’ll be okay standing with me in the spotlight?”
“Next to you?” I twine my arms around his neck and press myself against him. “I’ll be okay anywhere.”
twenty-six
Chord
63 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
My San Francisco Furyteammates are due to arrive at Silver Leaf at ten a.m., but Coach Campbell pulls up to the house half an hour early. I greet him on the porch with an outstretched hand.
“Wasn’t sure we were going to make this happen,” he says with a wry look.
