Page 17 of When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars 9)

“We’ll hang here for a while until things settle down.”

She grabbed him tighter. “I hate rodents!” The alley was narrow, with metal fire escapes running up the sides of the brick buildings, and a sentinel of Dumpsters standing guard. “I’m good with bugs, and I had a pet snake when I was a kid, but no rats.”

She felt him shudder. “I’m not a big fan of snakes.”

“Fine. You handle the rodents and I’ll take care of the reptiles.”

“Deal.”

She held herself stiffly, one hand at his chest, wanting and not wanting to rest her head against his dark blue blazer as she searched the area for vermin. “I’m too heavy.”

“I can bench-press three-twenty. You’re at least a hundred and fifty pounds under that.”

By the time she’d done the math, he was already grinning. She withered him with her frostiest voice. “May we go now?”

“A few more minutes.”

He leaned against the brick wall, easily balancing her weight in his arms. She turned her head. Her cheek brushed the soft cotton of his T-shirt. He smelled good. A clean aftershave along with the faintest hint of beer. She gazed at her filthy feet. Something odious was stuck to the top of her instep.

“I have to admit I was a little disappointed in your singing,” he said. “You sounded good—don’t get me wrong—but you didn’t sound much like a first-rate opera singer.”

“I told you. I’m resting my voice.”

“I guess. But it was kind of a downer after hearing those impressive exercises you do.”

She gave him her most noncommittal “hmm” and made another quick scan for rodents.

“Reach in my back pocket,” he said, “and pull out my phone so I can call an Uber.”

She turned, pressing her breasts against his chest, and reached between their bodies, down across the blade of his hip bone and—very carefully—eased her hand along the slope of what was, not surprisingly, a very firm rear end.

She was now twisted flat against him, cupping his butt while her own butt was hoisted in the air. “I can’t—” She felt the bulge of the phone in his pocket. Felt another bulge. Quickly withdrew her hand. “This isn’t going to work. ”

“It’s working for me.”

He was provoking her again. She twisted into a semi-upright position without the phone. “We need a new plan.” She thought of the rats. “But don’t you dare put me down.”

He eased her onto the lid of the nearest Dumpster, something he could have done, she realized, from the beginning. “Don’t run away.”

As if she would.

A few minutes later, he was carrying her from the alley into a waiting Uber.

Neither of them seemed to have much to say as they drove back to the hotel. He stared straight ahead, a half smile on his face. She turned her head out the window and felt a half smile taking over her own face. Despite the dirt, the drunks, the threat of rats. Despite Thad Owens himself. Tonight was the first fun she’d had in weeks.

Her smile faded as she thought of Adam, whose days of having fun were over forever.

* * *

The Diva endured the walk across the glittering lobby with her chin raised and her haughtiest expression, daring anyone to mention her filthy bare feet. As they reached the elevator, a desk clerk hurried up to her. “Flowers arrived while you were out, Ms. Shore. We put them in your suite. And you have a message.”

She took the envelope he handed her with a gracious nod, but as the elevator rose, she crushed it in her fist.

Thad held the door of their suite open and entered behind her, stepping into the overwhelming smell of too many flowers. Vases stuffed full of a dozen varieties covered the top of the piano.

The Diva sighed. “Rupert again.”

“Again? He does this frequently?”

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