Boldly

by Elise Faber

  “I heard you tonight in the suite. I’d brought flowers to surprise you, was going to try to coax you out to dinner, but then I heard you tell Luc that I was above your pay grade.”

  Her nostrils flared, and she inhaled. “I don’t know what you heard—”

  “I heard you say that you couldn’t help me.”

  Oh fuck.

  Oh fuck.

  She turned to face him on the couch. “Oliver, it wasn’t—”

  “I heard you say other things, too. I know it was you talking to Luc like you said you would, talking to him about the therapy sessions requirement on my contract, advising him to allow me to do them on my terms.”

  Since that was what she’d been talking about, she didn’t know what else to say.

  “I heard you talk about us dating. Heard him give you—us—his approval.” His chest rose and fell on a breath. His throat worked as he swallowed. “But all I heard was that you couldn’t help me. All I could think was that I’d be a burden, that I wouldn’t be able to hack it, and would close down, and…one day you’d realize that I wouldn’t be worth it.”

  Her heart squeezed like it was in a vise, growing tighter and tighter and tighter.

  How could he think that? How could he not know that she knew the precious gift he was giving her by giving himself, by being willing to take the risk, by sharing all that he had shared so far?

  It…just felt like the vise clenched even more fiercely.

  Because he’d given so much.

  “And I know we’re moving fast,” he said earnestly. “I know we’ve gone from nothing to a lot in not very much time. But never, ever have I met a woman, met anyone who I wanted to open up to, who I wanted to let in. Even Teresa and Alex had to battle their way in. You,” he said gently, “just had to look at me with those pretty brown eyes, twirling your earring, lines creasing the sides of your mouth while you pretended to be feeling fine, even though you kept rubbing your temples because your head was pounding.”

  “Oliver,” she whispered, throat burning, eyes stinging. She clung to his hand, probably squeezing too tight, but he was here and telling her this, sharing the emotional mountain he’d just climbed—all on his freaking own!—and Hazel was barely keeping it all together. This right here was what she’d been desperate for with Trevor.

  The connection.

  The ability to talk about deep and heavy shit.

  To be able to work through it without days of silent treatment and bitter fights, without a man who wouldn’t acknowledge that he’d been hurt.

  Instead, she had Oliver. Who had been hurt—so hurt—but had processed it, was moving on.

  His knuckles brushed her cheek, and okay now she was going to cry. Because she loved when he did that. “You made it easy to fall for you. So damned easy,” he murmured. “You were so open, and you…and… I couldn’t be anything but open, don’t want to be anything but open. Not with you. Because you don’t see me for what happened to me. You see me as me.”

  “Honey.” It was a croak, but his fingers squeezed her gently, and she knew he understood.

  “Part of me thought if I could concoct a plan to tie you to me, to get you to make my house a home, to get my friends involved, that I might bind you to me tight enough so you wouldn’t leave.” His palm cupped her cheek. “What I didn’t realize until tonight was that I could tie myself to you, as well. I can treat you like you’re precious, not just because it would win me your heart, but because you would do the same. I can make you a home in my heart, my life, because you haven’t hesitated to do the same. I can make you happy because you certainly do that for me.”

  Tears were pouring down her cheeks.

  He wiped them away, but they still came.

  Because, “That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  His mouth hitched up. “Happy tears?”

  A nod. A sniff. Her hands brushing his aside so she could wipe her cheeks. “Yes, honey. Happy tears.” She took a breath, swallowed a sob. “You have to know that I feel the same about you. I want to make you happy and take away your pain, make you whole. Because you’ve given me honesty and eight dates. Because you trusted me with your past and thoughts and present. Because I can’t imagine my present without you.”

  “You have to know I love you,” he murmured.

  Fuck.

  This man.

  He’d totally reached into her chest and seized her heart, with a smile and a few questions and taking ten minutes to fix a fan on her computer that was giving her a headache.

  “An I love you before a first date?”

  His mouth quirked. “Yeah, babe. An I love you before our first date.”

  She slipped her hand from his, but only so she could toss both of her arms around his shoulders and plaster herself against him. “I guess it’s a good thing I love you, too, isn’t it?”

  His pale blue eyes were filled with humor, but she didn’t miss the trickle of relief that crept into the edges when she told him she loved him, too. “A damned good thing,” he murmured, dropping his head and pressing a kiss to her jaw.

  “Honey?”

  His mouth moved to her ear. He touched his lips to the lobe. “Yeah?”

  “You think you can put that mouth on mine?”

  She was so ready for the date.

  They’d made out on her couch like teenagers for ages, but then she had started to nod off, and Oliver had gone home.

  She’d wanted him to stay, but he’d simply kissed her on the forehead, slipped out the front door, and told her he’d be over at seven for their date tomorrow.

  And to dress nice.

  So…she was dressing nice.

  Heels. Tight dress. Fancy lingerie beneath. All the makeup. Her hair was washed and dried, which meant that, for once, she’d skipped dry shampoo.

  Perfume on.

  Necklaces that draped over the low-cut neckline of her dress, drawing the eye down to what was revealed by her fancy lingerie—and also teasing over the skin there, the cool abrasion reminding her of Oliver’s fingers trailing between her breasts.

  A tease all night.

  She couldn’t wait.

  Nor could she wait for Oliver to get there. She wanted to see his face. Normally she wore Breakers gear to work—jeans and a team T-shirt and jacket—though sometimes she paired her jeans with a nice blouse (still topped with the team jacket, so the blouse didn’t get a lot of air time). Rarer still, she’d wear a pair of slacks with such a blouse (usually when she had an important meeting). But for most of the time, it was jeans and a T-shirt and flats.

  The doorbell rang, and she looked at her reflection. Smiled.

  Tonight, she’d brought it.

  This wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

  He’d told her to dress nice.

  And now they were sitting in the parking lot of a McDonald’s.

  Sitting in his car, not going in.

  Look, she was a woman who could be down with a Big Mac, and don’t even get her started on fries and their apple pies. If there was a guilty pleasure of hers to be named, the fries and apple pies were right up there for top contender.

  It was just…they were sitting in the car.

  Oliver had parked and turned to her and started asking her about her day.

  Which was nice. Except, he’d promised romance, and they were outside McDonald’s. And she was wearing heels and a dress and expecting white tablecloths, quiet music, and candlelight.

  And worst of all, he was still asking her questions about her day. She was reciprocating—because she wasn’t a monster—and all the while, her stomach was rumbling, and she didn’t have salt from the French fries coating her fingers.

  Which spoke to who was the monster.

  Namely, the man who was stopping her from getting her fingers covered in salt and her belly full of fries and apple pie.

  Because if their first date was at McDonald’s, then that was fine.

  She’d rock her dress and heels
inside.

  But so help her God, the man had better get her inside before she lost her shit. Also—this just in—she’d passed hungry and gone straight to hangry.

  “…so Pru went back to finish up her season,” he said, holding her hand—which was sweet—and gently stroking her fingers—also sweet. “But she’s got a handle on the young guys coming up. A really good handle, actually,” he added. “And she’s going to do some traveling in between her last few games, and apparently after?” His brows lifted as he met her gaze. “During which you’re going shark diving with her?”

  A sigh.

  “Pru’s a gift,” she told him. “But that gift of my friend still isn’t getting me in a cage in cold ass water off the coast of South Africa, swimming in a floating tin can just waiting to be eaten.”

  Lips twitching, he stroked a finger over her palm. “Not much of a daredevil?”

  “Compared to Pru?” A shake of her head as her stomach rumbled. “No. Definitely not.”

  “What kind of things would you consider daring, not Pru-style?”

  She tried to come up with something witty, but seriously, all she could think was: Apple pie. Apple pie. Apple pie. Apple—

  “Trying to complete the Kitchen Sink Challenge at The Creamery?”

  Oh God, thinking of ice cream wasn’t helping. Why had she worked through lunch? Why hadn’t she had a snack?

  Oh yeah.

  Because she’d been trying to bring her A game for this fancy date at McDonald’s!

  Breathe. Food would be coming soon…and if not, she had a protein bar in her purse. She’d eat that.

  He grinned and glanced over her. “The Kitchen Sink Challenge?”

  A nod.

  Apple pie. Apple pie. Apple—

  “I could get behind a Kitchen Sink Challenge. The ice cream at the Creamery is really good—”

  Apple pie. French fries. Apple pie. French—

  “So, how’d you and Pru get to be friends?”

  French fries. Apple—

  Focus.

  She sucked in a breath, ignored her stomach, and began, “I—”

  “Oh, hold that thought,” he said, glancing over her shoulder at what she assumed was the front door leading into the restaurant. “Let’s go.” He popped his car door, rounded the front of the car, and opened hers.

  Fries!

  Fucking finally!

  She got out, started to turn for the restaurant.

  Oliver caught her hand, tugged her against his chest. “Did I tell you that you are beautiful tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  He brushed back her hair. “Well, you look extra beautiful in the moonlight.”

  Yeah, yeah.

  She started for the front doors…because fries and apple pie—

  He caught her hand, his brows furrowed together. “Did you think we were going inside?”

  Her heart sank. Were they—oh God—were they not going inside? After all that dreaming of French fries and apple pies? Seriously?

  “I—”

  “We’re getting in that.” He nodded behind her, and she spun to see a limo parked along the curb. His brows furrowed. “Did you—did you think I’d take you for fast food when I told you to dress nice?”

  “We’re in the lot,” she pointed out.

  “Because this was the closet place to your house we could meet it.” He tugged at a curl. “The limo couldn’t navigate the streets near your house. They’re too narrow.”

  “Oh.”

  “McDonald’s in that dress?” he said lightly. “Never, babe.”

  She looked at the restaurant longingly, stifled a sigh.

  His palm cupped her jaw. “What is it?”

  Her chin dropped to her chest. “I’m hungry,” she whined. Yes, it was a whine, sadly. When she could have just told him that ten minutes ago. “I was excited for our date, so I worked through lunch, and then I didn’t have a chance to eat because I was getting ready and—”

  Her stomach growled, loud enough, it seemed, to shatter every window in the vicinity.

  “I’m just really freaking hungry,” she said miserably, “and I either need to eat the granola bar in my purse or I need a large fries, a Diet Coke, and two apple pies.”

  Oliver stared at her like he’d never seen her before.

  Then he took her hand.

  Tugged her forward.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Oliver

  He sat in the back of the limo next to Hazel and watched her absolutely demolish a large fries.

  And then pound two apple pies.

  And then drain a large Diet Coke.

  He’d nearly lost a finger trying to snag a fry, upon which she’d smacked his hand away, snatched the paper bag closer to her, and huddled in the corner, a la Gollum with his precious.

  His woman was a force when she was hungry.

  That was good to have confirmed. Not just when she was with Pru.

  He also made sure to go back through their conversation, commit to memory the tension in her face, the lines next to her mouth and eyes. He’d thought she’d had another headache and was going to see if he couldn’t offer her a massage (oh, such a tough job to put his hands on his woman—yes, he got referring to her as his woman was possessive and caveman, but he was as much her man as she was his woman).

  But then the limo had pulled up, and her shoulders had drooped, and—

  She’d admitted to being hungry.

  So, he’d signaled to the limo driver to wait, brought her inside and paid for her food (food he’d thought she might be sharing at the time, clearly that had been wrong, and if he’d wanted fries, he should have ordered some for himself).

  A couple of minutes later they were in the limo, she was chowing down, and they were on the way to their date.

  “So, this scene is telling me that I should bring fries and pies instead of flowers to our dates.”

  She shoved the empty soda cup in the bag and crumpled the top, shoving it into the corner of the backseat. “That would be amazing,” she said, and he was glad to see all the tension had left her face, and his relaxed and settled Hazel was back.

  “Babe.”

  A shrug, her lips twitching. “I guess I revealed on our first date that I can’t skip meals, otherwise I end up as Hangry Hazel, and no one likes that.”

  “I like Hangry Hazel.” The lights from the streetlights flashed on her skin as they drove to the airport. “Next time, I’ll just bring snacks.”

  That made her smile.

  Which made him feel about ten feet tall.

  “Snacks would be good.”

  Mouth still tilted up, she turned to glance out the windows, at the streetlights flashing by, the houses and buildings spreading out, more open space between them. “Where are we going?”

  “On Date One.”

  She slanted a glance at him. “Hilarious.”

  “So now, are you going to tell me about Pru?” He liked the other woman. A lot. But Pru was a lot. And seemed like she didn’t fit with Hazel, who was definitely outgoing and confident, but Pru crossed the line from outgoing and confident into outgoing and confident.

  The italics were warranted.

  “We met while I was working on my PhD. She was one of the athletes I studied for my thesis, and we hit it off. Pru makes it almost impossible to not like her, and her enthusiasm for life is contagious.” A shrug. “We hit it off, stayed in touch, and now we’re going to be coworkers.” A wink. “You’d better watch out. You’ve just brought one half of the terrible twos into your department, and considering the other half is me, your life is about to get really interesting.”

  “If it involves you, then I’ll take interesting any day of the week.”

  She smiled. “You say that now. But”—she leaned close and trailed a hand down his chest—“you haven’t dealt with us together for an extended period of time.”

  Fuck, she was cute.

  “Don’t make me mess up your lipstick, babe. I know you wen
t to a lot of trouble.”

  Her head tilted to the side, eyes warm as she studied him. “I already messed it up with the soda.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, dropping a hand to her waist and drawing her close.

  “Yeah,” she murmured, winding her arms around his neck.

  The car slowed, turning into the airport lot. They had mere moments before they had to get out of the car, but…fuck it.

  He lowered his head and kissed her.

  She smelled like cinnamon and tasted like apples, and he knew he was messing up any lipstick she still had on. But he didn’t give a damn, didn’t give a fuck that what was left was probably smeared all over his mouth.

  The car stopped.

  He couldn’t tear himself away, not when her soft curves were under his hands, when her body was pressed to his, her tongue in his mouth, her quiet moans rumbling up through her throat. The woman could kiss in a way that made him unable to see sense. So instead of pulling away, he pressed closer, drew her tighter against him, and he kissed the fuck out of the woman who’d stolen his heart.

  The door opened. A throat was cleared.

  Oliver couldn’t summon a fuck to care.

  The throat was cleared again.

  “Sorry, sir,” the driver said, her voice regretful, “but you’ll miss your takeoff time if you don’t get out now.”

  That was, perhaps, the one thing that could pull him out of the downward spiral of desire, to not tear his lips away and demand that she haul her ass back into the driver’s seat and circle the block a hundred times so he could continue kissing and holding Hazel.

  But…romance.

  And not the kind that began at McDonald’s because his girl was two seconds away from losing her shit.

  Romance that his woman deserved because he wanted to show her what she meant to him, because he wanted to give her some happy. Because he could give her some happy. That was what he’d learned from Hannah, from bringing her down into the arena. He wasn’t someone who had to put walls up and only give. He also wasn’t someone who, when the walls were down, only took and took until the well went dry.

  He could do both.

  He could accept the happy, the love that Hazel gave.