by Grey, S. R.
My day at the coffee shop flies by. Maybe that’s because I feel happier than I have in a long time. Now that I’ve accepted I am falling in love with Dylan, it’s like I’m at peace. I can’t wait to tell him too.
But eek, I hope he loves me back. If my instincts are correct, he does.
My shift ends in the evening, and as I’m walking back to my place the sun is setting, drenching the sky in shades of orange and violet.
It’s so pretty.
Way off in the distance there’s a dark purple cloud with—I squint—rain coming out of it.
Wow, that’s something I’ve never seen. It’s like purple rain, for real. Maybe Prince saw something like this long ago and it became the inspiration for his hit song.
Well, whether it was or wasn’t, the purple rain is inspiration for me.
I decide then and there to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time—change my hair by adding in some colorful highlights.
The next step in the X Your Ex program is “Make a Change,” so this is perfect. Two birds, one stone, and all that.
That’s it, I’m doing it!
I detour to a strip mall where there’s a hair salon. The stylist there informs me what I want to do is called a “dip dye.”
“Do you know what color you’d like?” she asks me.
“That’s an easy one.” I think about the cloud with the rain and say, “I want purple.”
“Purple it is, then,” she says with a smile.
When she’s finished, she blow-dries my hair, and then tells me to check out the results.
“Oh my God, I love it!” I exclaim as I peer into the mirror.
I do too. In fact, I love my new look so much that I text Dylan a selfie. It’s close to game time, though, so I’m not sure he’ll see it right away.
But lo and behold, he does and texts back, Gorgeous shade. You look beautiful, babe.
Thanks, I respond. I know it’s almost game time, so we can talk more later on. Go kick some ass for now!
Thanks, Chloe. We will.
I flip on the game the second I’m home. Dylan skates circles, sometimes literally, around his opponents. Tonight he’s also blocking shots and throwing punishing checks.
That’s my guy.
The Wolves win the game, and I go to bed feeling fantastic.
Sadly, my soaring feeling starts to wane the minute I’m awoken by another weird noise.
Not again. And not when I’m alone. Crap.
It’s a little after three in the morning, and this time there’s not just scuffling but some sort of scraping sound as well.
I try to convince myself it’s probably voyeur bunny scratching at something.
But I need to be sure or I’ll be up all night.
Jumping out of bed, I throw on a robe. And phone in my hand, so I can call 911 if need be, I tiptoe over to the window.
I’m not brave enough to raise the blinds. I mean, what if some creeper is out there?
“I’m sure it’s just your bunny friend paying you a visit,” I try to assure myself.
But bunny friend or not, I open the blinds only a crack.
No one is outside my window, thank heavens. No bunny, no person, nothing.
“You were probably imagining the whole thing,” I murmur. “Maybe it was a dream.”
I sleep soundly after that. There are no more strange noises waking me up, and I feel better about things the next day.
Once I’m dressed, I decide to do a little investigating on my own, just to satisfy my curiosity and put to rest any lingering concerns. I’m so confident that I’ll find nothing out by my window that I even grab a few carrots from the fridge, just in case voyeur bunny does show up again.
But as I’m placing the carrots by the base of a large cactus just outside my window, I’m stopped cold.
“What the hell?”
Directly beneath the windowsill are two fresh cigarette butts. Shit, bunnies don’t smoke. But people do. Fuck.
I glance around nervously. It’s daytime, so no unsavory characters are lurking, of course.
But this confirms my worst fear—someone was outside my window last night. They were clearly smoking and probably trying to see in, just like the other night.
I shudder, wondering if this is also the same weirdo who slashed my tire.
Holy hell, the stalker scenario is looking more and more likely.
But who the hell would stalk me?
My first thought is Sten. But he doesn’t smoke. I really don’t know anyone who does. Not that I know that many people here in Vegas.
So shit, who the hell is after me?
And more importantly—why?
Moving In
When Chloe tells me about the cigarette butts, I do two things. One, I have a surveillance camera installed outside her bedroom window. And two, I put a stop to me staying at her place only a few nights a week.
That’s right, once I return to town, I move in with her full time.
I also transfer my things from the spare room to her bedroom.
“It’s silly to keep your things in there when we sleep together every night,” she says.
“Babe…” I kiss her cheek. “I couldn’t agree more. You don’t have to convince me.”
There’s a moment then, where she just kind of looks up at me.
Tell her you love her, you fool, an inner voice screams.
I mean, I do. Love her, that is. Chloe Tettersaw owns my heart.
I open my mouth to say the words, but her damn cell phone rings and blows the moment.
She answers and puts the phone on speaker since it’s a call from Graham.
He’s making sure I made it back to town and there’s no need for him to sleep over tonight.
“No, I’m good,” she tells her brother. “Dylan’s here with me now.”
“Hey, man,” I call out.
“Hey, Dylan, good game last night.”
“Thanks, Graham.”
I feel like Chloe’s well-protected with me and Graham by her side. But I do have a lingering concern. The only place I can’t protect her is at the coffee shop.
I bring this up to Chloe once we disconnect with Graham.
She listens intently, but assures me there are lots of employees around when she’s working.
“What about when you leave?” I ask. “You walk home, right?”
“I do most of the time, yeah.”
Sighing heavily, I say, “Maybe that’s not such a good idea for a while. You should drive to and from work until we know what’s going on.”
“Ugh, Dylan.”
Sitting down on the sofa, she places her head in her hands. “I hate this,” she says, her voice muffled. “I’m finally independent and bam!” She looks up. “I’m going backward.”
I sit down next to her. “Sweetheart, you can’t look at it like that. You’re just being cautious.”
Leaning back, she blows out a breath. “Yeah, but it sucks that I can’t walk to work anymore. I enjoy that time to think.”
I come up with an idea. “I think there’s a compromise, Chlo.”
Running her hand through the soft curls of her long hair, she says, “Hit me with it, Dylan, ’cause I’m out of ideas on my own.”
“You could drive when you have an evening shift, but still walk to work for your day shifts.”
It’s a fair concession. There’s lots of traffic along Chloe’s route, so as long as it’s daytime she should have no problems.
Still, I feel compelled to add, “I’m buying you a pepper spray, though.”
Chloe loves the walking-in-the-day-only compromise, and she’s good with the pepper spray too.
Once we switch over to lighter topics, I ask her, “Would you want to come to tonight’s game? Brent Oliver’s fiancée, Aubrey, has an extra ticket that’s in the wives and family section. Her sister, Lainey, isn’t attending because Nolan is still hurt and out of the lineup.”
Chloe looks super excited, but then her face f
alls.
“I like the idea,” she says. “But I don’t know.”
“You won’t be sitting alone,” I assure her. “Aubrey will be with you. The two seats are together. She’s really nice, Chloe, you’ll like her.”
Sitting all alone at a game isn’t Chloe’s idea of a good time. In the past, I’ve offered her tickets, but she always declines, citing that she would go if she had a friend to sit with.
Hey, I don’t blame her. The games are much more fun when you’re with someone.
“There’s a bonus,” I say. “Not only will Aubrey sit with you, but she knows the game in and out. Brent’s made sure of that.”
“Hmm, maybe I should go,” she says.
I can tell she’s warming to the idea, and I utter encouragingly, “You’d have a lot of fun, Chloe.”
She gives me a yes answer, so I text Brent to have Aubrey hold the ticket for Chloe.
“You can drive to the arena with me,” I say. “I’ll also have Brent tell Aubrey to meet you outside the section you’ll be sitting in.”
She nods demurely, but Chloe can’t fool me. She’s more excited than she’s letting on.
Sure enough, on the way to the arena, her leg is bouncing and she’s humming along to a song on the radio.
When the tune ends, I turn down the volume and remark, “You’re sure in a good mood.”
“I’m happy to finally be going to one of your games. So, of course, I’m excited.”
“You’re going to have so much fun, Chlo.”
“Yeah, I think so. I haven’t been to a game in so long.”
“Why is that?” I ask, knowing she was a hockey fan long before she met me. “I would’ve thought you’d have gone to a bunch of Coyotes games while living in Phoenix.”
Quietly, she says, “Sten didn’t really like hockey. I went to games with Graham when he lived there, but then he moved up here.”
“I’m despising this Sten the more I hear about him,” I grumble.
“He is pretty despicable,” she agrees.
I sigh. “I hate to ask, Chloe, but are you sure that dick isn’t the person we should be looking at?”
“You really think Sten could be my stalker?”
I wince. I hate that word because I hate that she may really have one. I’m secretly hoping the slashed tire and the noises and cigarette butts outside her window all turn out to be random, unrelated incidents. But, let’s face it, they’re probably not.
“He seems the most likely candidate,” I grimly reply.
Chloe, though, insists, “No, I don’t think so. Sten lives in Arizona. Plus, he was never a smoker.”
I sigh, reluctantly conceding, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
I’m not fully convinced, however, so after I drop Chloe off outside her gate, I drive to the players’ parking area and proceed to call a private investigator I know personally from my involvement with victim advocacy and law enforcement.
We make small talk for a minute then I fill him in on the situation.
“Can you check out this Sten guy?” I ask. “I want to be 100 percent sure he’s not anywhere near the Las Vegas area. If he is, well…I don’t even want to think about it.”
“I’ll check it out,” my PI says. “But if he’s in Arizona, it’s probably not him.”
I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
If not him, then who is stalking Chloe?
The Game is Awesome and so is Aubrey
Outside the arena, Dylan pulls up to the curb at the gate I need to go in. Before I leave, I give him a hot-as-hell kiss, and then, still embraced, I wish him good luck in the game.
“Mmm,” he murmurs as we reluctantly separate, “maybe I should blow the game off so we can go home and continue this.”
I playfully smack him in the arm. “Stop. You know you can’t miss a game for no good reason.”
“I’d say taking you home to sex you up would be an excellent reason.”
I can’t disagree, but my conscience compels me to remind him, “Your team needs you.”
I pop open the door, but before I get out, I promise, “We’ll have fun later.”
Inside, I find Aubrey Shelburne, Brent Oliver’s fiancée, rather easily. She’s hard to miss, stunning woman that she is. I feel intimidated as I walk up to introduce myself. But then she turns around, and her pretty turquoise eyes hold nothing but kindness and warmth as she recognizes me.
I know then that everything Dylan has told me is true—I’m going to have a great time tonight.
Sure enough, Aubrey and I hit it off like old friends.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” she says warmly. “I’ve heard so many nice things about you. And Brent showed me a picture of you and Dylan, and you sure can tell that man’s into you.”
“Aw, I care for him quite a bit too,” I softly reply.
Aubrey goes on to say, “You know, Dylan’s such a private person. And he’s never been a casual dater. That’s why all of us know you’re someone special to him.”
Wow, Dylan and I do care deeply for one another, but to hear it confirmed makes me feel amazing.
“That makes me feel so good to hear,” I share with Aubrey. “And I’m so glad I came tonight.”
Aubrey and I talk some more outside our section, but when it’s announced that there’s only a minute left till game time, she remarks, “Yikes, we better get to our seats.”
It’s cool that we lost track of time. That means I really like Brent Oliver’s fiancée. She’s not snooty or bitchy in the least.
As we make our way to our seats—me proudly wearing my #27 Culderway jersey, and Aubrey in Oliver #51—I mention that Brent’s number is cool to have out here in the Nevada desert.
“You know, because of Area 51,” I clarify.
Aubrey bursts out laughing, though I have no idea why.
We find our seats and once we’re settled, I ask her why Area 51 is so funny.
She cryptically replies, “Oh, dear little Chloe, you don’t know the half of it.”
Hmm, with the way she’s smiling, I absolutely need the details of this inside joke.
But first there’s a game to watch.
The puck drops, and the Wolves dominate from the start. Brent is on fire, and Dylan is playing well too. The defensive pairing of him and Noel, his usual partner, are on the ice with Brent’s top line throughout most of the game. That makes it nice ’cause Aubrey and I can root for our guys together.
“Our boys are looking good,” she says when a Wolves power play begins.
“They sure are,” I agree.
“Get a goal, get a goal,” Aubrey chants under her breath when a two-on-one breaks out.
It works!
Brent scores when Dylan puts the puck on his stick.
Yes!
Aubrey and I jump up out of our seats, erupting in cheers and hugs.
During the second intermission, I ask her, “So how’d you meet Brent?”
She raises a brow. “You’ve never heard the story?”
I shake my head.
“Well, it’s a good one,” she says.
Aubrey goes on to tell me how she came on board last season with the Wolves when the team hired her as Brent’s life coach.
“After a very awkward first meeting,” she adds with a grin.
“You didn’t like each other at first?” I ask.
“Ha, that’s putting it mildly.”
“But you fell in love somewhere along the line.”
“Yes, we sure did. And now we’re getting married.”
“This summer, right?”
“Uh-huh. You’ll have to come, Chloe, with Dylan as your date.”
“Of course we’ll be there,” I promise, before I dreamily add, “Happy endings are the best.”
Nudging me, Aubrey says, “They are. And I bet you get yours with Dylan.”
“Maybe,” I murmur. “I hope so.”
“You will,” she says with certainty.
If someon
e had told me six months ago that this is where I’d be today, I never would’ve believed it. I have Dylan in my life, and I’m in love with him. I live in the same city as my brother once again, and, more importantly, I’m finally living the life I always wanted.
Plus, bonus—I look over at Aubrey—I have a new friend.
Love Bubble
Wow, Chloe’s all over me once we return to her place. Not that I’m complaining. I just need to catch up.
She was quiet on the ride back, so I chalked it up to her thinking about the game and her time with Aubrey. She told me when she first got in the car that they hit it off really well and plan to do something again soon.
Enough about Aubrey, though—Chloe’s seduction of me just swung into full gear.
“Let’s move this to somewhere more comfortable,” she says softly as she’s stroking me through my pants.
I grunt out a husky “Hell, yeah” and start backing her toward the bedroom.
But seeing as I’m already hard as fuck, getting there at this slow pace is unacceptable.
I pick Chloe up, carry her in, and toss her onto the bed.
“Dylan,” she purrs as she props up on her elbows. “Feisty. I like it.”
“Oh, I’ll show you feisty, woman.”
I stalk toward her and she squeals in what sounds like delight.
Good. I’m on her in ten seconds flat, and from there it’s a blur of clothes flying this way and that. I can’t tell what is hers and what is mine, or who exactly is removing what.
But who the fuck cares?
Getting skin-to-skin as soon as possible is the goal.
When we finally are just that, I hover over Chloe and say, “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. You know that, right?”
Reaching up, she caresses my stubbled cheek. “Dylan, you’re always so sweet to me. I just hope I’m as good to you.”
“You are, Chloe. You make me feel so loved.”
Shit, that just slipped out.
“Uh, uh, what I meant to say was—”
“Dylan, stop.” She smiles up at me. “It’s okay to say you feel loved, because you are loved.”
I must be dreaming.
To make sure I‘m not, I ask, “Are you saying what I think you are?”