The Hot Gamer (A Romance Love Story) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #3)

by Alexa Davis

  "Not really," I said as I fished a twenty out of my wallet and handed it over. "Keep the change."

  "But it's a five dollar fare," he protested as he dug in his pocket to get change.

  "Yeah, and it's the holidays," I said waving him off. "Go buy your wife some flowers and tell her you’re sorry for not getting whatever it was finished."

  "But it wasn't me!"

  "Whatever, dude," I laughed. "Buy your wife flowers, anyway; trust me, it'll go a long way."

  I got out and slammed the door shut, looking both ways before I crossed Independence and headed toward the Capitol on foot. I could see that the police had cordoned off the entrance to the Capitol throughway, so I walked past it and headed toward the reflecting pool. I figured I could probably make the rounds and talk to at least a few witnesses before someone asked for ID. As I approached the grassy area in front of the pool, I saw a couple of teenagers huddled together talking and passing a cigarette around the circle.

  "Hey, what happened?" I asked as I scanned the area, trying to determine if the cops were anywhere near.

  "Some wacko went postal and shot up the Capitol," a boy with a thin beard and olive wool cap said. "It was fucked up, man!"

  "Oh, really? Do tell," I said trying to act disinterested enough to get them to spill everything they knew – or thought they knew. "Got another cig?"

  "Yeah, sure," the boy said as he fished a crushed pack of American Spirits out of his jacket pocket and flicked one at me. "Lighter?"

  I nodded and took both from his hand, lighting the cigarette and inhaling deeply. I'd given up smoking after a run in with rebels in the Congo in which I'd nearly lost my life because my lungs were so weak I almost wasn't able to run. Since then, I'd only occasionally bummed a smoke, and this seemed an opportune moment to do so. I took another drag and as I exhaled, I said, "So, some wacko shot up the Capitol?"

  "Yeah! He went nuts, man!" the boy shouted as he passed the cigarette he was holding to the girl standing next to him. She was small and thin with a haircut that only teenagers could pull off: an inky black buzz cut on one side of her skull with shoulder-length waves on the other. Her exposed ear was pierced no less than ten times all the way up the curve and she had a small green stud in her nose. She was wearing a bomber jacket over what looked like several layers of t-shirts and a pair of jeans that looked about three sizes too big. On her feet was a pair of tightly-laced, wine-colored Doc Martens. She looked like the kind of girl I wished I'd been in high school: cool and totally unimpressed by anything. She took the smoke from the boy and rolled her eyes as he began recounting what had happened in an overly dramatic tone. I listened to him, but watched her out of the corner of my eye.

  "He just started shooting?" I asked.

  "Yeah, man, he grabbed his gun and just started spraying bullets everywhere!" the boy shouted. "It was fuckin' nuts! We dove to the ground and tried to belly crawl for cover!"

  "Blake, shut the fuck up," the girl said. "You are such a drama queen and a terrible liar."

  I looked at the girl and she flashed me a half grin followed by an eye roll that topped all eye rolls. I waited for her to elaborate, knowing that cool kids were loath to respond to the nosy intrusion of adults. When she didn't, I raised an eyebrow in question.

  "The guy walked down the Mall like a man on a mission," she said as she lifted the cigarette to her lips and took a deep drag. "Then, he looked around like someone who was waiting for someone else to join him. Like when your mom is waiting for you in front of a store or something, you know?"

  I nodded. I knew exactly what she was talking about, but it had been a long time since anyone had been on the lookout for me.

  "Then, some people started climbing the steps to the Capitol, and he reached inside his jacket, pulled a gun out, and started walking fast toward them," she said as she handed the cigarette back to the boy. "And then, he started shooting."

  "That's it?" I asked.

  "I don't know, I dropped to the ground and crawled over behind that tree," she said as she gestured towards a big pine tree in front of the reflecting pool. "He kept yelling and shooting, and when I peeked around the tree, I saw him standing over one of the people aiming his gun at their head. He pulled the trigger about three times as he yelled, ‘You can't have my gun! You can't have my freedom!’ Then, the cops shot him and he fell over. It was fucked up."

  "I can imagine," I said as I tried to keep track of all of the information she was giving me. "Did he do anything else?"

  "Hey, you kids! Get away from there!" a police officer shouted. "This is a damn crime scene, not some rave!"

  "Loser," the girl scoffed as she rolled her eyes so far back I marveled at her ability. "Like we'd be caught dead at a rave. That's so 2005."

  "Dude, seriously," the boy echoed as they both began walking away.

  "Hey, wait, can I get your names?" I asked. "I'm a reporter for the Sentinel and I've got an article to write, but the dickheads obviously aren't going to let me anywhere near the scene."

  They both eyed me suspiciously until I dug my credentials out of my bag and showed them. I found a couple of smudged business cards at the bottom of my bag and handed one to each of them saying, "Think about it, and if you decide you want to talk to me more formally, my number and email address are both on there. Olivia Moore, that's me. Just call or drop me a line and I'll get right back to you."

  They nodded, tucked the cards into their pockets, and turned to walk away. "Thanks for the smoke!" I called after them. The boy raised his hand, but didn't turn around.

  I knew I didn't have enough to write a full front-page story, but I could tell that the cops weren't going to let me anywhere near the scene at this point, so I retraced my steps back to Independence and headed down the street as I tried to plot my next move. I needed coffee. The only shop I knew of on this end of town was a few blocks down, so I set out rapidly walking.

  I had just turned the corner at Independence and 1st Street when a door opened and a man came barreling out, not looking where he was going. We collided so hard that I felt my forehead slam against his chin seconds before I felt his arm wrap around my waist keeping me from falling backwards on to the sidewalk.

  "You stupid idiot!" I yelled into his chest as I raised my arms to push him back away from me. "Why don't you look where you're going? God, you're gonna kill someone!"

  When I stepped back and looked up, I found myself staring straight into the piercing blue eyes of none other than Linc Redding.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Linc

  After my meeting with Brant, I'd called down and told Mick to be ready to head out. I had him drive me to the florist's where I signed the cards that would be included in each of the floral arrangements I was having sent to the families of the senators who'd been shot and told the florist that if anyone asked, they were to refer them to the cards I'd included in each envelope. I didn't want to call attention to myself in a way that looked like I was desperate. I simply wanted to the families to know that I'd be there if they needed anything. It was the least I could do.

  But I also wanted information. I wanted to know who the shooter was and what pushed him to gun down five senators on a Sunday afternoon just before Christmas. I knew Brant would do what he could to find the information, but I needed to do something and sending flowers was only the tip of the iceberg. I told the florist to call me if there were any problems with delivery and then headed out the door towards the car ,calling a quick thank you over my shoulder. Just as I'd pushed the door open and stepped out on to the sidewalk, I felt the force of bone against bone as a pedestrian plowed into me, knocking skull against chin. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed the walker around the waist to keep her from falling backwards, and when I looked down, I saw a pair of familiar green eyes staring back up at me.

  "You stupid idiot!" she yelled. "Why don't you look where you're going? God, you're gonna kill someone!"

  "Dammit, I didn't-" I shouted as I rubbed my chin tryi
ng to lessen the pain of impact.

  "Oh my God!" she yelled as she looked up at me. "Do you just go around making a habit of barreling through everyone who gets in your way?"

  "Hey, I didn't shove you!" I shouted back. "You seem to take up an awful lot of space, lady. And, I wasn't the one speed walking down the sidewalk not looking where I was going!"

  "The hell you weren't," she shot back. "You're one of those guys who takes up space because you feel it's your due, aren't you? Get your hands off me."

  I quickly let go, not realizing that I still had an arm wrapped around her waist and suddenly very aware of how her body felt pressed against mine. I let go and stepped back as I watched her rub her forehead and look up at me with those piercing green eyes.

  She was even more beautiful than I'd remembered, and there was something about her stubbornness that upped the attraction. As we stared at each other like two warriors before the showdown, I could feel the effect of her presence running through my veins and was incredibly thankful for the cover of my long wool coat.

  "I'm sorry," I said finally breaking the standoff. "I apologize. I was preoccupied and wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?"

  "Are you mocking me?" She narrowed her eyes and regarded me with suspicion.

  "Not in the least, I'm absolutely sincere," I assured her as I held out my hand. "I'm Linc Redding."

  "I know who you are," she said taking my hand and shaking. There was a jolt of electricity that passed between us and I inhaled sharply as I felt it. She looked up at me and continued, "The whole city knows who you are."

  "And you are?" I asked, not wanting to let go of her hand.

  "Oh, yeah, Olivia Moore," she said looking slightly embarrassed. "I work for the Sentinel. Features reporter."

  "I see," I said as I finally let go of her hand. She was looking up at me with a perplexed expression and I smiled as I watched the snow falling on her cheeks, then quickly melting, leaving drops of water that made her skin shine. When she said nothing, I asked, "What?"

  "What are you doing in a florist shop on a Sunday afternoon?"

  "Buying a mattress for my bed," I replied dryly. "What do you think I'm doing?"

  "Don't be a smart ass," she laughed.

  "Better than being a dumbass," I retorted.

  "Oh Lord, you are sad," she groaned. Her laughter was rich and deep and it warmed the cold air. It also made me want to say anything that would keep it flowing, even if it made me look like an idiot. "That's seriously the lamest comeback in the history of comebacks."

  "What can I say, I'm a clumsy lame ass," I shrugged, earning another laugh. I looked down at her and said, "So, Olivia Moore, now that I've told you why I'm out here, I believe that you owe me the courtesy of reciprocity."

  "You didn't tell me why you're out here," she said as she stared up at me. Her eyes sparkled with interest as she watched my face. "Why are you at the florist's on a Sunday afternoon?"

  "You are unrelenting, aren't you?" I asked as I tried very hard not to let my gaze wander lower than her eyes. It was difficult, because the jacket she was wearing was unzipped enough to give a glimpse of her curvy figure underneath it. Everything about her seemed soft and sensual. Everything, that is, except her razor sharp mind.

  "I'm a reporter, Mr. Redding; if I relented, I'd never get the story," she said as she raised an eyebrow and then rolled her eyes. The look was so dismissive that I laughed out loud and received a surprised look from her.

  "Touché, Ms. Moore," I nodded. "But tell me, if I do tell you why I was in the shop, is it going to end up splashed across the front page of the Sentinel tomorrow morning?"

  "Well, depending on what you were doing in there, it might," she admitted. "I mean, if you were in there buying flowers for your dear mother for Christmas, it could be really good publicity for you, but it probably wouldn't make the front page. If you were in there buying flowers for a secret mistress, then that might make the society page as a mention in passing, but unless she was the D.C. madam, it probably wouldn't earn front page status. But seriously, Mr. Redding, why were you in there?"

  "I can assure you that it was nothing as interesting as your imagined storyline, Ms. Moore," I replied.

  "Then why won't you tell me?"

  "Because I don't think it's any of your business. Do you?"

  She looked at me for a moment and then threw her head back and began laughing loudly. I wasn't entirely sure what had inspired this response, but as I watched her, I couldn't stop a smile from spreading across my lips and before I knew it, I was chuckling. The harder she laughed, the more I laughed and soon the two of us were consumed by uncontrollable laughter. People walking by shot us disapproving looks that only served to fuel the fit. It took several minutes for us to regain control, and once we did, I hesitated to say anything for fear of setting off another wave of laughter.

  "Well, Mr. Redding, it looks like we've reached an impasse," she said with a grin. "You won't give me information, and since that's what I seek, I guess I'll be on my way."

  I opened my mouth to protest that she hadn't answered my question, but then I shut it and decided that I was not going to let myself sound like an idiot in front of this smart, beautiful woman. I simply nodded and turned toward my car. I pulled open the door and then turned around to say something, but she had disappeared into the sidewalk crowd. I replayed the entire exchange on the drive to my apartment, and by the time I reached it, I was trying to figure out how I could engineer a way to see her again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Olivia

  Once Redding had turned his back and headed to his car, I quickly slipped into the florists and poked around. I sidled over to a group of arrangements on the counter and pretend to smell the lilies as I scanned the names on the cards. The woman behind the register kept a close eye on me since I was the only customer in the store.

  "These are gorgeous!" I exclaimed.

  "Yeah, they're nice," she replied. She was a college girl who looked like she would rather be just about anywhere but here in this store on this afternoon. She looked toward the back and then added, "They're a holiday favorite."

  "I imagine a lot of people send stuff like this during the holiday," I said trying to figure out a way to ask her who was sending these particular arrangements. "They must be really expensive."

  "Yeah, they're pretty pricy, but we use only the very best imported flowers in every arrangement, so a lot of people are more than happy to pay top dollar for them," she said, sounding a little more enthusiastic.

  "You must have a lot of big-wigs coming and buying them, then," I remarked as I turned and looked at a few other displays, trying to pretend like I wasn't that interested in anything in particular. My years as a reporter had taught me that one sure way to get people to talk was to throw out a few leading statements and then pretend like you had no real interest in the answers. That usually got people very interested in showing you what they knew and trying to impress you with the knowledge. I pointed to a totally different bouquet and asked, “How much is this?"

  "Those are sixty to a hundred depending on how big you want it," she said, then turned to the group on the counter and noted, "But I would recommend this one if you're really looking to impress someone."

  "Oh, is that the one that screams 'Be impressed?’” I asked in a bored tone.

  "It is indeed," she laughed as she rearranged a few stems and then straightened up the cards on each one. She looked toward the back again, and then told me, "These are some seriously impressive arrangements."

  "Huh, that's interesting," I said, feeling my senses begin to tingle as I waited for her to spill the details that I knew she wanted to share. I pointed to a holiday arrangement containing holly and pine branches, "What about this?"

  "God, that's the cheapest one we have, don't send that one," she said as she rolled her eyes. Her eyes flickered back toward the back of the store as if expecting someone to come rushing through the door any minute, then she looked at
me and waved me over. She dropped her voice and said, "You want to know who sends these kinds of arrangements?"

  "Yeah, sure. Will I be in good company if I choose one?" I shrugged and spoke in a tone that suggested I didn't really care whether she did or didn't share the information with me.

  "Lincoln Redding ordered all of these for the families of the senators who got shot today," she gleefully confided. "He's incredibly sexy and so thoughtful."

  "Huh, isn't he the do-gooder gun guy?" I asked in an off-handed manner. "Seems kind of weird that he'd be ordering flowers."

  "Oh no! Not at all! He's in here ordering flowers all the time!" she exclaimed before looking over her shoulder and lowering her voice again. "He always calls ahead and orders the arrangements, then comes in and handwrites notes to whomever he's sending them to."

  "Is that so?" I said as I sniffed the flowers in front of me. "Nice guy."

  "Have you seen him?" she asked. "God, he's the very definition of tall, blond, and handsome! And those eyes!"

  "Pretty dreamy, eh?" I asked as I swallowed a bubble of laughter that welled up in my throat.

  "I would totally go out with him," she nodded. "But he doesn't seem to have any interest in the women around here."

  "Maybe he's gay?" I suggested.

  "No way! That guy is totally het!" she squealed. "He's been in the papers with some of the most gorgeous women in the world! And, I heard he was engaged to a Saudi princess at one point, but that she broke it off because her family didn't want her living in the States full time and Redding wouldn't agree to move to Dubai."

  "How do you know all of this?" I asked, knowing full well how she knew it. After all, I was part of the pack of reporters who dug up this kind of stuff and splashed it across the pages of the newspaper.

  "Don't you read the tabloids?" she asked incredulously. "It's all over those things! And besides, Washington is a small world. A lot of what goes on is talked about on the streets, even if it never makes it to the papers."