Page 39 of Ice Wolf
“That means you look good. Well, hot.”
“You don’t like doling out compliments. Do you?”
“And you don’t like taking them.” Thankfully for him, he didn’t attempt to take my arm. I might have punched him at thispoint. He’d insisted on picking me up at my apartment and even opening the car door for me.
He had a point as much as I hated admitting it. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Hey, I don’t bite.” As soon as he made the statement, he shrugged. “Not much anyway.” He had his hand in the door leading into the restaurant I’d handpicked, some snazzy upscale location with a popular sports bar attached.
We weren’t here for the food, but the opportunity the location provided.
Photo ops.
The restaurant was well known for its celebrity sightings.
“Do you really need to do that?” I tossed back.
“Do what?”
I took a deep breath as the door was opened.You can do this. You can pretend.That meant I’d need to touch him and vice versa.
“Pretend you’re something you aren’t.” The moment we walked in, I could swear half the customers in the huge establishment ceased talking.
Or moving.
Or breathing.
Okay, so the man was a legend in Chicago. He’d brought the team out of years of being last in the league to number one. A true celebrity.
“Why don’t we take a picture?” I suggested as I plastered a fake smile on my face. I pulled out my phone before he could object and I was forced against him when he wrapped his arm around my waist. Just by leaning in, I was forced to inhale his musky aftershave, something obscenely expensive that clashed with the tough guy black on black outfit he’d chosen to wear.
On purpose.
All he needed was a Harley, his powerful presence perfected.
“You smell insanely good,” he murmured in my hair.
I took the picture before I talked myself out of it. We appeared like a happy couple. Fantastic.
“Oh, Mr. Masters. You’re… Um…”
I glared at the hostess, sarcastic barbs ready to explode from my mouth.
He grinned. “We’d like a table for two, if that’s possible.”
“We’re kind of booked, but anything for you,” she gushed.
Now I was going to vomit a little in my mouth. “We have a reservation in the name of Weathers.” My interjection was all but ignored as she continued to fawn over him, even asking for a photograph.
When suddenly several people appeared like a swarm of bees, my patience reached a conclusion. As soon as I smacked my hand on the hostess stand, papers went flying and a nervous silence erupted between the spectators.
“Can we be seated? Please?”
The girl looked annoyed as well as shocked. “Oh, of course. What name was that again?”
“Weathers.” My tone was sharper than before as my blood pressure spiked. I wasn’t cut out for this. Not by a long shot.
“It’s okay, bunchkins. I don’t mind signing a few autographs,” Saint said, tongue in cheek.
