by Olivia Luck
Zoe pats the barstool next to her and I oblige, hopping up on the seat next to her. “Weird that I missed you even though we hung out two days ago.”
I nudge my elbow into her upper arm. “I kind of got used to you, too, freshman.” We giggle together and I forget that there’s a guy across the room who I’ve got a thing for. This friendship means more to me than a fleeting crush.
“Remind me, Zoe, do you like Cassidy Collins?” Blake interrupts.
Zoe omits a quick gasp and her eyes grow wide. “You didn’t!”
“Didn’t what?” I’m confused by her enthusiasm. Blake’s holding back a smile, arms crossed casually over his muscular chest. Cassidy Collins is a mid-twenties pop star in the middle of her second world tour. Zoe and I discovered that she’s a guilty pleasure for both of us and spent more than a few nights studying to her bubblegum lyrics about young love.
“She’s in town tomorrow night at the Chicago Center. Have you been living under a rock?” Zoe teases me good-naturedly.
“Not exactly; the weight of finals is overwhelming. What does Cassidy being at the Chicago Center have to do with us?”
It might be my imagination, but Blake looks chagrined for a moment then quickly pushes away the expression. He reaches into the back pocket of his dark-wash denim and reveals three tickets, placing them on the countertop before us.
“Like I asked, you two still fans of Cassidy Collins?”
Zoe squeal is high-pitch. She hops off the chair, yelping as she skips to her brother. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Blake! I’m dying to go to her concert. Rolling Stone said it’s the best pop tour of the year.” Then she’s hugging him with gusto. Meanwhile, Blake’s wearing that embarrassed look again. “You are the best big brother ever!” She cheers once she releases him then whirls around to me. “How psyched are you? Most importantly, what are we going to wear?”
“Oh,” I stumble over my words when I respond, overwhelmed by Blake’s generosity. “That’s really kind of you, Blake, but weren’t they super expensive?”
“It’s my pleasure,” he says smoothly and I swear my pulse quickens in response. God, he’s sex in a freakin’ sweater.
“I…”
“You won’t say no. We’re so going to see Cassidy and Blake’s coming with, right?” Zoe interrupts my hesitation, eyeing her brother with big, pleading eyes.
He shakes his head in mock displeasure. “The things I do for you, Zoe.”
She laughs freely, and I join in with an awkward chuckle. A whole night with Blake—how am I going to survive that? The man in question’s cell phone rings and he waves to us as he departs the kitchen into parts unknown.
“We’re going to Cassidy!” Zoe’s wiggling around the kitchen as if she can hear the lyrics in her head.
“Those tickets must have been crazy expensive. Will he let me pay him back?” I blurt out. Zoe freezes where she’s bopping to a beat only she can hear.
“You’re kidding, right?”
I raise an eyebrow in a silent response. Of course, I’m not kidding, and she knows it.
Zoe joins me on the barstools and turns so that we’re sitting parallel and facing one another. “Do you know anything about Blake?”
I shake my head in another silent response.
“Blake didn’t pay for the tickets because he, well, kind of is in the business.”
“The music industry?” I’m even more confused than before. I knew Blake was a famous college football player, but Zoe never told me what his career is now. Obviously, he’s not in the National Football League.
“Blake’s dad is Stewart Campbell.”
My hand flies to my mouth to cover the gaping hole. No way. Stewart Campbell owns Chicago. Not literally, but kind of. He has a record label and two professional Chicago sports teams, hockey and football. Oh, and he owns the freaking Chicago Center, a massive stadium on the west side of town that holds twenty thousand fans.
“Blake was always a football player, but that’s because he couldn’t skate well enough to be a hockey player. Now, he’s Vice President of the Scrapers. Getting tickets to any show at the Chi Center is no big thing for him, so don’t worry about it. Also, you’re my best friend. When something really cool comes my way, I want to experience it with you. Blake gets that.”
Blake gets a lot more than “that.” He’s the type of guy who goes out of his way to do something nice for his little sister. He’s the type of guy who makes a cashmere sweater look ruggedly sexy. He’s the type of guy who doesn’t want me to wait outside because it’s cold.
I am so screwed.
Then at least I have the sense to think of a way to show my appreciation to Zoe and Blake.
“How about you guys come over for dinner before the concert? Then we can all go together.”
Zoe nods, though she looks thoughtful. “It’s a date.”
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, noting the way she studies me intensely.
“It’s pretty cool that you don’t care that Blake’s sort of famous.”
From her wary expression, I can tell this topic’s brought her some discomfort in the past, so I decide to tread lightly. “I’m not sure that I get what you mean.”
“Well,” her shoulders lift in a sheepish shrug, “some friends I’ve had before got close to me to try to date my brother or meet professional athletes. It’s a relief that you aren’t one of those people.” She gathers me in an impulsive close hug and I squeeze my eyes shut behind her shoulder.
That comment cements it.
I must steamroll this crush.
Blake
Never let ‘em see you sweat. Dad’s been preaching that one to me since the day that I was born. Mostly, he meant on the football field, and later, when I began working in one of the family businesses, professional hockey.
Always maintain control, Blake.
Keep your face impassive.
Show strength not weakness.
Admittedly, it was a tough upbringing. But it prepared me for the biggest challenge of my life. No, I’m not talking about facing Texas in the national championship. And I don’t mean earning an MBA or graduating college with honors while playing quarterback in one of the premier football clubs. It’s a constant challenge working in the National Hockey League and facing down men twice my age with way more negotiating experience then me, but that’s not the toughest obstacle in my life.
None of that holds up against the most important position that I play in life: Zoe Baker’s older brother. At eighteen, my mother sat me down and told me in the event of a God-forbid emergency, I’d become my sister’s guardian. And that God-forbid emergency came. In the summer after my last year of college, I was thrust into instant fatherhood. A drunk driver killed Zoe’s parents (our mother and her father).
Heavy stuff for a kid, but Dad prepared me. When the lawyer read Mom’s will, I didn’t flinch. Since that day, she’s been my responsibility. For most guys my age, they’d be pissed to have that kind of responsibility tossed on their shoulders. I won’t lie and say there weren’t fleeting moments when I was frustrated to have my kid sister around, but for the majority of the time, Zoe’s been the joy of my life. Spending time with her and watching her grow into a young woman is the thing I’m most proud of.
That’s why taking her to a Cassidy Collins show doesn’t bother me too much. If it makes my sister flash her carefree smile, I’m all for it.
I’ll do everything in my power to protect her from pain again.
“Would you believe Stella wanted to reimburse you for the ticket?” my sister asks from the seat beside me. I called on a driver to take us to the show tonight. Not the biggest fan of drinking and driving, to put it mildly, when a drunk driver killed my mother.
My lips automatically curve into a smile at the thought of Stella. One of my hard and fast rules is to never date or even admire one of my sister’s friends. Zoe’s eleven years younger than I am. Instinctively, I know it’s wrong. But I can’t help but notice how cute
little Stella is, not to mention that she’s older than Zoe… What I like most about Stella, though, has nothing to do with doe eyes and a sweet smile. She’s a good friend to my sister, guiding her through the first year of college without corrupting her.
“You explained that’s not an option, I presume?”
Zoe grins at me. “Duh.”
The driver pulls the SUV to a stop in front of a modest townhouse a few blocks shy of Baccino’s restaurant. I bustle my sister out of the car and toward the front door, not wanting her to be out in the cold for too long. Lifting a gloved hand, I rap my knuckle on the wood door.
“Buona sera!” a tiny woman who looks remarkably like Stella greets us exuberantly when she opens the door with a flourish.
“Hi, Mrs. Baccino, I’m Zoe and this is my brother Blake.”
“Who is Mrs. Baccino? Call me Teresa, you’re family now.” Without letting us take off our jackets first, the larger-than-life woman lunges at us both. First, she kisses my sister on both cheeks, then she’s up on her tiptoes, clasping my face in her hands and letting her eyes rove over my features. She smells like garlic and onions; it’s amusing, and at the same time, motherly. “You will do,” she mutters more to herself than me. I don’t have to chance to ask what she means because a moment later she presses soft lips to my cheeks, too.
I reveal a bouquet of roses that I brought for the hostess, and she gasps in approval, her eyes lighting up with delight.
“You made it.”
Fuck me.
That melodic voice sends a jolt straight to the part of my body that shouldn’t notice her. What kind of reaction is this? Standing a few feet behind her mother is Stella. Not the cute Stella who tripped when I met her in the dorm or the cozy Stella who visited my house yesterday with her hair piled high on her head in a messy knot.
Breathtaking is the only way to describe this Stella.
I’ve seen her twice in my life, both times with her hair constrained. Tonight, the big raven curls tumble beneath her shoulders. Smooth and shiny. I wonder what they would feel like sliding between my fingers. She’s hardly showing any skin and yet the woman is drop-dead sexy. Tight black pants cling to her legs, and she wears a black silky t-shirt. Though flirty patches of her skin tempt me because the sleeves and a thin strip down the center of the blouse are lace and not opaque material.
My God, is that smile she’s wearing for me?
“Stell, you look amazing!” Zoe cheers, reminding me that I’m not here to claim this ethereal creature as mine.
She’s twenty years old and best friends with your sister. Get your fucking head together.
I smile politely, thanking Teresa for inviting us into her home. Following the three chattering women, I take in my surroundings. The Baccino home reminds me of the one my mother kept before she died; it’s homey with family portraits lining the walls. There are comfortable, well-worn couches and a massive recliner in the living room, I guess it’s for Stella’s father to watch games. That reminds me, I want to offer him tickets to see the Wind or the Scrapers.
The dining room table has a paisley tablecloth and china already set for five when we enter the room. Decadent scents float into the room from the kitchen, which appears in the doorway behind the head of the table. My stomach rumbles and I find my lips curving up. There’s a lot of family love in this room.
Stella clasps her hands together drawing my gaze to her short, fire-engine red nails. Jesus, even her nails are hot. “Drinks?”
“In our home, we drink wine,” Teresa tells Zoe and me sternly.
My smile grows wider. “I’m never one to turn down red wine. But you won’t find me giving these girls anymore to drink tonight. They’re underage.”
“Very good,” a gruff voice says from the doorway to the kitchen. Stella’s dad, I presume. He has a bottle of red wine tucked under one arm. With the other, he reaches out to toss an arm around his wife and squeeze her to his side. He presses a kiss to her lips and releases her to move on to Stella. “Piccola,” he murmurs before dropping his lips to the crown of her head.
Warmth spreads through me at their obvious affection. I pretend that I’m not looking to settle down, sleeping with whatever woman I choose. Ultimately, what I see before me is what I want most in life. But I haven’t found a woman to share it with yet. Up until recently, my life has revolved around raising my sister. It’s only now that I’m adjusting to life without her at home.
“Carlo,” the man of few words says, thrusting his hand out. I shake his with a purpose and he moves along to my sister.
“Let’s eat,” Stella instructs after returning from the kitchen with a heaping plate of meatballs. “Sit, sit.”
I can’t help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction when I’ve managed to pick a seat next to the one that Stella will occupy when she’s done dressing the table with our dinner. Each time she walks out of the kitchen with a new dish, she brushes past the back of my chair and a light flowery scent tickles my nostrils. It makes me want to hook my arm around her waist and tug her into my lap so I can find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
What is wrong with me? This girl is my sister’s friend and nine years younger than I am. I need to get ahold of myself.
The tantalizing spread yanks my attention away from my less-than-pure thoughts. Olive oil and basil adorn a beefsteak tomato and mozzarella salad, there’s a massive bowl of spaghetti to top the meatballs with, a pile of heaping and fragrant garlic bread, and breaded chicken. Their fragrances tease my nostrils. It’s a familiar scene of food from my trips to the Baccino restaurant.
“Are you sure we have enough food?” Zoe jokes.
Stella slides into the seat next me, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I wasn’t sure if we had enough,” she confesses. I tighten my hand into a fist under the table to keep myself from tugging that lip away from her gentle assault.
Teresa serves wine and I loosen my fist and take a healthy swig. The Primitivo snakes down my throat, offering little to ease my overactive libido.
“What are you studying in school, Zoe?” Teresa asks as the food is passed around the table.
“Library science with a minor in education. I want to work in an elementary school after I get my Master’s,” my sister explains.
“Then you have something in common with my daughter. She won’t go into the family business, either,” Carlo says still in that gruff voice.
Stella’s posture goes rigid next to me and I notice her cheeks gain color. At that moment, I’ll do anything to get back the smiling version that greeted us when we entered the house.
I force out a carefree laugh as I help myself to a heaping portion of spaghetti. “Zoe’s never been passionate about football or hockey. For some reason, she prefers the company of children to grown men with an abundance of testosterone.”
Carlo chuckles at that, shaking his head.
“Aren’t you proud of Stella for making the Dean’s List three semesters in a row? The girl aced stat,” my sister says reverently.
“Ah, I am incredibly proud of my piccola,” Carlo says. “I just wish that she’d use her head for business for our restaurant. But who asks me? I’m just the father.”
“Just the father who loves to guilt his daughter,” Stella ribs him with a tender smile. “You won’t get rid of me just because I’m not working at Baccino’s. I’ll always stay in the city.”
That soft omission in her sweet voice comforts a part of me that I didn’t realize was agitated. I try to tell myself that I only care if she stays in the city for Zoe’s sake, but there’s a part of me that knows I want to keep seeing her, too.
The front door slams, breaking up my inappropriate train of thought. “Honey, I’m home!”
Stella leaps up like a kid who just heard the ice cream truck outside. “Max, we’re in here.”
Who in the hell is Max?
A tall, broad (I’m bigger, not that anyone’s asking) dude parades into the dining room wearing a Chicago Fir
e Department sweatshirt. He has the same dark hair and clear blue eyes like Stella and her dad, and the knot of tension in my stomach dissipates. Clearly, they’re related.
Jealous over a girl I can never have? This won’t do. This won’t do at all. I need to get my shit together now.
I don’t flinch or show a speck of emotion while Max greets the room, kissing the women and introducing himself to Zoe and me. Soon, I realize that he’s not a threat. The guy doesn’t hit on my sister (if he did, I’d rip him limb from limb). In fact, the guy’s cool and wants to talk shop with me without being obnoxious.
“My brother, Dominic, works for the Wings,” Max tells me, referring to a professional team on the West Coast of Canada.
“Nice. What’s he do for them?” I sink my teeth into a succulent slice of meatball, nearly groaning with pleasure instead of listening to his response. This food is fantastic, even better than the meals that I’ve had at the family restaurant.
“Assistant to the director of player development. My brother loves the sport like mad, made his dreams come true,” Max tells me with obvious pride.
“He gets a little more experience and wants to come back, tell him to give me a call,” I say once I’ve calmed my reaction to the tender beef. Max nods his thanks. Beside me, Stella beams and I feel a flush of pleasure at her gratitude. It’s an emotion that I don’t bother to analyze.
A little while later, we’re gathered near the front door, climbing into our jackets and other cold-weather fighting gear. We’ve bid farewell to Carlo and Max, who got clean-up duty thanks to the stink eye from Teresa. The woman commands the house with the bat of her eyelashes. It’s pretty funny to watch a tough guy like Carlo fall to her demands.
I’ll never be like that. With Zoe to take care of and my career, there’s not time to think about settling down with a woman right now. The concept of happily ever after won’t be on my radar for a long, long time—not until after my sister doesn’t need me anymore.
