Lighting the Lamp (Chicago Velocity Book 1)

by Abby Burch

  "I have no clue who the Drivers are," I say, prying her hands from my shoulders.

  "They're another NHL team, from Philadelphia," Carly says this like its common knowledge. I guess when your fiancé is a big hockey buff, these things become common knowledge for you. "He had a rough season last year, but he's usually a really solid player, so Chicago picked him up on a trade over the summer."

  "This isn't helping me feel any better about the situation."

  Carly pulls me into a hug. "Sorry, Bren. It just isn't very often that your best friend fucks a hockey star. How did you find his profile, anyway? Were you missing him? Oh my God, so if you really fucked Ryan Flynn then he must be super built, huh? I need to know all the details!"

  "Carly!" I pull away from her. "Focus! This isn't something to get excited over, remember? And I wasn't missing him. He sought me out. I left my bra at his house and he wants to give it back, apparently."

  She twists a lock of her dark hair around her finger, looking thoughtful. "So he looked you up?"

  "Yes," I sigh. "I'm trying to forget the whole thing even happened. Why would I go searching for him?"

  "I was hoping maybe you weren't regretting it today as much as you were last night?" She offers with a shrug. "I mean, come on Bren - people have one night stands all the time. It's no big deal in this day and age."

  Scoffing, I turn to head out of her room. "Maybe not to you, but to me, it's a huge deal."

  "Bren, wait," Carly grabs my arm, stopping me in the doorway. "I'm not trying to minimize what happened."

  I cross my arms over my chest. "It sure sounds like you are."

  Carly shakes her head and sighs. "I'm sorry, Brenna. My goal is to offer another perspective for you and try to help ease your mind a little. You can't go back and undo what you did, and it may not seem like a good thing right now, but who knows? Maybe this will end up being a positive in your life."

  "Yeah, okay, sure," I say with a roll of my eyes. I can't imagine ever seeing this as a positive, but I don't feel like being part of this discussion anymore. Carly will keep fighting to prove her side, so it's easier just to give in and move on. This knowledge has seen our friendship through many difficult times.

  She claps her hands together between us. "So the real question is - Are you going to respond to him?"

  I had forgotten all about how I found Ryan's profile in the first place. "Highly unlikely. Like I said, I'm trying to forget this ever happened."

  "I think you should go," Carly says with a devious glint in her eye. "Figure out what this guy's M.O. is. I mean, he cared enough to seek you out on social media. He remembered your name."

  I narrow my eyes at her. "You just want me to go out with him because he's a hot, famous hockey player."

  Carly shrugs, twisting her hair around her finger again. "You caught me there. But if you were interested enough in this guy - drunk or not - to do naughty things with him.. isn't it at least worth a sober revisit?"

  I absently roll my phone over and over in my hand. "You aren't going to let me say no, are you?"

  "Nope."

  6. Brenna

  Ryan doesn't waste any time. He arranges to meet the very next day for dinner. He explains that he has work for most of the day starting at 6am, hence doing dinner. He doesn't specify what kind of work, but I'm assuming it's something hockey related. I'm trying to convince myself it isn't a date. After all, he's just returning my bra to me.

  But somehow, I'm looking forward to this, more than I should.

  My doctor appointment in the morning went well. Everything came back clean, thank you sweet baby Jesus. With that weight off my chest, I'm feeling more relaxed - and finding myself interested in Ryan's motives.

  I find myself struggling to remain focused the entire day at work. Thankfully, I have a private office and am only bothered once the entire day by my boss, Jackson. I work in the marketing department for an up-and-coming tech company that is headquartered in San Francisco, but has satellite offices in Chicago, New York, and Atlanta. It's a great gig and I'm thankful that I was able to find a job in my field right after graduation, but sometimes I definitely feel out of my league. They took a huge risk with me being inexperienced in the workforce, but I figure as long as I keep giving 110% every day, I'll be a valuable asset to them.

  My job mainly consists of small projects that Jackson sends my way. He heads up the department and manages 90% of the workload, somehow. I think he struggles with delegating and ends up overloading himself, but my coworker, Natalie, thinks he just wants to take the credit for everything. Which he sometimes does. But I prefer to think it isn't on purpose.

  Thankfully, because Jackson sucks at delegating, I usually only have a small project or two to work on each day. That means that I have the majority of my day at work to do other things. Most of the time I pick up quick and easy freelance jobs on Craigslist, things like logos for photographers or cover art for local bands, and do those. I know it sounds horrible since I'm working for other people while I'm at work, but I'm building my portfolio, and I also need the money.

  Finally, 5pm hits and I head out to the restaurant. I specifically picked a place near my workplace so I knew the area well, and also so I didn't have to move my car from my reserved space in the parking garage and try to find a place to park elsewhere. Parking in downtown is crazy stupid unless you pay for a reserved space in a garage. It's an added expense, but it sure beats walking eight blocks in the wintertime.

  I also chose the restaurant based on the fact that Ryan asked me to choose a place - probably because he doesn't know Chicago all that well yet. I picked one of my favorite places just up the block from the office and told Ryan to meet me there at 5:15.

  I arrive a couple minutes early and take a seat near the door. The patio is open and heavy late summer air floats through the restaurant. I know that soon, fall will officially be here, and I try not to think about the inevitable depression that will overcome me during that time.

  My phone buzzes in my purse with a text. I pull it out and laugh when I see that it is Ryan.

  The only thing worse than the traffic in Chicago is the parking!

  With a giggle, I type back Welcome to Chi-town!

  It buzzes again, and my smile falls when I see the phone number pop up on the screen. Ashton.

  B, I'm sure you were thinking about me, because I never stop thinking about you.

  Ugh. I delete the message. He sends me a few texts every once in a while but I never respond to them.

  I throw my phone back into my purse as Ryan comes walking in, and my muscles immediately tense with recognition.

  Recognition of those iceberg colored eyes. Recognition of his stylish brown hair and scruffy face. Recognition of his biceps, tight against a dark blue t-shirt. Recognition of the tattoos covering the entire length of both arms.

  He approaches the table, smiling, and holding a large cardboard box. "Hey Brenna!" He slides into the booth and passes the box across the table to me expectantly.

  "What is this?"

  "What do you think it is?" I can barely see his eyes over the top of the box. I notice that the side of it says 'Kitchen.'

  "Plates and silverware? How thoughtful!" I say with a smirk. Sometimes when I'm nervous my brain defaults to sarcasm.

  I start to open the box, but Ryan grabs my hand to stop me. It jolts me so hard that I pull away as if I've been burnt. I stare at my hand, bewildered, and somewhere distantly hear Ryan say, "It has the thing in it. You know, what you left at my house. I was trying to be discreet and not just hand it to you in public for everyone to see. But this was one of the only empty boxes I had at my house."

  I feel like an idiot and I'm blushing. "Well, thanks Ryan. I appreciate you giving it back to me." I take the box and set it in the booth next to me.

  The waitress comes by at this point and takes our drink orders. I get a Coke and Ryan opts for a beer. The waitress, a busty blonde with a ton of eyeshadow on, winks at Ryan as she leaves. I pret
end not to notice that, or how she swings her hips as she walks back toward the bar. He doesn't seem to notice her, though. Rather, I'm the recipient of the heat of his stare.

  "So.. why did you run off so quickly the other night?"

  Apparently Ryan doesn't wait around and just cuts straight to the chase. I nearly choke on my own spit.

  "Umm.."

  "I'm just curious," he says, his hands up in mock surrender. He leans forward, a devious look on his face. Then he whispers, "Was I that bad?"

  He's being cocky and teasing me and yet, behind this front, he seems to genuinely want to know. I decide to play along instead.

  "Yeah, you were terrible," I say with an eye roll. "I would give it a 1 out of 10, and that's only because you at least had the required equipment to perform the task."

  His eyebrows raise, and I notice a tiny white scar above the left one. "So you noticed my equipment, huh?" His already deep voice is even lower. He leans forward and says just above a whisper, "Was it sufficient for completing the task?"

  I feel a blush rising up my neck and I clear my throat. I am sitting in front of the single most beautiful man I have ever seen in my entire life and not only have we had sex, but he looked me up online to give my bra back to me, and now is flirting with me in public while sober. Me. Brenna Wilson. As pathetically average and hopeless as they come.

  "Hello? What will you be having?" The busty blonde waitress is standing over me, clearly annoyed and wanting to take my order. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and order my favorite chicken wrap from memory. She snaps her gum before turning to Ryan and attempting to blind him with a sickly sweet smile. He orders a steak without so much as a glance at her, and she lingers a moment too long before wiggling back to the bar.

  "Where did you go, Brenna?" Ryan asks, his voice soft, his face etched with concern.

  "Nowhere," I stammer. "Sometimes I get lost in my own head. Sorry about that."

  "Nothing to be sorry for," he says with a comforting smile. "So tell me about yourself." He crosses his massive, solid arms across his equally massive, solid chest as he leans back in the booth.

  I try to swallow back the intimidation and confusion I feel and just stick to answering the questions without humiliating myself. "Not much to tell, really. I'm a native Chicagoan. I do graphic design and marketing work for a company here in Chicago. That's about it."

  "That's awful thin on the details," Ryan chuckles. "What about your parents? Any siblings? A husband, kids?" His smile is wide.

  "Very funny," I return. "No husband or kids. Not even a boyfriend." I purposely skip the family talk. No way in hell I'm opening Pandora's box with him. After all, after tonight's non-date, I will probably never see nor hear from this guy again. And that's probably for the best.

  7. Ryan

  I hadn’t realized how truly beautiful Brenna is until I'm sitting in front of her. Her hair is in a loose bun, with pieces sticking out in all directions. She is rocking a makeup-free look, not that she needs it. Her white, mostly straight teeth are the highlight of her beautiful smile.

  She seems so uncomfortable, though. I know she is shy but it almost feels like it runs deeper than that - like maybe she doesn't understand how beautiful and funny and interesting she is.

  We are finally forced to broach the subject of my hockey status when a kid and his dad come up to our table to ask for an autograph. I haven't been recognized a ton in Chicago yet, but I know that soon enough it'll be like it was back in Philadelphia - being stopped on every block for selfies and signatures. It's part of the life and I enjoy meeting the fans. I know simply showing them kindness and giving them a few minutes of my time leaves a lasting impression, and is part of my duty as an athlete. Brenna only seems moderately surprised as I sign a napkin for the kid and pose for a photo with him. Once they leave and I settle back into the booth, she says, "So you really are famous then, huh?"

  "I suppose you could say that," I reply, taking a swig of my beer. "I am guessing you looked me up?"

  "It was your social media profile, actually." She is playing with the edge of her napkin, running it between her fingers. "Formerly of the Philadelphia Drivers, now traded to the Chicago Velocity."

  "Do you follow hockey?" I ask her.

  The panic that quickly crosses her face says everything – she has no clue about hockey. "My roommate and her fiancé are big into it. Carly - that's my roommate - knew who you were before I did."

  "So you were telling your roommate about me, eh?" I smirk at her, glowing with satisfaction when a flush creeps up into her cheeks.

  "Not exactly," she stammers. Luckily for her, our food arrives, and our waitress once again tries way too hard to get my attention. Unfortunately for her, my attention is being held by the beautiful and intriguing woman sitting across the table from me.

  After dinner (for which Brenna insisted on paying for her own meal, against my protests to let me take care of it) and conversation, I walk her to her car. She has a reserved spot in a garage just down the block, which is lucky for her because I had to park in some garage several blocks away and that charges something like $20 per hour. I need to remember to ask the guys on the team how they get around in this city.

  Brenna's car is a beat-up old silver Beetle. It looks like it has seen better days, but I somehow doubt any of those days took place within this decade. Brenna seems embarrassed over it. I like nice cars, but if it runs, that's cool too. She's seemed embarrassed about a lot of things throughout the course of the evening, though. She's confusing and interesting and cute as hell.

  I try not to stare at her glorious ass as she leans across the seat of her car, placing the large cardboard box containing only her black bra onto the passenger seat. She straightens and faces me, brushing her long wavy hair from her eyes. I kind of wish I would have put something else in that box just to screw with her, like a big rock or a kitten or something.

  "Thank you for returning my bra to me," she says, holding out her hand to shake mine. I raise an eyebrow at her and her hand visibly falters. She stares back at me, confused, as I take a step closer to her, standing only a few inches away. It's close enough that I can clearly smell her light floral perfume.

  The electricity between us is magnified as I lean in closer to her. Those brown eyes stay focused on mine, unwavering, until they finally break and glance down at my mouth. I take that as my cue and lightly brush my lips over hers. She stiffens, and I immediately pull back.

  "I-I have to go," she stutters, pulling away as if she's been burned. She immediately gets into her car as I stand there, dumbfounded. She shuts the door and starts the engine at the same time, the Beetle turning over twice before sputtering to life. I step back as she quickly reverses the car out of the space and, without so much as a glance back at me, drives away.

  I'm confused and frustrated. It had seemed to me that dinner had gone very well. She was embarrassed and maybe even a bit shy, but I had felt the sizzling connection between us. I know I did.

  I'm used to getting what I want. And right now, I want that girl in my bed again.

  The next morning at practice, I grab my phone during a water break and navigate to Brenna's profile again. I haven't gone so far as to send her a friend request yet, but I've been looking at her profile to try to learn more about her. She doesn't have a lot on there. Most of her photos are of her and another girl who is tagged as Carly who I remember she mentioned is her roommate. It seems like Brenna and Carly are close friends, along with Carly's fiancé John.

  I am able to get the name of Brenna's work from her profile, and decide to reach out to her to see if I can fix whatever in the world happened at the end of our date last night. A quick call to the first florist that popped up in a google search has a big bouquet being sent to Brenna's office along with a note. I had them simply write "To: Brenna, From: Ryan" on it. It doesn't feel incredibly forward and since I have no idea why she completely wigged out, it's worth a try.

  A message is waiting on my phon
e when I head to my locker after practice.

  Why did I receive flowers from you?

  I type back, Does a guy need a reason to be sweet? Besides, you wouldn't let me buy your dinner last night, so I figured you couldn't say no to flowers.

  She quickly responds, Sorry, I don't usually get gifts from guys. Or have them pay for my meals. This is a little out of the ordinary for me.

  I hop in the locker room shower and mull over her message. Usually girls love receiving gifts and having a guy be chivalrous - but something makes me think that it isn't that she's being ungrateful but rather just that she hasn't been doted on before.

  Something about Brenna interests me. She isn't a bunny, for one. She seems smart and creative. She's also sexy as hell. But she's intriguing to me, and the fact that she's ran away from me twice now only fuels my desire to catch her.

  As a rule, I don't pursue the same girl twice. Once I either get turned down or get her in the sack, then we're done. Usually I get bored once I've sealed the deal.

  But I'm not bored of Brenna yet and I can't figure out why.

  I towel off and throw on my clothes before messaging her back, I'm sorry. I hope it doesn't seem weird or forward. I think you're cool and I'd like to keep getting to know you.

  I hit send on the message before I have time to puss out and throw my phone in my bag. I sling it over my shoulder and say bye to Matus, one of our defenseman from Slovakia, and Nils, a center from Sweden.

  One of the assistant coaches stops me on my way out of the locker room. "Flynn, do you have a sec?"

  "Sure, what's up?" I say, leaning against the cinder block wall behind me.

  "Real impressive playing out there so far," he says warmly. "I know you had a rough year last year, but I think you're going to do great things for this team."

  "Thanks, Coach. I appreciate the faith in me, and the opportunity to play here in Chicago."