“I’m not going up to the top of that building.”
“They won’t make you. Just tell them you’re scared and they’ll find something besides the Sears Tower to do, okay?”
“I’m not scared,” Cora says defensively. “I just think it’s dumb.”
“Okay. Just…tell Gram and Gramps. It’ll be fine.”
She gives me a serious look, her brown eyes wide. “I’m glad we’re with you instead of them. You never cry.”
Her words practically make my heart stop. I cried more after Matt and Danielle died than I’ve cried in my entire twenty-eight-year-life. For the big brother I loved more than anything, for his wife who survived it and stayed strong only to be snuffed out by cancer with three young kids who needed her, and for the devastated children they left behind. Cora doesn’t know the truth, though, because I shed all my tears alone, in the privacy of my bedroom.
“You guys have lots of people who love you,” I tell Cora.
“If you die, will we go live with Gram and Gramps?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry about that.”
My folks, already grief-stricken over Matt’s death, were stunned to find out after Danielle was told she only had a few months left to live that their grandchildren would be left in my care instead of theirs after her death. Hell, I was stunned, too. My parents know what the hell they’re doing, and they’re retired. Me, I’m an NHL player and a bachelor. I’ve got no business raising three kids. I tried to tell Danielle that, but she insisted that her and Matt were one hundred percent sure I was the right one.
“It’s all gone,” Emerson says, walking into the bathroom with an empty nail polish remover bottle.
“Gone?” I arch my brows with concern.
“Want me to go look for the other one?” Cora asks as I finish painting her last nail.
“Yeah, thanks. I can’t go to practice like this.”
I stand up and catch a look at myself in my bathroom mirror. My face is covered with white yogurt and smears of strawberries. Shaking my head, I lean down to rinse it off in the sink, then pull my t-shirt up and off over my head.
The girls leave the room and I close the door and turn the shower handle to start the water. By the time I take off my shorts and boxer briefs, steam is swirling out of the top of the tile and glass shower enclosure.
Showering and sleeping are about the only times I experience silence anymore. The kids are always talking, running, laughing and yelling. That’s good, though. Watching them silently mourn their mother’s death was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. And since I’ve got a good-sized house on the outskirts of the city, they can be as noisy as they want.
I wash up quickly and step out of the shower, drying my short brown hair with a towel and rubbing steam away from the mirror in a circular motion with my hand. I look closely to see if I need to shave.
Yep. The stubble is at a length I’d normally shave, but today I’m in a hurry. I’ll have to shave when I get home from practice later.
“Uncle Luca!” Cora calls through my closed bedroom door.
“I’m not dressed, don’t come in. Gimme a minute.”
When the kids first moved in, Jack burst into my room when I was getting out of the shower one day and got a full-frontal view of me. He was horrified, but still managed to ask if he’d look like that someday, too.
He was seven then, a little over a year ago, and I had to stumble through answering his questions about body hair and penises. My brother Matt would’ve loved seeing me sweat that conversation. Afterwards, I thought about how much I wanted to laugh about it over a beer with him.
“There’s no nail polish remover,” Cora says through the door.
“What?” I lower my brows at the closed bedroom door as I dress. “We had plenty last time we had a spa day.”
“Emerson left the lid off the bottle and it dried up.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, looking down at the dark purple nail polish smeared on my nails, knuckles and fingertips.
“That’s a bad word,” Cora says.
“I said duck.”
“No you didn’t, Uncle Luca.”
“I need to get this nail polish off!”
“I brought you some hydrogen peroxide,” Cora says, butchering the pronunciation. “Maybe it’ll work?”
It doesn’t. By the time my babysitter Sheila arrives, I have just enough time to swing by a drugstore for more remover and get to practice on time. I call out a quick goodbye, get in my Escalade and floor it.
Traffic is a bitch, though. I’m tapping my thumb on my steering wheel and doing the math. If I can get in and out of the drug store…I’ll make it. Barely.
Our coach recently reamed our asses about being on time, though. I get no special consideration for being a single parent, either.
I’ll just have to put on my gloves as fast as I can so none of the guys see my purple nails. I can’t risk being late.
It’s a solid plan, but it epically fails when I walk into the locker room, hands clenched into fists, and our goalie Jonah passes me a protein bar. Without thinking, I reach out and take it.
“The fuck is that?” he asks, the corners of his lips turning up in amusement.
I sigh heavily. “Fuck off. It’s spa day at home.”
“Spa day?”
Laughter sounds around the locker room.
“You get a pedi, too, princess?” someone yells.
“It was for the girls,” I growl.
“You got a lacy thong on under there?” Vic asks, howling.
“Wait ‘til you have kids. You’ll see.”
“I think I’ll manage to have kids and not come to practice with purple fucking fingernails.”
Ignoring him is best at this point. I put my shit in my locker and start getting ready for practice. Vic is silent until I’m lacing up my skates.
“Hey, you still coming out tonight?”
I look up at him. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugs. “Too tired, one of the kids is sick, sitter can’t make it…”
“That shit actually happens, man. I’m not making any of it up.”
“I get it. But we’re still on?”
“Yeah. Where are we meeting?”
“Bar at the Palmer House.”
I give him a confused look. “What the hell’s that about?”
“I’m trying to run into someone staying there.”
“Who?”
He looks from side to side to make sure no one’s listening, before saying, “Kristen Moore.”
“The actress?”
“Yeah. If she’s as hot as she looks on screen, I might ditch you guys.”
“You would.”
He grins. “Hell yeah, I would. Meet there at six?”
“Yeah.”
“And Luca, get that shit off your nails before tonight.”
Chapter Three
Abby
The first sip of white wine goes down so smoothly. This is as close as I get to relaxing—the few seconds I spend relishing the taste of the one glass of wine I allow myself every night.
And tonight, it was served to me at The Palmer House, my favorite place to stay when I’m in Chicago. The hotel’s ornate lobby, the staff, the incredible food…I love it, and it’s starting to feel like a home away from home with all the trips I’ve been taking here for the new stores.
While I wait for my dinner to arrive, I catch up on all the emails I got today. Anthony responded to everything he could, which helps. What’s left is a mixture of stuff he wasn’t sure he should speak for me on and random, unimportant stuff. Must’ve been a busy day at the office, because he usually takes care of those, too.
Between travel and meetings here, it’s the first time I’ve checked my email all day. Looks like my stockbroker has good news for me, I’m invited to this year’s Met Gala, and I’ve got “many good chance to double size of penis.” Not sure how that last email slipped through the firewall.
I swipe to file and delete messages, pausing occasionally to read one, until my soup and salad arrive. After a smile and thanks for my server, I dig in immediately. This cream of mushroom soup is the best I’ve ever had, and I order it every time I’m here.
Sitting alone in a restaurant isn’t my first choice, which is why I prefer to eat in the bar and lobby area here at the hotel. There’s a constant bustle of activity and the white noise of people talking. I can just blend in and do my solo thing without getting noticed. While I sometimes meet men and spend a night with them while traveling, I’m pretty peopled out right now.
“Wow, I didn’t know they served food out here,” a male voice says right next to my shoulder.
I look up from my phone and see that there’s a man sitting right next to me at the bar, even though there are lots of open seats, and he’s leaning close to examine my food.
“Yeah, if you ask, they will,” I say, returning my gaze to the message on my phone.
“Hey, I’m Will.”
I sigh inwardly. I don’t want to be rude, but nothing I’ve said or done sends a message that I’m open to being picked up. I’m just minding my own business.
“Hi.” I meet his eyes quickly and then return to my phone.
“So…you, uh…meeting someone here?”
“No, just here for work. I have a lot of emails to catch up on.”
“What’s your name?”
Will obviously can’t take a hint. It’s not that he’s unattractive or anything; I haven’t even paid attention, to be honest. I’m just not feeling it right now. And even when I am, I don’t like pushy men who are obviously just trying to close the deal. At least, not in my personal life. A little wooing goes a long way.
“I’m not interested,” I say softly, giving him a sympathetic look. “It’s not you. I’ve just had a really long day.”
He scoffs. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it. I wasn’t hitting on you; I was just trying to be nice.”
“Yeah, you seem really nice.” I stiffen my spine and turn back to my dinner.
“What the fuck’s your problem?” Will demands.
He shoves my shoulder—not hard—but still. Still.
Instinctively, I lean away from him. I’m about to suggest a few things he can shove up his ass, but someone else beats me to it.
“The fuck’s your problem, man?” a deep voice growls out as he shoves Will.
This shove is harder—Will nearly falls off his stool.
“Who the hell are you?” Will’s eyes are glassy as he looks back and forth between me and the man who apparently came to my rescue. “You said you were here alone.”
His accusatory tone is directed at me—like I somehow set him up for this.
“You’ve got two seconds to fuck off, asshole,” the second man says.
Will sizes him up. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a menacing scowl. Will sweeps his glass tumbler up from the bar and hustles away, looking over his shoulder once he’s a few feet away to make sure no one’s following.
“What a dick,” the tall guy says. He looks down at me. “You okay?”
I’m okay. I think. I mean, I was. In terms of the Will thing, I’m okay. But this man looking at me right now, waiting for a response, has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. The most handsome face I’ve ever laid eyes on. He has a J. Crew model face and a CrossFit body.
“I’m…okay, yes,” I manage.
The corners of his lips quirk up slightly. “You sure?”
My heart is racing so fast. I’ve never been affected by a man this way just by looking at him. He’s sexy as hell, but there’s something else there that I just can’t look away from. His sapphire eyes are very…true.
Swallowing hard, I nod. “Yeah. Thank you for stepping in, that was nice of you.”
He gestures to a table nearby, where two guys are watching us. They’re both also exceptionally attractive, but not like this guy. No one could outdo this specimen of a man.
“Listen, I’m just hanging out with my buddies and I’ll be here for a little while yet. If you want me to walk you out to catch a cab or whatever, just in case that guy’s still around, just let me know.”
I glance at his wedding ring finger. Empty. Yes.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I smile and turn to face him, crossing my legs in hopes he’ll take a look. “To thank you?”
His brows shoot up in surprise. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I’m sorry,” I laugh and shake my head. “You’re here with your friends and here I am trying to steal you away. Tell you what, I’ll pick up your table’s tab. And thanks again.”
The corners of his lips edge up higher. “No, don’t do that. We’re drinking top shelf stuff.”
“I don’t mind.”
His gaze holds mine for a couple seconds. The silence between us in those moments holds something sexier than any words anyone’s ever spoken to me.
“Tell you what,” he says. “I’d love to have a drink with you, but I’ll buy. I see those two assholes at work every day anyway.”
I give him a coy smile, my heart hammering with excitement. “I can’t let you rescue me and buy me a drink.”
His grin heats my blood. Those perfect white teeth and the dimple set in one of his stubbled cheeks just may incinerate my panties.
“Trust me, you can,” he says in that deep voice that has my nipples rock hard already. “You may even enjoy it.”
“Hmm.” I let my gaze roam down his body, my pulse pounding in a way it never has before. “I think you may even enjoy it, too.”
Even his single, baritone note of laughter is sexy. “I’m quite sure I will.”
“I’m Abby.” I extend my hand toward his.
When he puts his hand in mine for a quick shake, the warmth and strength I feel make me light headed for a second.
“Luca,” he says in return, his eyes never leaving mine.
Luca. It fits him. And I’m sure his last name does, too, though I don’t want or need to know it. I don’t do second dates. Hell, I don’t even do first dates. One night of hot sex, though? I do that from time to time, and I’m really hoping this will end up being one of those nights.
I push my dinner plate aside and we relocate to a cozy corner table. It’s definitely an occasion for a second glass of wine, which I order from our server. Luca orders a Guinness, and once the server leaves, I tell him about my dad’s Guinness beef stew recipe.
“Sounds phenomenal,” he says, grinning. “How about you, do you cook?”
“Not really.”
Two twenty-something men approach our small table, one with an excited expression and the other with an apologetic one.
“Mr. Campbell?” the excited one says. “Could we get a quick photo?”
The other one gives Luca a tentative smile. “Sorry for interrupting you.”
Luca’s grin as he stands tells me he’s done this before. “Hey, no problem, guys. Of course we can do a photo.”
“You guys got robbed Friday night,” the man who looked apologetic says. “I was yelling at the TV that the ref should’ve worn a ski mask and pointed a gun at you. It was bullshit.”
“It was bullshit,” Luca agrees with a nod. “Those games happen, though.”
He asks both men their names—excited guy is Josh and apologetic guy is TJ—and shakes their hands. Then he looks at me.
“Abby, would you mind taking a picture?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Josh passes me his phone and he and TJ get on either side of Luca.
“Everybody say bullshit on three,” Luca says with a grin.
As our server walks by to deliver our drinks, I take several photos so Josh has a few to pick from.
“We’ll get out of here now,” Josh says, shaking Luca’s hand again. “Don’t want to cockblock you.”
“Hey, no worries, guys,” Luca says. “Thanks for coming over to say hi.”
“I’m getting those drinks,” Josh says, gestu
ring at our table.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Luca says.
“No, seriously. I’m a lifelong Blaze fan. It would be an honor.”
Luca nods. “Thanks, man. We appreciate it.”
“Thanks,” I add.
The two men leave and Luca and I sit down.
“So you’re famous,” I say, arching my brows.
He waves a hand. “Nah. More like the team I play for is famous.”
“You play for the Chicago Blaze? You’re a professional hockey player?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s very cool.”
Luca shrugs. “There’s nothing better than getting paid to play a game you love.”
“I liked the way you handled the request for a photo. Do you get that a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot, but it happens.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Do you like hockey?”
“I don’t know much about it, to be honest.”
“I could teach you a few things.” He winks at me, causing a flutter in my stomach.
“Oh yeah? Is this a setup for a joke about your stick?”
Luca’s eyes twinkle as he gives me a big smile. “Young lady, my stick is no joke. It’s very serious business.”
“Hmm. I may need to find out for myself.”
“I think you should.”
I take a long, fortifying sip of wine, then hold his gaze across the table for a second before saying, “Do you want to take these drinks up to my room?”
“Love to.”
We head across the lobby to the elevator, Luca’s very presence next to me making my blood heat. The night took an unexpected turn, and while I normally like to strictly plan everything, in this case, I’ll make an exception. What’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter Four
Luca
Every smile from Abby feels seductive to me. That second glass of wine has really loosened her up, and I got lots of smiles on the elevator ride up to her room. Now we’re in her suite, where she slipped out of her heels as soon as she got inside and sat down on the couch in the front room.
“Did I forget to say make yourself at home?” She gives me a confused look as she reaches for the wine glass sitting on the coffee table in front of her.
Luca: A Chicago Blaze Romance Page 2
