Chapter 3
1759 Words
Chapter Three
Luca
I’m taking Lauren Hunt to a Hawks game. For most women, this wouldn’t be a panty dropper so much as something to b***h about. One good thing about Lauren is that she’s as much into sports and competition as I am. So, the Hawks game is to butter her up. Butter her up to accept my marriage proposal. Not that we’ll ever end up at the altar or anything.
“Please.” I hold my hand out, motioning for her to head down the aisle to our seats first.
After all, I am a gentleman.
Her eyebrows crinkle because she’s trying to figure out my end game.
For those of you who don’t know, Lauren Hunt and I find it difficult to be civil to one another. What her issue is with me, I have no f*****g clue. My issue with her is irrelevant to this conversation.
We take our seats in my designated season ticket spots. Not the best but not nosebleed either. Hey, I’m not an executive like any of my NYC cousins. Give me a break.
“Beer?” I ask, raising my hand for the guy walking up and down the aisles to stop.
Regardless if Hunt wants one, I need about ten to get through tonight. Then I remember that I drove so I’m gonna have to stick to my limit. Damn.
“Buying me one?” she asks, crossing her legs.
I ignore the d**k twitch in my pants. My body can’t deny she’s got amazing legs, even covered in dark denim.
My male anatomy hasn’t gotten the message that we only need Hunt for one thing, and it doesn’t involve him getting any pleasure.
“It’s a date.” I shrug, handing down a twenty while the friendly people of Chicago pass the money along to the vendor and then the beer back to us.
Great city. Great people.
She sips her beer and places it on the floor in front of her. Her eyes on the rink down below us. I won’t brag like I normally would about having season tickets because I need her and I’m smart enough to know if I come across arrogant, she’ll get pissy and deny me the teeny, tiny favor I’m going to ask her. Yeah, not so tiny, but hey, I like to think I’m a prize.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
Either Americans have gotten fatter, or they’ve narrowed every seat in the United Center because we’re close. Like arm to arm and her perfume is overpowering the usual sweat smell that permeates in the arena. There goes my d**k again thinking he might get a say on where we end up tonight.
“The least I can do. Your friend was the highest bidder from the auction.”
“Why don't you print it on a ribbon and pin in it to yourself like a prized pig at the state fair?”
A laugh rises up out of me like the bubbles in the beer I just sipped, so the fluid dribbles out of my mouth and onto the floor.
With any other girl, I might be embarrassed.
“Here you go.” The girl next to me hands me a napkin from under her nachos.
“Thanks.” I nod, and she smiles. She’s here with some guy who’s busy talking to the guy next to him. I could probably steal the hot blonde from behind his back with one flirtatious comment if I wanted. Which I don’t.
“Ahem.” Lauren tears my attention away from the other woman. Back to operation get myself a fiancée.
At this point, you’re probably wondering why I’d ask a girl who clearly hates me to go along with this fib. Yes, I’m using the word fib. The answer to your question is this—Ma likes Lauren. Plain and simple. And Lauren won’t get attached like some other chick would. When the gig is up, she’ll be done. No stage-one clinger status for her.
“I can’t help the admirers, but if it makes you feel better you have my sole attention tonight.”
She turns to glare at me for a second and then looks back at the ice. “Until you drop me off.”
“Maybe if you let me tuck you in, you can have me until morning.” I grin.
Her mouth drops open and she turns to stare at me.
I’m a firm believer in giving women what they want, and Lauren wants me to be an asshole. It makes it easier for her to deal with the chemistry between us. She thinks I sleep with women and discard them multiple times in a weekend. But Lauren doesn’t know s**t about me.
“I love the Hawks, but I’m not sure this is worth watching them in person.” She uncrosses her legs and pushes up off her seat.
The lights around the arena start flashing, and the music becomes louder so the team can be introduced.
“Come on.” I reach for her elbow and a shock courses through my body.
Of course, it does. She probably ran a helium-filled balloon all over her body tonight to make sure I get shocked anytime I touch her.
I could take that as a compliment, but...who am I kidding? I am so going to take it as one.
She sits down. Based on her outfit tonight, the girl loves the Hawks more than the Bears. Her Hawks socks, old school with Hossa’s number on them means she’s been a fan for a long time. And her jersey is ratty as hell which means she didn’t buy her outfit especially for tonight.
“Another comment about you in my bed will result in my knee to your balls,” she says with a fake smile.
The intro starts and we each stand and clap as the starting players hit the ice. Once the players are all out Lauren’s screaming ‘GO HAWKS!’ right into my eardrum. I catch on to the fact that she’s a ‘let me tell you how to play’ girl right from the start. She’s screaming at the players so much you’d wonder how they earn their salaries without her to guide them.
“High stick, ref. Get your eyes checked!” she yells. She turns to me as I try to sink down into the seat. “Did you see that?”
A guy two rows behind us who happens to be wearing Blues garb chimes in, “You need the glasses.”
Lauren whips around, one hand on her hip and another finger pointed his way. “See you in St. Louis.”
Now the big guy stands up. s**t, he’s really big. Either I insert myself now or later.
“Still riding the 2015 championship? Here’s a hint, not going to happen again,” he says with a smug look on his face.
Lauren’s face morphs into an expression I’m pretty familiar with—her typical, ‘I’m going to kill you’ expression.
“Let’s just enjoy the game.” I tug on her jersey.
Now that look is fixated on me.
“Or not.” I shrug.
“She’s a little ball of fire, huh?” the guy whose girlfriend keeps eye f*****g me says. The way he’s looking at Lauren suggests they might be looking to swing or some s**t.
I like experimentation as much as the next bachelor. But I don’t share. Ever.
I half smile back at him.
“Let’s have a chat after the game. When you lose!” Lauren spins around back to face the ice.
The guy must realize that Lauren isn’t the type of girl to back down from a challenge because he returns his attention to the game.
Lauren raises her hand for the hot dog guy going by.
“You eat hot dogs?” I ask, digging cash out of my pocket.
“It’s a game. I always eat crappy food at a game. It’s half the experience.” She shrugs.
Her hand lands on my hand that’s stuffed in my pocket.
My d**k twitches in excitement at how close she is to it.
“I got this.” She smiles.
A rare smile from Lauren Hunt directed my way.
And it’s beautiful.
Hell, she’s beautiful. Not that I’ll ever tell her that.
“It’s just a hot dog, Bianco.” The tone of her voice pulls me back from whatever la-la land my mind drifted to.
Fuck, what was that?
“Thanks,” I choke out when her hand brushes mine again as I pass her the hot dog.
“Well, these tickets must have cost you something.”
“They’re mine. Season.”
The hot dog is still resting in front of her lips when she turns to me, eyes wide in amazement. “You can afford them?”
I shrug. “A few of my friends and I go in together.”
I act like it’s no big deal, but it’s a luxury that will probably vanish with a wife and kids.
“That’s awesome. The plus of having friends who enjoy sports.” She raises her eyebrows and takes a bite of her hot dog. I shift in my seat watching her chew, lips spread and wrap around the extra-large wiener.
“Maddie and Vanessa not into the Hawks?” One look at them and anyone could figure out they’re not sports fans.
She takes another bite. “What gave you that idea?”
We share a laugh and it strikes me this is our first real conversation. Well, not our first, but probably our first alone. I mean, take away the thousands of fans and we’re alone.
For the rest of the game, we cheer and high five for the three goals the Hawks make. Her energy is addicting. The guy behind us doesn’t say much since the Hawks kick the Blues’ asses. We dance and scream with the people around us and by the time the game is over, I have to get out of the fog induced moment that I had a great time with her. So good, it wouldn’t be a huge upset if I had to do it again.
“Want to go to the bar for a drink or grab some dinner?” I ask her once we’re out of the single file line of people fleeing the arena.
“Um…sure. The hot dog didn’t really satisfy me.”
“Cool.” My hand instinctively touches the small of her back.
She scowls at me over her shoulder and I promptly remove my hand.
“You good if I pick the place?” she asks.
I’d wanted to take her to a bar where I knew people would tell her what a good guy I am, but I’m trying to be agreeable so lady’s choice it is.
“Sure.”
“Great.”
We make our way to my car and I open the door for her because, again, I’m a gentleman. She slides in and for some reason, she looks better in it than she did on the way here.
I slide into my own seat and start the ignition. “Where to?” I ask.
“Native Foods Cafe.”
She shoots over a sweet smile in my direction, but I see the wheels in her mind working. It’s her own twisted form of punishment by suggesting that place.
Two can play that game.
I smile just as sweetly in return and throw the car in reverse. “Sounds good.”
- Writer
