Chapter Sixteen

 

She stood him up.

Caleb couldn't believe it. She had really stood him up. He reached for the glass of wine that had been sitting in front of him, untouched, for the past thirty minutes. It was warm now but he didn't care, just tossed it back, swallowed it with a wince, then slammed the glass onto the table. Would the restaurant let him take the bottle to go? Probably not, even though he was paying for it.

A whole damn bottle wasted except for that one glass. And he didn't even fucking like wine.

Shannon had stood him up.

What the fuck?

He glanced at his phone, staring at the blank screen, willing it to beep or ring or vibrate. Something. But it didn't move, didn't make a single noise, no matter how long he stared at it. It had been silent for the last thirty minutes, ever since Shannon had sent him that quick text saying she was running a few minutes late.

A few minutes? It had been more than a few minutes. A hell of a lot more, considering they were supposed to meet an hour ago.

And what the fuck was he doing, sitting here by himself? The wait staff had been watching him, no doubt whispering among themselves. Probably laughing. What kind of asshole hung out at a restaurant for an hour, waiting for a date that wasn't going to show?

The pathetic kind, that's what kind.

Which didn't say much for him, since he was still sitting here. Still waiting.

Fuck.

He clenched his jaw and looked around, searching for his waiter. The man was nowhere in sight. Of course not, now that Caleb was ready to leave. Wasn't that the way it usually worked? The man had appeared at his side every five minutes, asking if he was ready to order no matter how many times Caleb had told him he was waiting for his date. He didn't miss the doubt in the man's eyes, or the pity—which only pissed him off. He'd finally told the guy that he'd wave him down when he was ready.

Caleb was ready now, so where the hell was the damn waiter?

He swore under his breath and pushed away from the table, ready to hunt the man down. Or maybe he should just throw some bills on the table—enough to cover the damn bottle of wine and an outrageous tip—and get the hell out of here.

And fuck. She stood him up. He still couldn't fucking believe it.

He grabbed the suit jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged into it, not bothering to straighten his collar or sleeves. Why the hell should he, when he was just going to take it off as soon as he got home?

Of all the—he bit back another curse and pushed the chair in. Carefully, even though he'd rather slam it against the table hard enough to send the fancy place settings crashing to the polished terracotta floor.

Doing that would accomplish exactly nothing. It wouldn't even make him feel better because he'd end up having to pay for it.

He still couldn't believe she'd stood him up. That never happened to him before. Never. And he wasn't sure how to act. The anger he felt made sense, was even welcomed. Anger was normal.

What wasn't normal was the disappointment coursing through him—strong enough to drown out the anger. Why the fuck was he disappointed? It didn't make sense. He had nothing to be disappointed about. Nothing at all.

That's what his brain kept telling him. The clenching of his gut was saying something completely different. Neither of which explained why he was still standing there like an ass, staring at the phone gripped in his hand.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late."

Caleb frowned at the phone, wondering why the words were coming from behind him. Then his brain finally clicked and he turned, surprised to see Shannon walking toward him, her hair drifting around her face with each step. He clenched his jaw, told himself not to stare, not to smile because she was finally here.

She stopped in front of him, leaned up and pressed a quick kiss against his jaw, then shrugged out of her coat and dropped into the seat with a breathy sigh.

"You said you were going to be a few minutes late."

She looked up at the sharpness in his voice then offered him a bright smile and a shrug. "I know, sorry. Things ran longer than I thought."

"We were supposed to meet an hour ago."

She tilted her head back to look up at him, her brows lowered in a small frown. "I know, but I was running late. I told you that."

Caleb opened his mouth, snapped it shut again. He had no idea what to say—at least, not without sounding like he was snapping at her, not without sounding angry. Maybe he didn't even have to open his mouth, maybe Shannon could tell anyway. Her own jaw clenched, just for a split second before she pushed away from the table.

"Maybe we should just do this another time. You're pissed—"

"I'm not pissed."

One sculpted brow shot up. "Really? Because your face is doing one hell of an impression of that right now."

"I'm not—" He snapped his mouth closed again and pulled his chair out, dropped into it with a heavy sigh. "I'm not pissed. I'm just..."

His voice trailed off. Just...what? He had no idea. And he hoped Shannon didn't press him because he wasn't sure how to answer if she did.

She rested her arms on the edge of the table and leaned forward, the motion giving him an eyeful of soft, creamy skin peeking out from the V of her sweater. Caleb blinked and forced his gaze to the center of the table, wondering why he suddenly felt like a complete ass for even looking.

"You're not used to waiting, are you?" There was humor in her voice, a hint of laughter that irritated him.

"Waiting, yes. For an hour? No. I was ready to leave, thinking you had stood me up."

She laughed again, the sound laced with disbelief and maybe even a little bit of sympathy—although he wasn't sure if it was genuine. "You've never been stood up before."

It was a statement, not a question. "No, I haven't."

"But I bet you've stood up a date once or twice before, hm?"

"I—" He snapped his mouth closed and frowned as heat filled his face. Had he? Yeah, he had. Probably more than once or twice. Usually because the date suddenly thought that date meant a lifetime commitment.

"Yeah, thought so. Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Are you telling me you've been stood up before?"

"Duh. Of course. I told you, men generally run the other way—usually without the guts to tell me first."

"You don't see me running, do you?"

"Nope. And I still haven't figured out why." She reached out and patted his hand, maybe a little harder than necessary. "But I'm here now, neither one of us stood the other up. So. Do you want to do this thing or not?"

His gaze shot to hers, confusion filling him at her words. But only for a second, only until reason finally asserted itself by smacking him upside the head. Dinner. She was talking about dinner.

"Yeah, fine. We can eat."

"Good, because I'm starving." She opened the menu, studying it for a minute before looking over at him. "Aren't you going to look?"

"I already have. I memorized the damn thing forty minutes ago."

Shannon laughed, the sound rich and warm. She closed the menu then nudged the empty wine glass toward him. "Sorry. Again. Now how about some of that wine?"

He pulled the bottle from the stone holder, brushed the water from the bottom, then filled her glass. He hesitated then filled his own before putting the bottle back.

Shannon pulled her glass toward her, cradling the base with her fingers. "I really am sorry. I didn't think I'd be quite this late."

Caleb nodded, glanced at his glass, looked back at her. "What were you doing, anyway? I didn't think you had anything else going on."

"I didn't. I mean, I did, but it ran late. It was just some team stuff."

"Team stuff? I thought you only had practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"We do." She took a small sip of the wine, her nose wrinkling in a ridiculously cute way that made the last of his anger fade away. "This was a meeting, not practice."

"A meeting for what?"

She grinned, the sight slamming into him with a force he didn't understand. "On how to kick your asses at the exhibition game."

Caleb choked back what might have been laughter. Did they seriously think they really had a chance? He almost told her she was crazy—they were all crazy if they thought that—but the waiter chose that moment to finally show up. Again. Probably a good thing, because Shannon would no doubt give him hell for spouting the truth.

She ordered a salad with steak and sides, almost identical to his except she opted for the loaded baked potato instead of the hand cut fries. Caleb bit back a grin, trying to remember that last time he'd been on a date where the woman had ordered anything besides a salad and a diet soda.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I guess we have the same tastes in food, huh?"

"Well, it's a steakhouse. What else would I order? Oh. Wait." She sat back in the chair, an amused smile curling the corners of her full mouth. "I hope you weren't planning on me ordering a stupid salad and calling it dinner. You weren't, were you? Because yeah, that's not going to work."

"No, that's not what I was planning on." And he wasn't, not if he had given it any thought. Shannon burned a lot of calories on the ice, just like he did. There was no reason to expect her to eat like a bird.

He leaned back in his chair and watched as she sipped her wine. The way her fingers curled around the stem of the glass, the way her lips touched the rim as she sipped. The way her tongue darted out and swept across her upper lip after she took a drink. His groin tightened, even as he cursed himself for being such a stupid damn cliché. Getting worked up over the way she licked her lips? Really? Talk about clichés. But damn if the sight didn't do something to him.

He shifted in the chair, searched his brain for something to say—anything to get his mind off Shannon's mouth and tongue and what he wanted her to do with them. "So tell me about this meeting."

"Ha. No way. Not happening."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not spilling secrets. Taylor already accused me of sleeping with the enemy."

A bark of laughter escaped him, the sound just a little too loud, filled with just a hint of frustration. "You told her we weren't, right?"

"Not yet, anyway."

Caleb damn near dropped the glass. Holy shit. Had he heard her right? Yeah, he must have, because she refused to look at him, suddenly more interested in the intricate design etched into the handle of the silverware. But he could see the blush fanning her cheeks, turning her fair skin a delicate pink. Shannon was blushing. He couldn't believe it.

Or maybe he could, because he was pretty sure his own face was turning a little red. Not from embarrassment, but from the promise of her words.

Not yet.

Christ, he didn't know what to think, was afraid to hope...and shit. Now he didn't know what to do. Should he say something back? Tease her? Drag her out of the restaurant and straight back to his place?

That last option held the most appeal—that's what he'd been wanting to do for the last few weeks, ever since he met her. Hell, he couldn't remember ever wanting another woman like this.

He couldn't remember ever waiting this long for another woman, either. He'd never had to, not when they were eager for his company. So what the hell was it about the woman across from him? Shannon herself had joked and said it was because she was a challenge. And she was, in more ways than one. The way she didn't hold back, the way she wasn't afraid to speak her mind, the way she did her own thing. She was comfortable with who she was and didn't go out of her way to impress anyone.

That must be why her blush, why that hint of embarrassment, tugged at him. It hinted at vulnerability—something he would have never associated with Shannon. She was the least vulnerable woman he'd ever met. Hell, she was one of the least vulnerable people he'd ever met. Except maybe she wasn't. How many times had she made comments about the way she intimidated men? How many self-deprecating little jokes had she made? At first, he had thought it was nothing more than her own personal brand of sarcasm. But now...now, he was second-guessing himself.

All because she had blushed with embarrassment because of three little words.

Not yet, anyway.

Christ, he needed his fucking head examined.

That didn't stop him from thinking about it—her vulnerability and those three little words of promise—all through dinner and dessert. While they chatted about hockey and movies and the upcoming wedding in a few days. While he paid the bill and walked her out of the restaurant, her hand held in his larger one.

While he walked her to her car, parked two levels above his own in the parking garage.

Shannon unlocked the door and leaned in, jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine while he stood there, doing his best not to stare at the firmly-rounded curves of her ass. Then she was standing next to him, that same ass pressed against the back door of her car, out of his sight and his reach.

She rubbed her hands against her thighs, twisted them together for a second, then jammed them into the pockets of her wool coat. "I guess we missed the movie, huh?"

Caleb grinned and reached for her arm, tugging until her hand was freed from the pocket and safely wrapped in his. "Yeah, we did."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't think I'd be that late."

"Not a big deal." He realized he was telling the truth—it wasn't a big deal, even though he'd been angry and disappointed while waiting for her to show up, convinced she wouldn't. "We'll just have to do the movie thing another night."

She tilted her head back, her gaze meeting his before darting away. "We, uh, we could always go back to your place and catch something on television."

Her words slammed into him, unleashing the desire that had been simmering deep inside all night. Hot, powerful. Primal. He swallowed a groan, ignored the way his cock hardened and pressed painfully against the zipper of his trousers.

Was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? Yeah, she was.

He cupped her chin with his free hand and captured her mouth with his own. Sweet, hot. Full of promise. He deepened the kiss, caught her small sigh as she pressed against him. Soft curves and hard flesh, a sensory contradiction that left him wanting more. Needing more. He groaned again when her hips rocked against his erection. When the tips of her trembling fingers trailed along his throat, his chest, lower. Each little touch hesitant. Teasing.

No, not teasing. Promising.

And fuck. He wanted her. Here. Now. Wanted her with a desperation that scared the living fuck out of him.

Caleb broke the kiss, his breath coming in short gasps as he rested his forehead against hers. He was an idiot. A grade-A fucking idiot who deserved to be shot for what he was about to do.

"We could." And fuck, was that harsh growl his voice? He cleared his throat, took a small step back and tried not to groan in disappointment when her hand dropped to her side. "But I have an early game skate in the morning, and you have to work."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." She stepped to the side, her head lowered. "No prob—"

He grabbed her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. Hard. Fast. "Neither one of us will get any sleep if you come to my place, Shannon."

"I—"

"No sleep. At. All." He put every ounce of desperation and desire he felt into his voice, filling the words with promise. Her eyes widened, understanding flaring in their depths when she realized what he meant. And damn if she didn't smile—a slow, seductive smile that damn near did him in right then and there.

"Sleep is overrated."

Fuck. She was killing him.

"Yeah, it is. But when I finally have you in my bed, I'm not letting you out of it. And I'm going to need more than a few hours." He pressed another kiss against her mouth, stepped back before it could explode into more—before he exploded. He reached beside her, opened the door for her. "I'll pick you up Saturday afternoon before the wedding."

She nodded, her thick hair falling in front of her face and hiding the blush coloring her cheeks. She didn't say anything else, just lowered herself into the driver's seat and fumbled with the seatbelt. He closed the door then stood back, watching as she pulled out of the parking space. Watching as her taillights disappeared around the corner as she drove away.

Fuck.

Had he just let her drive away? Yeah, he had.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He really needed his fucking head examined.