Same with when I watched him play on television the other night. With a father who played professional hockey and a brother on the same career trajectory, I had previously considered myself immune to the mysterious phenomenon that causes some women to swoon over hockey players. Not so. It turns out that I am very much susceptible, at least when it comes to Tyler. Seeing him out there on the ice did things to me it shouldn’t.
“You get a chance to look at the menu, Ser?” His gaze cuts to me as he slows to a stop at a red light.
My heart swells at him remembering this tiny, admittedly neurotic, detail.
“Sure did.”
He squeezes my thigh affectionately. “Good.”
The restaurant has a valet out front when we pull up. Tyler hands off the car, then steps up onto the sidewalk and slides an arm around my waist, tucking me into him as he steers me inside.
Rouge is even more impressive than I expected, stylishly decorated in dark jewel tones, upscale without being pretentious. The small space is dotted with tables of varying sizes, dim lamps and candles providing the only sources of light.
Music throbs low in the background as the hostess leads through the restaurant, Tyler’s hand resting along my back the entire way. She takes us to a small leather booth in a corner off to the back. Whoever canceled this reservation sure gave up some prime seating. It’s cozy, and the ambience is to die for.
A thoughtful look crosses his face as the hostess disappears, leaving us alone. He takes my hand beneath the table, his thumb skimming the thin skin of my inner wrist.
“What I meant to say earlier was you look beautiful, Tink.”
I don’t need a mirror to know I’m blushing. “Thank you, Hades.”
For my first Valentine’s Day with a guy and my first non-date date, the bar has been raised impossibly high.
We skim the menus while we wait, and Tyler orders a beer for himself and a glass of sauvignon blanc for me at my request. I like white wine every now and then. As much as I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to acquire a taste for red.
“Question forty.” Half a glass in, I’m feeling it ever so slightly due to the lack of food in my system. “What’s your worst habit?”
He considers for a beat. “Being too competitive.”
“You?” I tease. “Competitive?”
“More with myself than anything, but obviously with other goalies as well. It’s good fuel as long as I don’t let it get out of hand. Which does happen from time to time.”
When he looks at me expectantly, I suddenly realize I’ll have to answer too. Asking things I want to know about him cuts both ways.
“Mine’s self-sabotage. I know I do it, and I can’t seem to stop myself.” Procrastination is the worst way it manifests. Others include denial and failure to prioritize properly.
“Do you know why you do it?” There’s no judgment in his tone, only concern.
“No,” I say honestly, rubbing the crystal stem of the glass between my fingertips. “Well, maybe. It could be linked to the whole ADHD thing. I’ve read they often go hand in hand.”
Tyler looks down at the table like he’s deciding what to say, and it takes so long for him to speak that I start to worry about what it’s going to be.
“Have you ever considered hanging out with someone like Abby could be a form of that? Like putting yourself in situations where you’re not fully comfortable and trying to compensate?”
Is it? I’ve never thought about it like that before. Smaller house parties and bars like Overtime are fun, but I’m not sure I’m ever truly at ease at those crowded nightclubs and frat parties. My friends like them, so I’ve always gone along for fear of seeming boring or potentially losing friendships. Clearly not the right reason to do things, and deep down, I know that.
“Maybe…” I trail off. “How do you—how did you figure? That’s such a specific thing to say. I’m not saying I’m mad or I disagree, but it’s never occurred to me before.”
“I used to do things like that. It wasn’t exactly the same, but I didn’t cope well with the stress I was under, and I compensated in destructive ways. Which brings us back to the stress cleaning and the tattoos, like I said before.” He points to the elaborate compass inked onto his other hand. “I got this one as a reminder to myself to focus on where I want to go, not get caught in the weeds.”
That tattoo is the first thing that made his identity click for me. I love it even more now that I know what it symbolizes.
“You’re the most focused person I know, Ty.”
We’re interrupted by the server setting down our crab cakes and ahi tuna tower to start. Seafood is too hard to prepare properly at home—or at least I haven’t mastered it—but I always order it when I go out to higher-end places. And as we dive in, Rouge does not disappoint.
“Oh, god. That’s so good.” I take another bite of ahi tuna and Asian slaw, letting out a moan. It’s heaven on a fork. The fact I’m starving makes everything taste that much better.
Tyler eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You can’t make those noises, Ser.”
“Why? Getting dirty ideas?”
“Getting?” His eyes gleam with dark amusement. “More like actively trying to stop myself from acting on them.”
We talk nonstop throughout our meal, interspersed heavily with flirting and innuendo. While Tyler also seems to be enjoying the food, his attention is mostly fixed on me while we eat.
By the time we’ve ordered a dark chocolate soufflé to share for dessert, we’re both on edge.
Beneath the tablecloth, his hand creeps beneath the hem of my dress and comes to rest scandalously high on my bare thigh, fueling the anticipation that’s been simmering within me all night. He isn’t actively doing anything, but that’s the point.
If he’s going to dish it, he’d better be prepared to take it.
I slide closer to him in the booth and press my thigh to his, ensuring he can see right down the front of my low-cut dress. His gaze slowly, leisurely tracks a path down my face to the intended target, and a muscle in his jaw flexes.
“What’s wrong?” I bat my eyelashes at him.
“Tink…” he warns.
“You seem tense. Didn’t you enjoy the food?”
“Not as much as I’m going to enjoy eating your pussy when we’re done.”
A shock of desire jolts through me. If there’s any justice in this world, I’ll get to experience that at least once in my lifetime.
Tingles run down my spine as he brushes my hair away from my ear and leans in. “Remember what I said on FaceTime?”
Who could forget? Those words have been permanently imprinted in my brain. “I’m going to make you come so hard you make a dripping mess. Once I’m finished, I’m going to kiss you so you can taste how sweet you are.”
My thighs clench around his hand, which is still several inches south of where I’d like it to be. I wriggle impatiently, growing more frustrated by the second. I’ve been waiting all day for him to touch me. If he doesn’t do something soon, I might do it myself.
A teasing smirk appears on his face. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”