She looked up at me with those beautiful blue eyes. “Language,” she warned.
“I don’t give a fuck about language.”
Her eyes darkened. “Out here you do.”
I huffed. She was right. She had done everything on her end. She was fucking amazing in bed. The way her body moved. The sounds she made. The way she tasted. All of her—I wanted all of it. And I had it. For now.
I held the door to the restaurant. There was a small group of paps outside near the bushes. Aspen said she chose this place so we would be sure to be seen together. I heard them call my name, baiting me to make some shitty comment.
“Lach, who’s the girl?”
“Going to practice again, Lach? Or do you just skip out now?”
“Hey, smile for us. Come on.”
Aspen spun on her heels. “I think we should take a few. And it wouldn’t hurt to answer a few questions while we’re over there.”
The resentment sprung forward. I hated the press. “Those bastards have ruined my life.”
Her hand rested on my forearm, steadying me. “They only share what they see. Give them something good to share.” She smiled warmly. “Use them to your benefit.”
I groaned. “Fine.”
We turned for the gaggle hovering on the sidewalk. “Hi, chaps.” I waved.
The response was immediately frantic. I heard almost as many pictures as the day I hit the photographer.
After ten minutes of smiling and answering questions Aspen nodded toward the door. “We do have reservations.”
“All right, guys. I’ve got dinner reservations with this beautiful woman. You can understand we need to get in there straight away.”
It was amazing how quickly they had morphed from an angry mob of hornets to a docile group of moths. They shrugged and backed away. All I had to do was give them what they wanted.
I grinned at Aspen and led her inside to our table. Her plan had been brilliant.
There was a girl I liked when I was in secondary school. She was quiet and shy. I was a footballer and I don’t think she ever went to a single sports game. She was an artist. I never asked her out. I didn’t make time for girls then. I didn’t make time for them now. Sometimes I wondered what would have happened if I had. What course would my life have taken if I had asked Annika Swanson to a dance or out to the theater? Would she have trapped me? Corralled me? Told me to stop smoking. Scorned me for drinking. Closed her eyes if I tried to reach under her skirt in a dark car? I didn’
t know because I didn’t ask.
But there was something about Aspen that made me want to know all those things I never let myself think about. I was in the middle of my own charade, but it reminded me of those gazes at Annika. It reminded me I had chosen to live life alone without true companionship.
“You going to let me drink, love?” I asked, pulling her chair out.
“Not in front of everyone.”
“We’re in Rio. Not the Vatican,” I grumbled. “A bloke can have a pint.”
“But you don’t have a pint. You have ten pints.” She picked up the menu in front of her. “I don’t have a problem with alcohol, but in public we have to keep it virgin.”
The word made me laugh, probably more because it made her blush.
“You know what I mean,” she quickly added. “You have to think about what people see. We’re trying to convince parents that their children should buy your video game. If they see you out every night with a beer in your hand, that’s not going to happen.”
“Why did you offer the endorsement to me in the first place?” I leaned over. “Why me? I’ve never lived on the quiet side of the street.”
“What are you going to order?” She avoided my question.
“Aspen, answer me.” I didn’t care what the night’s special was.