Luca (Chicago Blaze 2)

The small amount of sleep I got made me feel worlds better than I usually do by afternoon. But I’m already worrying about whether it’ll affect my sleep tonight. I have to be able to fall asleep immediately and stay out until my alarm sounds.

“You guys did great,” I tell the designers at the end of their presentation. “I’d like to set up a meeting with some of my staff to talk about the next steps.”

Their happiness is infectious and I’m still smiling when my financial planners come into my office for a 2:00 p.m. meeting to discuss additions to the retirement packages we offer employees.

“Did you see that Hoffman got traded?” Andrew is saying to Chris as they walk in.

“No way!”

“Abby,” Andrew says. “Great to see you again.”

“You too.”

“We were just talking hockey,” Chris says. “Are you a hockey fan?”

I get warm all over as I remember my night with Luca nearly a month ago. I’m definitely a big fan of his.

“Kind of,” I say nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah? Chargers fan?” Andrew asks.

“The Blaze, actually.”

“Ah, nice. They’re having a great season.” He walks over to the table in my office where we usually go over numbers. “I think we’ve got some good options put together for you.”

I listen, but now I’m distracted by thoughts of Luca. Behind the gorgeous blue eyes and handsome smile is a very red-blooded man with impossible stamina, a big cock and a dirty mouth.

“I fucking love the way you ride me.”

“That pretty little mouth deserves a good fucking.”

“You have such a perfect pussy.”

Andrew raises his brows expectantly. “What do you think, Abby?”

Crap. I got so lost in my erotic thoughts of Luca that I stopped paying attention to the retirement options. I cross my legs and a tingling sensation warms my core.

“Sorry, my mind was wandering there for a bit.” I slide my reading glasses up onto the bridge of my nose. “But when I read the summary you sent over last week, I liked your suggestion that we offer different tiers.”

Andrew smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that. We’ll get packets prepared for when we discuss this at the employee meeting.”

“Great.”

As he leaves my office, Andrew says, “I’ve got Chargers season tickets. Maybe I’ll give you a call next time they play the Blaze.”

“Um, sure.” I shake his hand a final time, flustered by my thoughts of Luca.

When I close my office door behind Andrew and Chris, I take a deep breath. What’s with me? I’m getting all hot and bothered over a man I haven’t seen in three weeks. A man I never plan to see again.

I have a few minutes free before my next meeting, so I sit down at my desk to check my email. The Chicago projects are running smoothly, at least from what I can tell, and I’m flying back to Chicago tomorrow for a week on the job sites so I can assess them in person.

A reservation confirmation email for the Palmer House appears in my inbox and my thoughts turn back to Luca.

Our night together wasn’t just about mind-blowing sex for me. It was also one of the rare times I felt alive in a good way in the past three years.

I work hard not just to avoid painful memories, but to avoid feeling. Feeling hurts so damn much almost all the time. But that night with Luca, I felt sexy and happy and alive in a way that didn’t cut deep.

What if I could feel that way again? Just for one more night?

I take out my phone, search for his contact and send out a text before I have time to rethink it.

Me: Hey, guess who?

I wait for an immediate response, half-expecting one—he did ask for my number—but nothing comes. Tossing my phone to the side, I decide it’s for the best.

I try to focus on a financial report I need to review before a meeting tomorrow, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and before I know it, I’ve googled Luca Campbell.

He’s a twenty-eight-year-old star forward. He once dated a famous figure skater, and the photos of them together are stunning. She’s beautiful. He’s been named a most-eligible bachelor by several Chicago publications, he’s an avid fisherman, and he supports the Special Olympics. And the unholiest of holies, he’s incapable of taking a bad photo—go figure.

According to his bio on the Blaze website, Luca is also single and doesn’t have kids.

He’s pretty much a perfect Chicago booty call. At least for one more night. I don’t want to start anything regular that either of us will get attached to.

I’m ogling his photos when my phone dings with a text notification. My heart skips when I see it’s from him.

Luca: I don’t know, Henry?

I feel a little guilty that I didn’t give him my number after our night together. But I couldn’t have predicted I’d want to see him again. We’re talking about a long distance booty call. Even though I’m now second-guessing myself, I write back.