Rory Jackson cravings.

And I hated to admit it, but it wasn’t all entirely sexual fantasy either. I found myself wondering what he really liked to do for fun—if it went beyond the booze, brawls, and hockey the media constantly reported on.

I walked into Nine’s a little after five o’clock, the place hopping with activity as opposed to the other night when I’d come much later in the evening. I’d contemplated going home and cracking open the laptop to continue the work week, but I’d quickly dismissed the idea. I’d worked overtime this week, and I needed a drink in the biggest way.

There was shockingly a two-top table available, and I sighed as I sank into the plush chair Jeannine had picked out herself before opening the restaurant. She’d gone over the details with a microscope, controlling every choice in her business from the fisherman who supplied her to the type and weight of the silverware. Nine’s had a modern style that wasn’t pretentious like some fine-dining options tended to be in the city, and it offered a cozy environment where one could eat and drink without cause to put on airs. It was perfectly and absolutely Jeannine’s, and I had asked for many pieces of advice when devising my own business plans for the shelter.

“Hi, Paige.” A waitress named Olivia who waited on me often set down a scotch and soda in front of me. “Are you dining tonight?”

“Yes. Please tell Jeannine to surprise me.” I smiled as I brought the drink to my lips.

“Will anyone else be joining you?” Olivia eyed the empty chair across from me.

I shook my head, and she dashed off to the kitchen. I swirled the liquor in my glass, inhaling the sharp scent, and relished the tension it soothed as the scotch slid down my throat. I kept my cell secured in my bag and hung it on the handle of the chair, resisting the urge to hop on the media-sites and hunt for Rory sightings. I had seen several pictures of us together—outside the Shark’s locker room and outside my company’s event as well, along with the rumored stories of our relationship, too. We hadn’t even had sex yet, and I was turning into a borderline puck bunny, searching for news about him in between actually seeing the man. I contemplated attending the Shark’s game next week but quickly quashed the idea. I didn’t fully understand what it was about me, or if it had just been that particular day, but I wasn’t going to distract him ever again.

I jolted in my seat when another x-rated fantasy clouded my mind, reminding me of the one thing I needed to take just in case I ever did get to make the fantasy a reality. I reached into my purse and grabbed my birth control, cursing myself for getting so caught up in work today I’d forgotten to take it with lunch like I normally did. Oh well, I suppose there was one good thing about Rory’s painfully slow pace with me.

One drink later Olivia set down two wedge salads.

“I know Jeannine thinks I don’t eat enough greens but this is a little much, don’t you think?”

“It’s for your guest.”

“Oh, I apologize, you must’ve misunderstood me. No one is joining—”

“Whew. Just in time. Glad you didn’t start without me.” Rory’s voice cut me off as he approached my table, slinging his black leather jacket off and handing it to Olivia’s outstretched hands. Had to give the girl credit, she didn’t giggle or stammer, simply nodded and took it to the check room. I suppose she was much more accustomed to waiting on celebrities than I was.

Rory sat across from me, instantly picking up his fork and knife, slicing himself a bite of the wedge salad Olivia had set there for him. As if it was normal. As if we’d planned a date. My heart rate doubled like I was back in high school with my first crush.

He took a quick sip of my scotch, grinning at me over the rim. “How was your day, dear?”

Butterflies flapped in my stomach at the sight of his damn smile and those blue eyes locked onto mine. I laughed despite trying not to. “I’m not sure romantic pet names will ever sound normal coming out of your mouth.”

He shrugged, taking another bite. “You’ve got me there…Red.”

I licked my lips and took another drink, suddenly needing the liquid courage. He signed a contract to be yours in all kinds of delicious ways for three months! You’re beyond dating nerves!

“You really want to know about my day?” I asked, tinkling the ice in my glass.

“Absolutely. Then I can vent about mine. Isn’t that how a relationship works?” He cocked an eyebrow at me, sliding the fork over his lips so slowly I shifted in my seat.

“From what I can remember,” I said. It had been years, but honestly, I hadn’t had a real relationship in my life. Every single man had treated me with the wholesome, moralistic, political gloves that surrounded my family. They wanted to be president someday, not fuck me until my eyes rolled back in my head. It wasn’t even that they put me on a pedestal as much as it was that I was a step on their ladder of success. Rory was different—he might need me to help his image, but his success was his own, and that was something I fiercely admired.

“You’re blushing. Again. Something about your workday get you there?” He teased, and I cleared my throat.

“No. It was rather stressful actually.” I went on to tell him more than just about today’s problems, but the days prior as well. Including when my father had dropped the hammer about what he’d do if Rory and I screwed this up. That little tidbit had Rory’s signature crease cinching between his brow for far longer than I’d ever seen before. “In relationships, usually the other person says something,” I said after I’d finished venting. “You know, something like hang in there or you did everything right.”

A soft smile wiped the crease away just as Olivia cleared our entrée plates. “I’ve never been in one so excuse me while I catch up on this crash course.”

“Never?” I asked, genuinely shocked. “Not even before you became a coveted Shark?”

He pressed his lips together, finishing his ice water. “Nope.”

“I can’t tell if that is totally fitting for you, or kind of sad.” I chuckled. “Who am I kidding? You’re Rory Jackson. Of course it’s fitting.” I shook my head, my hair brushing my shoulders. Just because I was feeling a deeper connection to the man than what our contract entailed didn’t mean the renowned player was reciprocating.