Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(64)

“You ask a lot of questions. You know that?”

He shoots me one of his death glares. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Tell Me Something Real.”

I let out a sharp laugh, his point valid. But I still leave his question unanswered, instead popping the trunk and pushing the driver’s door open. Oakley follows me to the back of the car where I grab both our bags.

“Oh,” Oakley says as I hand him his bag. “We’re staying here for the night.”

“Do you still think I’m planning to make you fish food or something?” I say, a smirk sitting on my lips.

He laughs. “We’re well past that. If you were gonna kill me, you would’ve pushed me out the door of the damn Ferris wheel.”

Another valid point. “I don’t make it a habit to commit murder on the weekends. It’s strictly a weeknight kind of thing.”

His eyes roll. “He’s got jokes, ladies and gentlemen. Too bad for him, they aren’t very good.”

“And I’m the comedian?” I laugh when he nods before grabbing hold of his hand. His fingers intertwine with mine, and together we cross the garage to where the elevator is.

“What hotel is this?”

Again with the twenty questions.

I arch a brow at him. “Who said anything about this being a hotel?”

A crease lines his forehead as his brows collide in the center. “Then where the hell are we?”

I don’t answer, just keep leading him toward where the elevator leads to my parents’ penthouse. But Oakley almost rips my arm from its socket for the second time tonight when he stops dead in his tracks.

“Jesus,” I mutter, releasing his hand to roll my shoulder. “A little warning would be appreciated.”

But when I look back to see why he stopped, I find him staring at me in abstract horror.

“Oh, my fucking God,” he whispers on a sharp exhale. “We’re at your parents’, aren’t we?”

I nod, pulling him to keep walking. “Sure are.”

“And we’re going up?” I try not to find the way his voice goes up half an octave endearing, but it’s difficult. “Aren’t your parents here?”

Giving him a reassuring smile, I shake my head before hitting the call button for the elevator. “They’re out of town this week. I made sure before bringing you.”

It’s not that I’m wanting to keep Oakley hidden from my parents. It’s more than I’d rather save him from their judgment, especially when I know that’s all they’ll give him. And not just because of his choice to also follow a career path into the NHL.

Plus, after all the shit I told him while on the Centennial Wheel, I don’t think meeting either one of my parents is high on his priority list.

And even if it was, what would I even introduce him as anyway?

Yeah, we’re kind of friends now. But calling him a friend doesn’t feel right, yet neither does an enemy. He’s just…Oakley now. The guy I like to taste and touch and turn on at any given moment.

Information that would go over wonderfully with my parents if they overheard the extracurriculars I have planned for us in my bed tonight.

When the elevator reaches the top floor, the doors open straight into the front foyer.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, peeking through them before shifting his attention to me.

“Yeah, it’s a lot.”

I haven’t brought anyone here in a long time, but it’s the same reaction I’ve gotten from everyone who has visited Casa de Haas. Hayes included, and his family has just as much money as mine.

Per Oakley’s request, I give him a quick tour of the lower level, starting with the living room. But even though the place is massive, there’s not a whole lot to see. How could there be when it’s more of a museum than a home?

But I introduce him to Marta, who we accidentally scare half to death as she’s prepping meals for the week in the kitchen. Though the interaction was brief, from the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when Oakley was asking her about the chili recipe she was making, I could tell she liked him. Which made me feel infinitely better about giving him yet another hidden piece of me. A piece I haven’t shown anyone in a really long time.

“She seems really nice,” he whispers as we climb the stairs to the second level of the penthouse, occupied by all the bedrooms besides the master.

“She’s…amazing,” I supply, though the word doesn’t seem adequate to describe Marta in the slightest. Not when she’s been more of a parent than either of mine have been for almost twenty-two years.

Oak nods and offers me a smile before grabbing my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

I keep hold of him as I drag him up the stairs, the heaviness in my chest quickly subsiding as we near the only place I care about bringing him.

My bedroom.

Pushing the door open, I lead him into my only sanctuary as a kid; complete with twelve-foot ceilings, wall-to-wall windows, and a massive, king-size bed in the center of the room.

“This is your room?” he says slowly, eyes taking in the space.

And yeah, it’s nice. Big and spacious, lots of light during the day.

But it’s cold. No photos or memorabilia anywhere in sight. It’s been that way since I left for college. My parents had Marta clear out the room, box up all the things I didn’t take, and shove it in the corner of the walk-in closet off to the left of the en-suite.