When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(61)

“Glad to hear it,” Thad replied, as he usually did.

His companion, whose hoodie advertised his preference for Miller Lite, poked the guy next to him. “Except Chad. Bears all the way.”

“Bears suck,” Neon sunglasses declared. “So does Clint Garrett. You should be playing.”

“If I was better than Clint, I would be,” Thad said mildly.

Neon sunglasses snorted. “What about those interceptions he threw against the Patriots?”

“It’s easy to be a quarterback when you’re home on your couch.”

Sunglasses missed the dig. “And that pick six in St. Louis? What about that?”

Thad set his jaw. “Happens to the best of us. Nobody in the League has a stronger arm than Clint or quicker feet. The Stars are lucky to have him.”

“I still say—”

“He’s fast, he’s aggressive, and he’s smart. I’m proud to be on his team. Nice talking to you.” Thad took Olivia’s arm and made his escape.

Behind him, one of them groused, “We didn’t even get a picture.”

Liv slipped her hand through his elbow. “Pick six?”

“The idiot threw the ball right into traffic,” Thad grumbled. “Their safety picked it off and ran it in for a touchdown. Six points.”

“Pick six, I get it.” She grinned and shook her head. “Idiot.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Oh, it’s funny, all right. Some singers I know could learn a few lessons about team loyalty from football players.” She stopped without warning, backed him into the window of the Burberry store, and kissed him, right there in the middle of Michigan Avenue.

He didn’t know what had brought this on, but he wasn’t going to argue about it. It was a long, deep kiss. Her hands looped around his neck. Her lips parted, and so did his. Their tongues met in an intimate romp. His hands went to her waist. Her breasts pressed against his chest. This was the prelude to everything he’d been waiting for.

“Ew!” A teenage girl’s shrill giggle dumped cold water all over that kiss. “Get a room!”

He released their kiss and gazed into a pair of dewy, diva-dark eyes that made Liv look as young as those teenagers snickering behind her.

“Omni?” he whispered.

She nodded. A short, barely there nod, but a nod nonetheless.

He took her hand. They jaywalked . . . jaywalked! . . . across six lanes of Michigan Avenue traffic with horns blaring and drivers cursing.

Still holding hands, they stormed through the doors of the Omni. He had just enough sense left to steer her away from the registration desk. “Wait here.” No need to have both of them standing at the desk without a single piece of luggage.

He made quick work of registering, paying with the emergency cash he’d borrowed from Henri until he got to his bank. He didn’t care about the Wi-Fi code or the hypoallergenic pillows they offered. All he wanted was a room. And a bed.





14




It wasn’t like in the movies. Thad didn’t crush her against the wall the instant the hotel door banged shut. They didn’t rip off each other’s clothes, mouths welded, or pull at each other’s hair, or drag each other to the floor, so overcome with lust they couldn’t make it to the bed. It wasn’t like that at all.

First . . .

They didn’t have condoms. Which wasn’t really a problem. They’d had a talk about this earlier. Neither of them had any STDs, and she was on the pill. The real issues were . . .

They’d let this go on too long, built it up too much, put too much pressure on themselves.

She said she had to pee, locked herself in the bathroom, and breathed the long, deep inhalations and slow exhalations of an opera singer with magnificent breath control . . . except when she was singing.

He knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.”

“No! I’m throwing up.”

“You are not,” he said from the other side.

“I think I have a stomach virus.”

“I think you have a chickenshit virus.”

“That, too.”

“I’ll wait.”

She turned on the faucet and washed her hands. She was used to seeing herself in wigs and tiaras. She was not used to seeing herself in a Stars ball cap, but she liked the way it looked on her head. Sporty. Carefree. Everything she wasn’t. “Can I have this hat?”

“No.” From the next room.

“You must have dozens of them. And you won’t let me have one?”

“I’m not feeling generous right now.”

“I understand.”

She reluctantly took off her fleece jacket and slipped out of her sneakers, but kept the cap on. “I’m getting undressed.”

“You do that.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

She pictured the beautiful underwear tucked away in her suitcase and the plain pair of sporty briefs she’d pulled on instead, along with an ugly, flesh-colored sports bra. What had she been thinking? That she’d pop into a gym for a quick pickup game?

Since she’d barely had three hours of sleep last night, she was lucky to be wearing underwear at all.

“Confess,” he said from the other side of the door. “You’re a virgin, right? That’s your deep, dark secret and why you’re running scared.”