Light My Fire

30. Luke

CHAPTER 30

Luke

Brooke opens the door to her loft with a wide smile. “Hi.”

I feel myself smiling in return even though I’m still not fully convinced this date is a good idea.

“Hi.” My gaze tracks over her from head to toe. She’s dressed for the cool March evening in a sweater, coat and scarf, blue jeans that hug her hips, and brown ankle-high boots. She has at least three layers on, and I still feel my body stirring.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her. Her hair is down and softly curled. She’s put on a little make up, a fact I can only detect because I’ve seen her with nothing on.

Literally.

And even though I am determined to keep this date PG, it’s impossible to look at her and not think of the night she spent with me, Jackson, and Wyatt.

That was, hands-down, the hottest sexual experience of my life. It’s been on my mind constantly. How the hell can I stand here with her and not think about how soft her skin is, how eager her mouth and hands are, how perfect her…

Fuck.

Tonight is going to be a true test of my willpower.

She steps into the hallway of her apartment building and wraps her arms around me.

Caught off guard, I have no choice but to return the hug. And I certainly don’t mind. Feeling her up against me, even with all of our layers of clothes, feels fucking fantastic.

With her arms still around my waist, she tips her head up to look at me. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

I am too. Despite the little voice in the back of my mind continually telling me this is a bad idea.

“Have you thought about what you want to do?” I ask her. She smells amazing, and I really want to lean in and bury my nose in her hair.

“I want to kiss you,” she tells me.

My body responds before my brain even catches up with what she said. I’m already semi hard.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Angel,” I tell her.

“Why not? Just a little kiss to say hello.”

“Because I can’t guarantee that I won’t back you up against that door and start stripping your clothes off.”

Her smile is a little sly and I realize I am going to have an even harder time resisting her if she’s going to be a little flirt.

“Well, I think I’ve made it clear that I wouldn’t mind that,” she tells me.

I take a breath and blow it out, then set her back away from me. “Tonight is about getting to know each other. Figuring out if we’re compatible beyond the bedroom.”

“And the kitchen wall,” she says.

Yeah, I’m definitely in trouble. It’s clear she’s feeling good. Confident. Sexy.

And she should. I love that she’s discovering this side of herself. I love that I know everything that’s been a part of that, including the men.

But, my resistance to her is already paper thin.

“Yes,” I finally admit. “But I think we need to figure out if we’ve got anything going except chemistry.”

She tips her head, considering me for a moment, then asks, “Will you kiss me good night at the end of the date?”

I probably shouldn’t. I won’t want to stop with just a kiss. If I walk her to the door, knowing that her bedroom is just down the hall, and that she would happily invite me in, I don’t know if I’ll be able to simply kiss her and send her in there by herself.

But looking at her now, even in the harsh lighting of the building’s hallway, she’s so fucking beautiful that I don’t think there’s any chance in hell I’m going to make it through this night without kissing her.

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll kiss you on the sidewalk before we come in.”

She pouts for a moment, but then gets a mischievous glint in her eye. “What constitutes being a good girl?”

Fuck . I want to show her all about being a good girl for me. I want to tell her over and over that she is. I want her on her knees, on her back, over the back of her couch. I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear. “Not tempting me,” I tell her honestly.

“How do I do that?”

“No touching, no kissing, and no talking about kitchen walls, bedrooms, or anything that happened the other night.”

Her gaze stays on my eyes for a few seconds. “No touching? At all?”

I tuck my hands into my coat pockets. “No touching.”

She turns and pulls her apartment door shut, drops her keys into her purse and pulls the strap up onto her shoulder. Then she tucks her hands into her coat pockets too. “Okay, then. I really want at least one kiss, so I guess I’ll be good.”

I shake my head and fight a smile. She’s already a handful, and she doesn’t even fully understand just how tightly I’m wound around her finger.

We walk down the hall to the elevator and I punch the button for the lobby. “So what should we do tonight?” I ask.

“You choose. This is your city. I haven’t been to Chicago much. When I am here visiting, we mostly stay at my grandmother’s, or she’ll take us out to restaurants. Of course, I’ve been to some hockey games.” She smiles at me. “But mostly when I see my family, it’s when they come to Minnesota.”

“Your grandmother lives here too?”

Her smile grows and I can tell that her grandmother is special to her.

“She spends time in Minnesota, Arizona, Florida, and Chicago. She also loves to visit New York.”

“You’re close?”

“We are. She wanted me to live with her when I moved here but I’m twenty-five.” She wrinkles her nose. “Her place is amazing but I need my own space and I definitely don’t need my grandmother wondering where I am when I’m not home.” She slides me a glance. “Or giving people the third degree when people come over.”

I watch the numbers above the door tick down instead of meeting her gaze. I’m trying very hard not to think about where she was the other night and how concerned her grandmother would have probably been if she’d known her granddaughter was spending the night with three men.

“She’ll love you.”

Now I snap my head to look at Brooke.

The doors swish open just then. I put my hand out to hold them open. “What?”

“She’ll love you,” she repeats. “My grandmother.”

Not she would love you but she will as if it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll meet her.

I swallow. “I’m sure she’ll think I’m too old for you.”

Brooke just laughs.

She starts across the lobby and I follow, thoughts of meeting her family warring with thoughts of how damned good this girl looks in blue jeans.

I open the door for her, and we step out into the getting warmer but not yet warm March night.

I drop the conversation about meeting families. “How about Millennial Park?” I suggest. “It’s pretty with all the lights at night and there’s a great brewery close by that I like. We can walk until we get cold and then get dinner.”

“I love that,” she tells me. “I want to just talk and spend time with you. We don’t have to do anything special.”

She’s so easy to be with. I don’t want to go overboard and make this too romantic. I don’t want to make or even imply promises of love and forever that I can’t deliver but getting to know her, and letting her know me, is important.

She can’t be my fuck buddy or my fling.

This either is going to go somewhere real. Or we’re going to end it. Before someone gets hurt.

I have an Uber waiting at the curb. I didn’t want to drive tonight and worry about parking or having a few drinks. This way I can give her my full attention.

I open the back door and Brooke slides in. I follow her, leaning forward to tell the driver where to drop us off and then settling into the seat next to the girl I want to touch so badly my hand is itching.

As the car pulls away from the curb, Brooke turns to me.

“For the record, my grandmother is lovely and would be completely fine with your age.”

“Come on.” I give her a smile to cushion my response. “I’m sure she pictures you with someone more like Wyatt.”

Brooke frowns. “She’ll love Wyatt too. And Jackson. But if you treat me well and make me truly happy and really love me, she would absolutely love you. That’s what’s important.”

My gut clenches. She talks so easily about love and falling into it and relationships developing. Yes, my feelings for her are strong and it happened quickly, but I know well that it takes a lot more than that to make things really work .

Still, I love the way Brooke makes it seem simple. Treating her well, making her happy, loving her? Fuck, that not only seems simple, but I can’t imagine not doing those things.

“She’s very open-minded,” Brooke goes on. “My brother is in a poly relationship, as you know, and she’s thrilled.”

“Thrilled?” I ask. That’s an interesting choice of words. Accepting maybe, but thrilled?

“Yes,” Brooke says adamantly. Then she grins. “She’s convinced Blake’s so lovable that of course he has multiple partners. I’m sure she’ll feel the same about us. I mean, she likes me even more than she likes him.”

I chuckle softly. I know her brother, Blake. He’s a retired hockey goalie and known to be kind of an ass, actually. At least to reporters and such. Not bubbly, sunny, and full of joy, like Brooke. Though he played hockey with the same passion I see in Brooke when she’s with the dogs or talking about school and being a vet. Clearly, passions run in the family.

“You and Blake seem pretty different,” I say.

“Not really.” She tucks her hair behind one ear. “He comes off grumpy and I come off shy. But it’s really that we’re both introverted. We each have a very small, close inner circle and that’s all we need. To everyone else we’re quiet and standoffish, but to people who really know us we’re happy and talkative and open.”

She smiles at me and it hits me how fucking glad I am to be in her inner circle and that she feels comfortable being open with me.

“I think there’s some misogyny at play to be honest,” she adds. “A guy is quiet and keeps to himself and he’s ‘broody’. A woman like that is either shy or a bitch.”

I can’t argue with that though I frown. She’s really neither of those things, even shy, and fuck everyone who thinks so. They’re just not good enough to get close to her.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say you’re past any shyness with the three newest members of your inner circle,” I say.

She grins at me. “Yeah, going from virgin to poly in two weeks isn’t very shy, is it?”

Fuck. She knows what she’s doing to me, reminding me of… everything. Fucking little flirt.

“Not the word I’d use, no,” I tell her.

“I guess it’s good I have a sister-in-law who knows exactly what it’s like to be with three men.”

I hear our driver cough slightly.

I sigh. I guess, if we’re really going to do this, we’ll have to get used to other people’s reactions. And not caring about them.

Brooke reaches over, laces her fingers with mine, and rests our hands on my thigh. “The no touching at all doesn’t work for me. I’m kind of a touchy person,” she says.

“What if I’m not?” I ask, though I make no move to withdraw my hand.

“I think you will be with me,” she says.

She has no idea the things I want to be with her. I want the right to run my hands over her ass in public. I want to kiss her anywhere, anytime. I want to make her laugh. I want to be her first phone call when things go right, or terribly wrong.

“But you’re right,” she adds. “Consent is sexy and it goes both ways. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Can I hold your hand, Luke?”

Fuck, she can do whatever she wants to me. Even break my damned heart.

“Yes,” I tell her. Then I lift her hand and kiss it.

We pull up to our stop a few minutes later and I get out, keeping her hand in mine and helping her from the car.

“Oh wow,” she says, looking around.

The lights of downtown shine all around. The buildings are lit up and there are street lamps and lights strung from poles around this section, where it’s clear there was some kind of event earlier today.

“It’s so pretty,” she tells me, after she’s spun a three-sixty.

I can’t take my eyes off of her, of course. I love my city, but I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve seen the downtown lights hundreds of times. Hell, I’ve fought fires amongst these lights. I love seeing it through her eyes. And I realize that I want Brooke to love Chicago. So much that she wants to stay.

“Come on, there’s more,” I tell her, keeping her hand in mine, completely unwilling to let go of her now.

We start down the sidewalk and I tell her about everything in the park—the fountains and art displays and gardens—and that we’re only a couple of blocks from the lake.

“I’ll bring you back during the day, when it’s warmer too.”

She presses close to my side. “I’d love that.”

Yeah, I just implied there’s a future in the warmer weather. So sue me.

We make it to the main attraction I wanted to show her.

“Oh, that’s beautiful!” she exclaims as the Cloud Gate statue comes into view. “I can’t believe I’ve never been this close to it.”

We walk up to it. “This is called the Cloud Gate, but it’s better known as The Bean,” I tell her.

She grins. “I can see why.”

The shape of the iconic statue makes that obvious.

The gigantic silver structure reflects the scene around it and at night is aglow with the lights from all sides.

We stand, just watching it and the people around for a few minutes. It’s a weeknight, and the weather is still brisk, so there isn’t a crowd, but with spring in the air, Chicagoans are starting to come out of hibernation and we’re hardly alone.

Brooke shivers slightly and I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her and resting my chin on her shoulder. “Are you cold? Do you want to go to the brewery?”

She snuggles back against me. “I want to stay right here.”

I pull her in tighter, unable to help myself.

We stay like that for a few more minutes. I watch the people around us and am acutely aware of how many couples there are. People walking hand in hand or men with their arms around women. People kissing.

People in love.

“Let’s go eat,” I finally say.

“Okay.”

She steps out of my arms and I miss the warmth of her body, but tamp that down.

I do take her hand again though as we walk toward one of my favorite breweries. I don’t come here often, but they’ve got a great selection, and it’s got a classy, but laid-back feel.

We’re seated immediately at a high table in the middle of the room. I tell myself taking the seat right next to her will make it easier to talk, though I know it’s also because I want to be close to her. I love studying the different colors in her hair, the swirls of blue in her eyes, and the various tilts to her lips as she talks and smiles. I’m so pathetically into her I nearly roll my eyes at myself.

I order a local microbrew and Brooke orders a margarita and we peruse the menu quietly, the sounds of conversation and the televisions above the bar filling in the silence.

After our drinks are delivered and we order, she takes a sip and then turns those eyes on me.

“Tell me about your ex.”

I nearly choke on my drink of beer. I swallow hard. Then I shake my head. “Nah. We don’t need to go there.”

She leans in and covers my knee with her hand. “I want to know. I want to know you and that’s a huge part of who you are. Please.”

I study her. Fuck. She’s right, of course, but hell, maybe she does need to know. It’s the main reason I’m resistant to this thing between us . Yes, it’s also her age, and her innocence, and the fact that my two best friends are falling for her—a big fucking complication, of course—but Marci is a huge part of my reservations.

“It’s not pretty,” I say after taking another draw of my beer, then setting the glass down.

“I assumed that was the case. That’s okay.” She moves her hand from my knee to my hand. She runs her thumb over the back of my knuckles. “So… try to scare me off.”