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“I’ve got a bonus for you when you get home,” he murmurs.
My smile is slow and wide. My cheeks flush with heat. We can’t seem to get enough of each other.
Butterflies and fireworks.
I hope it always stays like this.
I walk across the street with everyone else when the sign changes.
“I’ll be back tonight,” I say into the cell.
“Promise?”
“Swear,” I whisper, nodding to the doorman when I step inside the foyer of the hotel.
“I’ll be waiting.” I can picture his sexy smirk across the line. “I love you.”
My grin grows. I duck my head. It’s the first time he’s said it to me during the day, over the phone. I wish I could record it so I could play it over and over again. Those three little words in his deep, gravelly voice affects me in the best possible way.
“I love you,” I say back. It still sounds strange. It feels strange.
I fell in love with Sam Anderson. The cocky hockey player that I swore I’d never look twice at. Life is surprising.
We disconnect the call, and I step into the elevator, pressing the fourth floor. I lean against the wall and sigh contentedly.
I’m not sure how it happened, but I’ve gone from a full-time barista to a full-time hockey sitter to a professional artist in the blink of an eye. Somehow, what felt like the worst decision of my life in the beginning—accepting the job to watch over hockey’s bad boy—turned magically into this. I don’t know how I got here. All I’m sure of is that I get to do what I love most in the world, and they plan to pay me well for it. The Hawks commission alone could buy me a brand-new apartment. Not one as expensive as Sam’s, but still. And the work will keep me busy for months.
Once I arrive in my room, I spend the next hour changing clothes, eating room service, and packing for the trip home. A taxi takes me to the airport a short time later. I board a flight to Chi-Town, and before I know it, I’m walking through the door of the apartment. Laughter tickles my ears when I cross the threshold. I see Mads sitting at the kitchen island with Ollie on the chair beside her, drinking a beer.
“Hey,” I say, pleasantly surprised. “What are you two doing here?” I leave my bag by the door and slip off my shoes.
“Came down to raid the fridge,” Ollie admits.
Sam is rinsing some plates in the sink and placing them in the dishwasher.
“After hearing about this bomb new chef that Anderson hired, I had to come taste the food for myself.”
Whatever issues Sam might have had with Milo the first time they met; they melted away after Sam tasted his amazing food day after day. Plus, my hockey player made it clear that we’re together now, so Milo toned down the friendliness.
“And what’s the verdict?” I ask, already knowing firsthand.
Ollie removes one of Milo’s cards from his pocket to flash it at me. “He’ll be getting a call from me tomorrow.”
“Good decision,” I say. I place a box containing dessert on the counter. I stopped by a bakery nearby on my way home.
“I thought Mads would be cooking for you,” Sam jokes to his teammate.
Ollie smirks, and Mads flips Sam off. I just laugh. We all know Mads doesn’t cook. She’ll be the first to admit it.
“I don’t see you preparing meals around here either, Sam,” Mads accuses.
“I can make a mean burger,” he claims.
My brow arches, and he smirks at my expression. I’ve never had one of these burgers.
“And some bomb-ass pancakes.”
“I’ll be expecting some of this home-cooked food soon, roomie,” I say to him.
