Page 169 of Devious Obsession
I rejoin them and smile at my mother, who smiles back at me. She’s holding hands with Stephen, much the way Steele held my hand on the table. She looks happy and relaxed. Steele leans over and kisses my cheek, and neither of our parents bat an eye.
I got so used to worrying and fearing for all of us that this relief feels almost strange.
But I never want to let it go.
ASPEN
TWO YEARS LATER
“This is nuts,” I murmur.
Steele grins and holds out his hand. I take it, of course, and squeeze his fingers. He pulls me out of the car and onto the sidewalk. He’s been talking about thissurprisefor a month but refused to tell me exactly what he had planned.
I would’ve been fine with not knowing, except he kept bringing it up—and that’s what piqued my curiosity. His excitement.
Now we’re parked on the street outside a popular tattoo shop on the downtown strip of this little tourist town. It was a bit of a drive from Boston. But now, this is obviously a massive hint at what the surprise is going to be—I’m just not sure whether the appointment is for him, me, or both of us…
“Excuse me,” a woman calls, marching down the street toward us. “Are you Steele O’Brien?”
Steele smiles politely at her and nods.
“Oh, my gosh. Can I get your autograph?” The woman, no joke, fishes a small notebook out of her purse. She flips to an empty page. “We’re going to your game tomorrow night in Boston! My family is going to freak out. What brings you to our quiet town?”
He takes the notebook and offered Sharpie, although he doesn’t answer her question.
“We see so many famous people visiting,” the woman says to me. “I like to always be prepared. There’s been an influx of visitors lately.”
I grin and eye Steele. One thing CPU hockey didn’t adequately prepare him for was the amount of fans he would amass. Nowhere near the level of Knox or Greyson, though, who also went into the NHL after college. Scrolling social media, I’m guaranteed to see a video montage of at least one of them, set to some sexy music.
Steele doesn’t find it as funny. The tips of his ears are red, and he poses for a picture with the woman. And then she’s gone, and I’m left smirking at my husband.
“Shut it,” he grumbles, taking my hand and practically dragging me into the tattoo shop.
“You never know who you’re going to run into,” I tease him.
We moved to Tennessee shortly after Steele was signed. Even still, we’re never actually home. If he’s traveling, I’m traveling. He says his goal is to get on a team with one of his friends. They’ve been spread out all over the league at this rate.
Coach Roake was on one of the late-night talk shows the other week. Apparently, no other college team has had as much success getting their players into the NHL as he had. It was almost cute, watching Coach sing their praises.
The bell above the door chimes, and warmth envelops us.
A tattooed man comes out and greets us. He’s surprisingly gorgeous—not that I’m, you know, looking. He’s just got that tortured appearance. Starving artist meets… success.
“Welcome to Starlight,” he says. “You’re Steele and Aspen?”
“Yep.”
“Saint Hart,” he introduces, shaking our hands. “Ready to get started?”
I dig my heels in. “Wait. Sorry.” I glare at Steele. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?”
Steele snickers. “Yeah, little viper. I’m getting you tattooed on me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he seems unbothered. And he follows the tattoo artist back into his studio without hesitation.
I mean, really. Why would he hesitate? He’s covered in tattoos. Another one wouldn’t make a difference. Even if it’s supposedly representingme.
Steele sits where Saint directs him, and I take one of the chairs off to the side. Positioned so I can definitely see what sort of madness Steele has come up with. But then I decide that maybe I’m better off not knowing, and I head back into the front lobby area. There’s a white couch with a low coffee table in front of it, and a spread of magazines that feature Starlight.
