When Aria Monroe lands her dream job as the new photographer for Los Angeles's professional hockey team, the last thing she expects is to work with the cocky, arrogant center Connor Holden who rocked her world five years ago during a one-night stand...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The aroma of coffee beans and pastries wafts through the air, wrapping me in a calming presence as I step forward in line to place Connor and I's order for breakfast. My eyes flick over the menu, attempting to decide what to get, but no matter how hard I try to focus, I'm distracted.
Connor drilling into me from behind. His hands gripping my hips. His lips on every single crevice of my body.
And when I woke up beside him, I had to try and remember the last time I'd ever felt that peaceful. Watching the rising and falling of his chest as he slept, his face as serene as an angel's, it didn't take long before the panic replaced the awe I was in.
I shouldn't be itching to race right back to that penthouse and envelop myself in the furnace that his arms provide. I shouldn't be thinking of the lazy smile that fell onto his face when he realized I wasn't leaving him this time, and yet, everywhere I look, all I see is him. The plants in here remind me of his eyes. The calming presence of the fragrance of sweets reminds me of waking up beside him, warm and cozy while fighting the urge to place my head on his chest.
"Ma'am?" The cashier stares at me expectantly, eyeing the empty space in front of the register where the last customer previously stood.
Dammit! I didn't even look at the menu.
I order an arrangement of the basics—bagels, pastries, coffee, and two sides of hashbrowns, but when I pass over my card, the voice of a young girl stops me in my tracks. She's just entered the shop with her mom by her side, her hands on the glass as she eagerly taps at the pastry she wants.
It shouldn't be a trigger for me. It shouldn't send a bone-chilling sensation through my blood like ice water, but in seconds, my vision blurs as tears prick the backs of my eyes.
The walls feel as if they're closing in on me, this tiny coffee shop growing even smaller, and my lungs feel constricted, leaving me no room to breathe.
I'm never going to make it out of here.
I'm never going to make it.
I'm never going to make it to her.
***
"Esme, I told you it's fine. My parents are out of town this weekend! Why are you always so nervous about going to parties? Live a little, would you?" Tucking my phone between my ear and shoulder, I adjust the tight mini skirt to sit correctly on my waist, doing another quick once-over before I nod in approval.
"You don't get it," she says with a sigh. "Your parents are so chill compared to my Dad. You know he'd freak out if he caught me sneaking out."
"Don't you want memories?" I ask. "When we get older, don't you want nights like these we can look back on and reminisce about? Just tell your Dad you're spending the night here. We've never been caught before."
