She fingered the fringe on her shawl, not quite looking at him. “What if this is a colossal sign from the universe that we’ve gone as far together as we should?”
“That’s defeatist thinking. Knock it off.”
“But you have to admit—”
“I admit nothing. If you want to be a champion, Olivia Shore, you have to stay in the game.”
And that’s what this was to him. A game.
* * *
In the morning, the police returned Olivia’s phone and purse, which they’d retrieved from the limo, the twenty dollars still folded neatly inside. Thad had spent what was left of the night canceling his credit cards, ordering a new phone, and reliving what had happened. He didn’t sleep until their flight back to Chicago, and when he awoke, he saw Olivia sound asleep herself, lips slightly parted, purple headphones cockeyed on her head. She looked young and defenseless, far different from the furious woman who’d gone after their kidnapper last night.
Henri had booked them into the Peninsula Chicago on Superior Street. Thad’s condo and Olivia’s rental apartment weren’t far away, but they’d agreed it would be inconvenient to shuffle back and forth for their engagements, so the hotel would be their home for their last three nights.
The three nights Olivia insisted were all they would have together.
For the first time in his life, Thad had lost control of a relationship. He had to turn that around.
Their suite at the Peninsula had a baby grand piano and a wraparound terrace that looked out over Lake Michigan. While Henri waited for his room to be ready, he camped out with his laptop, and Paisley took off for Sephora.
Liv gave Thad her Queen of Sheba look. “I want to walk.”
He wanted to do more than walk, but not with Henri temporarily working in their suite. “Fine with me.”
She changed from flats into sneakers and traded her trench for a fleece jacket he’d never seen—one more item she’d stuck away in those 799 suitcases she traveled with. On their way out the door, she stole the Chicago Stars ball cap he was wearing and stuck it on her own head. “It makes me feel young,” she said, as she pulled her ponytail through the hole in the back.
“You are young,” he pointed out. “Relatively.”
“I don’t feel that way.”
“Thirty-five is only old in football years.”
“You’re almost forty, so that makes you ancient.”
“I’m not almost forty. I’m thirty-six.”
“Going on thirty-seven.”
“Not yet.”
“Je m’excuse.”
They turned onto Michigan Avenue. The day was sunny, but cold and crisp, thanks to the spring chill coming off the lake. The chill hadn’t discouraged the pedestrians bustling along the wide sidewalks with their shopping bags from Nike, Bloomingdale’s, Chanel, and the Apple Store.
“What are you going to do with yourself when your football career is over?” she asked.
“Not sure.”
“Give me a hint.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been doing some work with a friend.” Work he wasn’t ready to talk to anybody about. “I’ve got an idea. The Omni’s close. Let’s check in for a couple of hours. Just you and me.”
“It’s too pretty to go inside.”
“It’s cold, and you’re nervous. Afraid you can’t keep up with me, aren’t you? Afraid you’ll be a dud.”
“I’m not afraid I’ll be a dud.” She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. “Okay, I might be a dud.”