Pressure Point (Point #2) (4 page)

“Been going there for years,” he confirms and deftly unhooks the slide slats of the white paper box. “Fuck, I love these,” he groans in appreciation. My knees wobble in response. My brain must really be whacked because his response to the pastries ignites sensual images in my mind.

“You’ve forgotten my last name, haven’t you?” I ask, pleased that I’ve got a one-up on him but slightly crestfallen that he didn’t make the connection between me and the place he knows well. Free of the box, I unzip my jacket and shrug it off.

Blake lets out a throaty chuckle again, propping the Baccino’s box against his hip and reaching for my jacket with the other hand. “Now that I know you’re related to the Baccino family, you’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me.”

Like I’d want to stay away from you.
The thought pops into my head before I can suppress it, making me wince internally. None of this is good. I cannot crush on my new best friend’s brother. Aside from the fact that he’s football legend status at my college, he’s money and suave and completely out of my league.
Blake’s out of your dating caste, but you can be close friends with his sister? That doesn’t make sense.
I ignore the voice of reason. Above all else, it’s clear that Blake’s politely distant. Friendly, but no indication of noticing me other than with manners instilled in him since birth.

Once my jacket’s hung, he turns back to me with another one of those breath-stealing smiles. “Did you make these?” We walk side by side through the expertly decorated house. I force myself to look toward him instead of gawking at the contemporary furnishings and walnut plank floors.

“Not this time, but I’ve been known to help around the kitchen.” I sound far more confident than I feel as we walk into the two-toned kitchen. There’s a wall of white cabinets and a massive stainless steel fridge. In the middle of the large room is a massive dark-stained wood island with dark marble countertops. Zoe’s perched on a stool at the island typing furiously on her laptop.

“Did you know Stella’s family owns Baccino’s?”

Zoe’s muddy hazel eyes shoot over to where Blake and I stand almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Opposite of the kitchen sits the living room, with massive dark gray couches and a stone hearth. A healthy fire crackles, revealing where Blake got his musky scent. I inhale his scent as sneakily as possibly, but by the wink he shoots to me out of the corner of his eye, I swear he notices.

“I only told you that twice, Blake,” my friend says, rolling her expressive eyes affectionately. The innocuous statement pinches my heart. More proof that I’m nothing more than a passing name to Blake Campbell.

Forcing a smile that’s probably more grim than I’d like, I respond lightly, “I’ve got an in with the owners; I can get you a table anytime. Mom wants Zoe over for dinner. You’re welcome to come, too.”

Blake drops the box on the kitchen counter, opening it and taking a hearty bite of one of my mom’s cannoli. “I will be there.” The acceptance of my invitation sends a little thrill running through me, but I stifle the reaction. He only wants to eat homemade pasta and sauce sourced from local produce.

Zoe pats the barstool next to her and I oblige, hopping up on the seat next to her. “Weird that I missed you even though we hung out two days ago.”

I nudge my elbow into her upper arm. “I kind of got used to you, too, freshman.” We giggle together and I forget that there’s a guy across the room who I’ve got a thing for. This friendship means more to me than a fleeting crush.

“Remind me, Zoe, do you like Cassidy Collins?” Blake interrupts.

Zoe omits a quick gasp and her eyes grow wide. “You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” I’m confused by her enthusiasm. Blake’s holding back a smile, arms crossed casually over his muscular chest. Cassidy Collins is a mid-twenties pop star in the middle of her second world tour. Zoe and I discovered that she’s a guilty pleasure for both of us and spent more than a few nights studying to her bubblegum lyrics about young love.

“She’s in town tomorrow night at the Chicago Center. Have you been living under a rock?” Zoe teases me good-naturedly.

“Not exactly; the weight of finals is overwhelming. What does Cassidy being at the Chicago Center have to do with us?”

It might be my imagination, but Blake looks chagrined for a moment then quickly pushes away the expression. He reaches into the back pocket of his dark-wash denim and reveals three tickets, placing them on the countertop before us.

“Like I asked, you two still fans of Cassidy Collins?”

Zoe squeal is high-pitch. She hops off the chair, yelping as she skips to her brother. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Blake! I’m dying to go to her concert.
Rolling Stone
said it’s the best pop tour of the year.” Then she’s hugging him with gusto. Meanwhile, Blake’s wearing that embarrassed look again. “You are the best big brother ever!” She cheers once she releases him then whirls around to me. “How psyched are you? Most importantly, what are we going to wear?”

“Oh,” I stumble over my words when I respond, overwhelmed by Blake’s generosity. “That’s really kind of you, Blake, but weren’t they super expensive?”

“It’s my pleasure,” he says smoothly and I swear my pulse quickens in response. God, he’s sex in a freakin’ sweater.

“I…”

“You won’t say no. We’re so going to see Cassidy and Blake’s coming with, right?” Zoe interrupts my hesitation, eyeing her brother with big, pleading eyes.

He shakes his head in mock displeasure. “The things I do for you, Zoe.”

She laughs freely, and I join in with an awkward chuckle. A whole night with Blake—how am I going to survive that? The man in question’s cell phone rings and he waves to us as he departs the kitchen into parts unknown.

“We’re going to Cassidy!” Zoe’s wiggling around the kitchen as if she can hear the lyrics in her head.

“Those tickets must have been crazy expensive. Will he let me pay him back?” I blurt out. Zoe freezes where she’s bopping to a beat only she can hear.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I raise an eyebrow in a silent response. Of course, I’m not kidding, and she knows it.

Zoe joins me on the barstools and turns so that we’re sitting parallel and facing one another. “Do you know anything about Blake?”

I shake my head in another silent response.

“Blake didn’t pay for the tickets because he, well, kind of is in the business.”

“The music industry?” I’m even more confused than before. I knew Blake was a famous college football player, but Zoe never told me what his career is now. Obviously, he’s not in the National Football League.

“Blake’s dad is Stewart Campbell.”

My hand flies to my mouth to cover the gaping hole.
No way.
Stewart Campbell owns Chicago. Not literally, but kind of. He has a record label and two professional Chicago sports teams, hockey and football. Oh, and he owns the freaking Chicago Center, a massive stadium on the west side of town that holds twenty thousand fans.

“Blake was always a football player, but that’s because he couldn’t skate well enough to be a hockey player. Now, he’s Vice President of the Scrapers. Getting tickets to any show at the Chi Center is no big thing for him, so don’t worry about it. Also, you’re my best friend. When something really cool comes my way, I want to experience it with you. Blake gets that.”

Blake gets a lot more than “that.” He’s the type of guy who goes out of his way to do something nice for his little sister. He’s the type of guy who makes a cashmere sweater look ruggedly sexy. He’s the type of guy who doesn’t want me to wait outside because it’s cold.

I am so screwed.

Then at least I have the sense to think of a way to show my appreciation to Zoe and Blake.

“How about you guys come over for dinner before the concert? Then we can all go together.”

Zoe nods, though she looks thoughtful. “It’s a date.”

“What’s on your mind?” I ask, noting the way she studies me intensely.

“It’s pretty cool that you don’t care that Blake’s sort of famous.”

From her wary expression, I can tell this topic’s brought her some discomfort in the past, so I decide to tread lightly. “I’m not sure that I get what you mean.”

“Well,” her shoulders lift in a sheepish shrug, “some friends I’ve had before got close to me to try to date my brother or meet professional athletes. It’s a relief that you aren’t one of those people.” She gathers me in an impulsive close hug and I squeeze my eyes shut behind her shoulder.

That comment cements it.

I must steamroll this crush.

Blake

Never let ‘em see you sweat.
Dad’s been preaching that one to me since the day that I was born. Mostly, he meant on the football field, and later, when I began working in one of the family businesses, professional hockey.

Always maintain control, Blake.

Keep your face impassive.

Show strength not weakness.

Admittedly, it was a tough upbringing. But it prepared me for the biggest challenge of my life. No, I’m not talking about facing Texas in the national championship. And I don’t mean earning an MBA or graduating college with honors while playing quarterback in one of the premier football clubs. It’s a constant challenge working in the National Hockey League and facing down men twice my age with way more negotiating experience then me, but that’s not the toughest obstacle in my life.

None of that holds up against the most important position that I play in life: Zoe Baker’s older brother. At eighteen, my mother sat me down and told me in the event of a God-forbid emergency, I’d become my sister’s guardian. And that God-forbid emergency came. In the summer after my last year of college, I was thrust into instant fatherhood. A drunk driver killed Zoe’s parents (our mother and her father).

Heavy stuff for a kid, but Dad prepared me. When the lawyer read Mom’s will, I didn’t flinch. Since that day, she’s been my responsibility. For most guys my age, they’d be pissed to have that kind of responsibility tossed on their shoulders. I won’t lie and say there weren’t fleeting moments when I was frustrated to have my kid sister around, but for the majority of the time, Zoe’s been the joy of my life. Spending time with her and watching her grow into a young woman is the thing I’m most proud of.

That’s why taking her to a Cassidy Collins show doesn’t bother me too much. If it makes my sister flash her carefree smile, I’m all for it.

I’ll do everything in my power to protect her from pain again.

“Would you believe Stella wanted to reimburse you for the ticket?” my sister asks from the seat beside me. I called on a driver to take us to the show tonight. Not the biggest fan of drinking and driving, to put it mildly, when a drunk driver killed my mother.

My lips automatically curve into a smile at the thought of Stella. One of my hard and fast rules is to never date or even admire one of my sister’s friends. Zoe’s eleven years younger than I am. Instinctively, I know it’s wrong. But I can’t help but notice how cute little Stella is, not to mention that she’s older than Zoe… What I like most about Stella, though, has nothing to do with doe eyes and a sweet smile. She’s a good friend to my sister, guiding her through the first year of college without corrupting her.

“You explained that’s not an option, I presume?”

Zoe grins at me. “Duh.”

The driver pulls the SUV to a stop in front of a modest townhouse a few blocks shy of Baccino’s restaurant. I bustle my sister out of the car and toward the front door, not wanting her to be out in the cold for too long. Lifting a gloved hand, I rap my knuckle on the wood door.

“
Buona sera!”
a tiny woman who looks remarkably like Stella greets us exuberantly when she opens the door with a flourish.

“Hi, Mrs. Baccino, I’m Zoe and this is my brother Blake.”

“Who is Mrs. Baccino? Call me Teresa, you’re family now.” Without letting us take off our jackets first, the larger-than-life woman lunges at us both. First, she kisses my sister on both cheeks, then she’s up on her tiptoes, clasping my face in her hands and letting her eyes rove over my features. She smells like garlic and onions; it’s amusing, and at the same time, motherly. “You will do,” she mutters more to herself than me. I don’t have to chance to ask what she means because a moment later she presses soft lips to my cheeks, too.