Lucky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series Book 6)
Chapter 13

“How did the generator repair go? I’ve noticed that the lights are flickering a lot less since you came in,” I say.

“It didn’t need too much. Just had some old gas that I had to change out and it needed a new spark plug. It seems to be running smoother now. I should have checked on it before the storm, but we didn’t know that the storm was going to come this close until a couple of days before.”

Of course, he’d blame himself for not going the extra mile. That seems to be on brand for him the more I get to know him.

“You said that you have more to do while we’re here?”

“There are not enough hours in the day to get to everything I’d like to work on, but I want to check the clay roof shingles before they fall off and hurt someone, and I want to check out the balcony in the upstairs apartment. I don’t know when the last time that someone checked to see if any of the wood was rotting. Bart and Rita haven’t used that apartment in years, and since Rita is staying up there right now, I should take a look.”

The way that Seven thinks about Rita’s safety and the way that she makes sure that he’s fed and smiling warms my heart. He mentioned that they have a special bond, and now I’m seeing the true evidence of it from both sides.

“Take your time. I’m in no rush. I can always write if I have downtime.”

“I have a question…” Seven asks.

“Go for it,’ I say, skewering a piece of avocado and egg from my plate and then take a bite.

It looks like Miguel made us an elevated version of Huevos Rancheros. Not exactly a fast and easy dish that Seven requested to make our meal easier on the kitchen staff.

Each egg is served on crostini-like bread with fresh avocado, beans, the same mango salsa, and other veggies. The second the ingredients touched my tongue; I knew that Seven wasn’t exaggerating Miguel’s talents.  His food is delicious.

“How does someone become an author who writes regency and billionaire romance books and does it full time?”

Seven takes a bite of his own food as he waits for my answer.

I smirk at the question.

When people replace out what I do, it’s a common curiosity.

Not only because becoming a full-time author doesn’t seem like an occupation that you just fall into. Most people think that most authors go to college and get a literary degree before setting out to write their first novel, but since my degree is in Administration Management, it confuses a lot of people.

“I entered into a competition on a whim, actually. Applicants could submit a short story for any sub-genre within romance and I picked historical romance. The editor at the publishing house loved mine over the others that she had read. The winning submission came with a publishing deal for the book, but then they asked me to create a full series, and the rest is history.”

“Really? You just sent in a submission that you wrote for that specific contest? Had you already been shopping it around to publishing houses before?” he asks.

“No. I just wrote ten thousand words over a short few days and then sent it in. It was surprisingly easier than I thought to write. It just flowed through me. Still, I didn’t think I even had the slightest shot.”

I take another bite of food in between the questions.

“I’m impressed,” he says, his eyebrows lifting up to his hairline.

This is the most engaged that Seven has ever been in a conversation with me, and I’m enjoying his undivided attention.

Not to mention that he just told me that he’s impressed by my author’s origin story. For someone like Seven, who doesn’t seem to be impressed by much, I’m honored to have him bestow any praise my way.

“So you’re smart,” he says.

It’s not exactly a question but I don’t see myself like that.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Okay, then you’re creative and imaginative, and smart.”

I try to keep the blush at bay. Compliments aren’t easy for me to accept and especially not for being an author. Imposter syndrome is real… even five years after being a successful author.

When I don’t say anything, he speaks again.

“It’s a compliment. You’re allowed to accept those.”

I give a little chuckle. “I know. Thank you. It’s just that my dad isn’t exactly on board with it.”

I quickly realize how that sounds, and I try to back down my comment. “I mean, he supports me. He sends me flowers whenever my new release comes out. It’s just that he thinks this is all a phase.”

And that I’m lucky to have Daniel for so that he can support me when it inevitably fizzles out. I can’t even imagine how my father would panic if I came clean and told my parents that Daniel and I are on a break right now.

“A phase?” he asks. “I’m not trying to pry, but I’m going to assume that if your agent bank-rolled your beach house vacation for two weeks, she must make a good amount of money off your books. I make my agent millions, and I don’t get so much as a Christmas card from the guy. You got a whole vacation.”

I snicker at the thought of the big, bad hockey goalie getting bent out of shape for not receiving a Christmas card.

Could it be that Seven Wrenley has a soft side?

“You’d think that the fact that I can afford a skyrise apartment in downtown Seattle, only a couple blocks from the Hockey stadium, that he sees I’m not exactly slumming it,’ I say

Seven stops chewing for a second.

“You don’t live in The Commons, do you?” he asks.

I’ve heard that most of the Hawkeyes players live in The Commons but I wasn’t sure if he did.

“No, I live in the apartment next door. Seventh floor.”

He takes another bite and mulls over the information I just dropped.

“Does your window face the commons?” he asks.

‘Yes, actually, it does.’

‘Then I bet you can see directly into my apartment from yours.’

‘Are you serious? Are you on the seventh floor, too?’

He nods.

A little zip of excitement at the idea of getting home and testing it out comes out of nowhere.

What will it matter?

He’ll just be looking in on me writing in the window, and if he’s up late enough, he’ll see Daniel coming home.

Daniel.

Right, of course.

In three weeks, Daniel will be back and living together in our shared apartment.

“Sev,” I hear Rita’s voice break through my moment of reality. “Miguel says that the fridge is acting up. Any chance you can take a look at it before you go back outside?”

Seven can fix fridges, too?

“Sure, I’ll look at it now,” he says, putting his fork down on his empty plate.

He looks back at me.

“I’ll see you later?”

I nod with a bite of food still in my mouth.

“Have a good lunch rush,” he says with a grin and then scoots out of the booth.

I start to dig back into my food when a call comes through.

Fiancé calling…

I pick it up and slide to answer.

It has to be getting late there.

Maybe midnight?

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey, I called around during every break I had today to get you out of Wrenley’s house with no luck. There’s nothing available right now. I called the airline, and they resumed operations starting this afternoon, but I couldn’t get you a flight out any earlier than your original departure. They said everything is booked solid for the stranded passengers.”

His voice seems to echo like he’s in a bathroom and… is he whispering?

“Are you okay? Are you in a tunnel or something?”

“No, I’m just sitting in the bathroom.”

In the eight years that Daniel and I have been together, I’ve never received a phone call from him while he’s in the bathroom.

He’s always told me that it’s an odd place to start a conversation.

He used to say that if the conversation isn’t important enough to warrant a certain amount of decorum, then it’s not important enough to make.

“Why are you sitting in the bathroom, and why are you whispering?” I ask.

There’s a short pause for a second on his end.

“I’m… I’m not whispering. It’s just late. I don’t want to wake the neighbors. The walls are thin in this apartment.”

I don’t know why but something just isn’t sitting right.

“Is someone else there?”

I swore to myself that I would never ask this question, because God knows I don’t really want to hear the answer, but there’s a nagging feeling in me that says I should know before he and I get back together.

“What do you mean by “someone else”?”

He doesn’t want me to clarify the question; he’s just trying not to answer it.

I know he’s been seeing other people, and he’s allowed, but how badly he wants me out of Seven’s house, I need to know if he’s currently sleeping with anyone.

“Daniel, do you have a woman in your bed right now?”

Even hearing the words come out of my mouth makes my stomach a little queasy.

Again, there’s another small pause.

“Would it matter if I did? It’s not against the rules.”

I know we agreed to date other people, but his refusal to admit it makes this feel more like infidelity than it should.

If he didn’t feel guilty about it, then he wouldn’t feel the need to hide it.

He’s allowed to sleep with other people and so am I.

“No, it’s not against the rules. I agreed to sleep with other people. Thank you for calling around but I think I’ll stay where I am for now. Seven and I are just starting to get along, and I feel safe with him since the power is still out all around the area.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

There’s almost an accusatory sound in his voice as if me sleeping with Seven would be wrong.

‘Would it matter if I did?’ I ask, throwing the same question back at him.

‘He’s just going to use you, Brynn. You’re beautiful and vulnerable. Assholes like him prey on women like you.’

‘Women like me? Maybe I’m using him too? Have you considered that?’

‘Brynn, I’m just worried about you. I don’t want you thinking that something more is going to happen with him and you give up what’s real between us.’

“I have to write. I’ll talk to you later.’

I hang up before he can respond.

I can’t believe he thinks he can demand an answer from me when he won’t be honest about whether or not he has a woman staying over right now. Even so, I don’t like the feeling of hanging up on Daniel. With so little communication between us over the last seven months, I hate that this is how the conversation ends. But whatever jealousy he’s dealing with right now isn’t fair.

No matter what squabbles we’ve gotten in over the years, I’ve never hung up on him once. We usually are good about talking through our issues even if we don’t see eye to eye. But this… this is too much.

Maybe Sheridan is right.

Maybe I need to dip my toe in a new ocean, just like Daniel.

Here we are, three weeks from getting back together, and he’s still actively sleeping around.

Though it sounds so juvenile, maybe I need to even the score so that Daniel and I can move on from this and start fresh when we get home.

Can I live the rest of my life with Daniel, knowing that he took full advantage of the break and I didn’t?

I’m just not sure anymore. Especially since he just acted as if there is a double standard to the ‘sleeping with other people’ rule.

Daniel tries to call me back, but I send it to voicemail, and then a text pops through.

Fiancé: I can’t believe you just hung up on me. You never hang up on me.

I don’t like the way that things are changing between Daniel and me, but until we’re both back in the same city, what can be done to salvage this right now?

I pull my laptop over and start writing to distract myself. I can’t fix things between us right now, but I can finish this book so that I can focus on us when I get home.

After taking a look at the fridge in the kitchen, Seven went back outside.

The restaurant stayed busy the entire time and I tried to get up and help but Rita told me that if I really wanted to be helpful that I would save my energy for the lunch rush.

Luckily, between the time Seven left and when the lunch rush started, I was able to get in almost two hours of writing, and I’m glad I did because Rita wasn’t kidding. The lunch rush was almost double the number of people as the breakfast rush.

Word was starting to spread that Scallywag’s is open for business, and since many people are still complaining about not having power, they know they can get a hot meal here at Rita’s place.

Marie kept putting up the receipts from the pile that Seven had purchased, along with receipts from other contributors, and it still felt like Seven’s stack wasn’t decreasing in the least. How many meals did he sponsor?

Another break between lunch and dinner came, and I was able to get even more writing done.

I contribute the increased word count to the adrenaline, and running around during the rushes helps me think clearer between breaks.

It makes sense since taking walks out around the apartment building when I’ve had writer’s block in the past usually works.

Well, up until this book when it seemed that no amount of walks around the block would help. I’ll admit that being here is inspiring me to write again.

Sheridan was right.

I just needed a few days and some new perspective to get my groove back.

We were a couple of hours into the dinner rush, with the sun setting outside of the large windows of the bar when I saw Seven finally walk back into the restaurant.  I didn’t realize that I’d been checking regularly for the door, waiting for the moment when he’d eventually walk back in.

Marie took him lunch outside, so I hadn’t seen him in hours, and I couldn’t help but feel giddy when I saw him walk in just now.

Eating breakfast together was quick. Not only does Seven eat three times the amount that I do, but he also does it in half the time it takes me to eat mine.

Our conversation, although short, was eye-opening to a different side of Seven that I hadn’t seen before.

“Excuse me?” I hear a voice behind me ask.

It breaks my attention on Seven just as his eyes meet mine.

I turn to look behind me at the large U-shaped booth and the five top full of guys, probably around my age, sitting there. They look like the quintessential group of guys coming to Cancun for a bachelor party, though they’re a distance from the resorts.

Who knows? Maybe they got stranded like I did and had to replace somewhere else to book a spot when they got here.

“Yes? Can I get you something?” I ask, stepping up to their table with a smile and setting my hand on the table.

Since my Spanish is limited, I haven’t been able to communicate as effectively as I would have liked with other patrons today, so I’m excited when I see my opportunity to grab these guys’ chips or guacamole without having to ask one of the servers to do it.

“I sure hope you can,” says the guy sitting at the booth to the left.

All five of them smile at me while one snickers uncontrollably like he’s been overserved somewhere else.

Actually, they all look a little glassy-eyed, as if they’ve been indulging all day.

“What can I get you?” I ask.

The guy who got my attention lays his hand over mine. I don’t want to pull away immediately and cause a scene.

Some people get overly affectionate when they drink, and as long as this is as bad as it gets, I’ll be on my way soon enough with their order.

“My buddy over there is getting married next week, and he thinks you’re cute.”

Oh no.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

I hope he’s not insinuating what I think he is.

I look over at the supposed groom, who’s laughing.

“He’s kidding… he’s drunk. Marcus, let her go,” the groom says with a chuckle.

“Come on, baby, it’s his last week of freedom, and I swear he’ll give you a good time. Just come back to our rental house with us,’ Marcus says.

I don’t want to make a scene in Rita’s restaurant, so I try to be as professional as possible about the situation, though I’m cringing on the inside and want to get away from them as soon as possible.

“I’m not interested. I’ll go replace your server for you,” I say, attempting to pull my hand back, but Marcus grips a little tighter and doesn’t let go.

“Are you really going to let this guy get married to the troll of a girlfriend he’s got without letting him have one last pretty girl?”

Umm ick.

I can’t tell if his attempt was to flatter me into agreeing by calling me a pretty girl or if he was going the guilt trip route, but either way, neither landed successfully.

The groom is definitely drunk as well and smiles at me, “Ignore Marcus. He’s had too much to drink. And my fiancé isn’t a troll,’ he tells me and then stares over at Marcus. ‘…she’s your sister, remember that? Let her go, Marcus.”

“Yeah, Marcus. Let her go.”

I hear Seven’s deep voice behind me, and then I feel his chest press against my left shoulder like he’s about to take one step forward and put a six-foot-five wall between me and Marcus.

“Whoa, whoa, he didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just drunk and having a little fun,” one of the other friends finally pipes up.

“Yeah, he’s just being an idiot. We don’t want any trouble,” the groom pleads.

I look around at the other four guys, who are all looking at Seven like they’re all about to get their asses kicked. There’s a little tinge of fear in each of their eyes… all of them except Marcus’s.

“She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions,” Marcus says.

I pull my hand back again, and Marcus releases it this time, but he doesn’t take his glare off of Seven.

He squares his chest towards Seven like he isn’t scared, but there’s still uncertainty in his eyes about whether he can take Seven on and win.

…he couldn’t.

I’ve seen Seven in a fight on the ice once or twice on TV. If Marcus would like to skip a visit to the ER tonight, he’d better back off.

“She said she wasn’t interested, but you wouldn’t let her go. So now I’m going to let you and your friends off with a warning since there are kids currently in this restaurant, and I don’t want them to witness your blood splattered all over the floor,’ Seven says. ‘You and your friends are going to stand up and leave right now and swear that you’ll never come back here again. Do you understand?”

“We understand, thank you. We’re leaving now,” the groom says as he pushes the guy sitting front of him, blocking his exit out of the booth.

Marcus doesn’t move an inch. He just stares Seven down.

“Do you have some kind of claim on her?” Marcus asks.

Seven takes a step closer, blocking Marcus’s view of me.

“I’ll tell you this. If I see you in here again laying a hand on any one of the female wait staff here, I’ll make sure you no longer have hands to jack off alone in your mom’s basement. Do I make myself clear?”

I swallow hard, hoping this time Marcus takes him seriously and leaves before he gets hurt.

I don’t really care about Marcus’s well-being, but I don’t want to see Seven get in a fight over me, even if he would level the idiot with one blow.

“We got it. We won’t come back,” one of them says.

Marcus’s friends swoop in front of Seven, risking life and limb to get their friend out of there. I watch as two of them manhandle Marcus off the booth seat and pull him toward the front of the entry.

Clapping erupts as soon as the five drunk idiots pass Marie’s hostess desk.

Seven turns around and looks at me as if we’re the only two in the restaurant. As if he doesn’t care that a packed restaurant of people just witnessed him threaten bodily harm to anyone who brings any unwelcome attention to the women who work here.

He reaches out, gripping my hand, which is down by my side. My belly flutters the moment our fingers touch. His grip is gentle but firm as he guides me to follow behind him. I could let go, and I know he wouldn’t force me to follow him, but I don’t want to let go, and I don’t want him to let go, either.

He makes a beeline for the booth, where I already have my laptop bag packed since I figured we would leave after the dinner rush.

“Seven, where are we going?” I ask.

I’m not interested in protesting whatever he has planned; I just wish he would share his plans with me.

He reaches into the booth and grabs my laptop bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

‘I finished everything. Now it’s time to go.’

‘It’s time to go? It’s the dinner rush, and there’s a line out the door,’ I say.

Rita comes running out of the kitchen with Marie on her heels.

Marie must have just informed her of what transpired out here in the restaurant while she was waiting for an order to finish.

“Seven, what happened?” she asks him, following behind us.

Seven turns from the booth and heads for the restaurant’s entry.

“It was nothing, I swear. Just some drunk guys. They left,” I say over my shoulder to Rita before Seven can make a big deal out of it.

“But not before one of the guys grabbed Brynn,” Marie chimes in, following behind Rita.

“Oh my God! What?” Rita says.

I hear Seven growl something to himself in response to Marie’s event breakdown.

“It wasn’t that bad. I promise,” I try to tell Rita. “Tell her it was fine, Seven.”

“I’m taking her home,” he says back.

He weaves us through the long line of guests standing inside and outside of the door, waiting for their turn to get seated for dinner.

“I’m sorry I can’t help with the rush. I guess we’re leaving,” I say before we take a sharp turn out of the door, and we lose them in the crowd.

Now it’s just Seven and I walking down the narrow walkway the same way we came in.

We parked at the end, and in the darkness, as Seven leads us further away from the entry, it’s beginning to feel like we’re the only two out here.

‘I don’t understand why we’re leaving. Nothing happened. He didn’t hurt me, and Rita needs the help.’

‘I shouldn’t have brought you out here,’ he mumbles.

He regrets bringing me now?

‘Why? What did I do?’

‘Nothing. You didn’t do anything. That asshole did.’

‘Then why does it feel like I’m the one you’re upset with?’

‘I’m not upset,’ he says.

But his long, heated steps that I’m trying to keep up with say something different.

‘Really? Because you just passed the jeep about five cars back,’ I tell him.

He stops immediately without warning and I just about run into the back of him.

He turns around and looks down at the row of cars and then back at me when he sees that I’m right.

“Seven,” I say again. “What if I want to stay and help? What if I don’t want to go home yet?”

“Is that what you want? Do you want to stay here? I won’t force you to come with me, Brynn. Miguel and Marie have to drive by my house on their way home,” he says, releasing my hand. “They’ll give you a ride whenever you want if you’d rather stay.”

Is he really going to agree to leave me here?

What just happened in there?

It was one drunk idiot and his stupid friends, and it’s not like it’s the first time a group of guys have said inappropriate things. However, I will say that asking me to help his future brother-in-law cheat on his sister is a new low.

Still, how is he so worked up over this? He stepped in before anything got out of hand and I haven’t even thanked him for that yet.

“No, I want to go wherever you’re going,” I say. “I just don’t understand what happened in there that made you want to leave so quickly.”

He takes a step closer, and his hands lift to my face and then his thumb soothes over my jaw.

I look up into his eyes, searching for some kind of explanation. He’s never touched me like this before.

‘Because I’m losing my ability to keep away from you. Something I’ve never had a problem doing before with other women.’

I swallow hard at his admission. When did he start feeling this way? I thought he could barely put up with me.

‘I can’t tell which is worse. Walking into the restaurant to replace someone else touching you and feeling jealous for the first time in over a decade. Or seeing him grip you tighter when you tried to pull away, feeling the last thread of my sanity start to unravel as I fought the urge to knock his head clean off.

‘You held back because of the kids in the restaurant.’ I remind him.

It’s the reason he gave Marcus.

I reach up and grip around his wrist, willing him to stay right where he is. I want him this close, and if I’m being honest with myself for once, I want him even closer.

His fingers slide behind the back of my neck as he takes another step closer and then he pulls my laptop bag off his shoulder and sets it on the ground.

‘No, I didn’t hold back because of the kids, even though it’s a good excuse. I held back because if I had sent him to the ER, I’d be in the back of a police car right now and I wouldn’t be able to do this.’

‘Do what?’ I ask.

Seven dips down and pulls me forward, planting his lips against mine.

A shock wave zings through my belly at the feeling of Seven’s warm lips against mine.

His other hand wraps around my waist and pulls me even closer against him.

I slide my arms around the back of his neck, moaning into his mouth as I open for him, letting his tongue enter and glide against mine.

He releases the back of my neck as his hands drift down the sides of my body, just as he did that night when he held me in the storm. Only this time, his hands have a different purpose.

He grips my ass with both hands, pulling a whimper from my lips as he pulls me tight to his body.

‘I could have killed the guy for touching you,’ he says.

‘You’re the only one touching me now.’

He starts to move us, backing me up against the wall of the restaurant. The moment my back hits the stucco, Seven squeezes my ass and lifts me up. My legs wrap around his waist while the hem of my dress rides up so that when Seven presses against me, it’s only my thin pair of panties between me and his canvas-covered zipper.

The large bulge in his pants presses his zipper flap perfectly against my clit as he grinds into me into the wall.

The little scrapes from the Stucco against my back should be uncomfortable, but they only add to Seven’s aggressive thrusting against me.

I hear him groan against my mouth. He wants this as badly as I do, and I don’t think that anyone, including Daniel, has ever wanted me as badly as Seven is showing me right now.

I need to know what it feels like to be with Seven.

I need to know what being taken so possessively against a building out in the open feels like.

I’ve never done anything this risky before. Daniel would never have agreed to do something like this, but with Seven, it feels so natural, and I’ve never felt so safe in this moment before, even though anyone could walk by and see us.

The way Seven shields my body with his, I know he’d protect me if we got that far. And by the way he’s rocking into me and his hard erection, I don’t see how this doesn’t end without him inside of me.

The anxiety of not getting off and Seven thinking I’m broken scare me. Or worse, that because I don’t get off from penetration, his ego will be hurt like Daniel’s and then things between Seven and I will become awkward after tonight.

‘Fuck, Brynn, I could reach down right now and get you off. Those thin little panties don’t stand a chance,’ he says. ‘What am I allowed to do to you?’

I told myself that I wouldn’t let fear stand in my way anymore. And maybe Sheridan is right and this is the chance I’m given to try with someone else.

‘Yes,’ I say.

Seven reaches between us, his thick knuckles gliding over my inner thigh as he reaches down between my legs.

I feel the moment he pushes my cotton thong out of the way and then gently coats his fingers in the arousal he created.

The moment I feel the pads of his fingers push against my center; I sigh into our kiss.

‘Jesus Christ, you’re dripping wet,’ he says. ‘How long have you wanted this?’

I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’ve noticed Seven’s perfect body since the moment he opened the front door.

‘Since you broke into the shower to save me,’ I tell him, thinking about the scene I wrote between the lunch rush. It’s the alternate version of how I would have seen that moment going if things between him and I had been different. I never thought this moment would happen, so I gave that fantasy to Colston and Leanne instead.

‘Me too,’ he says. ‘I was hard all fucking night for you. That’s why I left. But I’m not leaving this time,’ he says.

His admission has more hot heat coating his fingers as he works two fingers in and out of me.

I hold on tighter around his neck as my body begins to tingle in a way I haven’t without a vibrator.

Oh God, is he doing what I think he’s doing?

If I come on Seven’s fingers, what will that mean for Daniel and me?

I’m scared to replace out but more scared not to chase this orgasm and know if this is real.

‘Keep going,’ I beg.

My thighs begin to squeeze against his wrist as I can feel my body getting closer and closer.

Everything Seven does is right. Every movement, every touch he gives me only increases the pleasure.

‘Seven,’ I whimper.

He adjusts his hand, and his thumb presses against my clit. Now my body is starting to pulsate, and there’s no hope of stopping it now.

Seven takes my bottom lips and bites down and then I come on his hand.

Whimpering out in ecstasy at the first man-made orgasm I’ve had in over eight years. It’s better than any of the silicone, vibrating ones I’ve had.

Seven eases his fingers out of me slowly and then pulls his hand up to his mouth and sucks me off my fingers.

‘You taste as good as I thought you would.’

I bite down on my lip to keep from squeaking out a response.

Daniel isn’t a selfish lover, but he’s never reveled in the way I taste, and since I don’t get off from oral either, he stopped offering.

But just because I don’t orgasm from it doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good.

Seven wraps his arms around me to hold me against him, giving me time to come down from euphoria.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I tell him.

But the truth is, I’m not sure if I’m ok.

What I do know is that I’m not done exploring my lost and found orgasms.

Are they because I finally faced my fears and am now, I’m cured? Or is it because Seven is the only man capable of giving them to me?

Seven leans in and kisses me tenderly one last time, and then I hear someone shout, ‘Get a room.’

I jump and look around, hoping that whoever just said that only saw our kiss. But if they saw more, it was worth it.

‘What do you say?’ Seven asks. ‘Should we get a room?’

I need more than one time to see if Seven has skills or if this all was a fluke.

‘Yeah, let’s go,’ I say.

He sets me back on the ground, leans down, grabs the laptop bag lying by our feet, and then leads me by the hand back to the Jeep.

This time, he opens my door and grips my hips, lifting me into the passenger side as if I weigh nothing.

I turn to him, expecting him to close the door, but instead, he leans in and kisses me again.

Who is this version of Seven, and where has he been?