“I really liked that necklace. I’ve never had anything from Tiffany.”
His eyebrows rose. He studied her. Gorgeous, sexy, hot body. But totally not worth it. He swallowed a sigh. Was he really going to break up with her? In his whole life, the only time he’d ever ended things with a girl was when he’d left Wisconsin to go to the University of Michigan to play college hockey. He wasn’t even sure how to do it. What did he say?
“Um. Look, Melissa. This isn’t working.”
Her eyes widened. “What isn’t?”
“You and me. I’m sorry.”
Her forehead remained oddly smooth, though her eyebrows twitched, as if she was trying to frown. “What? Are you breaking up with me?”
His gut tightened. But…“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.”
He wanted to say something lame, like, It’s not you, it’s me, trying to make her feel better. Also, he didn’t have a whole lot of experience with women despite his twenty-seven years, and it was entirely possible he was the one at fault here. As a professional athlete, he had no shortage of dates. Some guys had girls two at a time (if you could believe their locker room tales). After turning pro and moving to Chicago, Duncan had been sucked into all that feminine attention and he’d made up for lost time by screwing around as much as he could. He’d slowed that down lately, feeling like he was ready for something more than just hookups with girls who were interested in him only because he was a hockey player and had some money. But the last few girls he’d been with hadn’t worked out so great, and when a gorgeous model like Melissa had been interested in him, he’d been blinded by her sexy looks and the idea of having a hot babe like her on his arm. His Chicago Aces teammates had been impressed.
So yeah, he’d been with other women, but screwing around wasn’t the same as having a relationship.
Anyway, back to the issue at hand. “It’s probably my fault,” he said to Melissa. “You’re beautiful and sexy and way out of my league.”
“You’re a multi-millionaire professional hockey player.”
Yeah, he was. And somehow he had the feeling that was the only reason she was interested in him. Did they ever do anything he wanted to do, like go hiking or hang out at his lake cottage, play paintball or watch Duck Dynasty? No. Did they ever talk about anything besides what a bitch another model she’d worked with was, or the spring collections, or whether she should get eyelash extensions? No.
“You can keep the clothes.” He handed her the bags. “I’ll take you home.”
“Damn right I’m keeping the clothes.” She snatched the bags away from him. “But never mind about taking me home. I’ll get a cab.”
He watched her stalk away on supermodel-long legs. She had no trouble getting a taxi, looking like that. She barely had to lift a finger and one veered to the curb and screeched to a stop.
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders in the leather jacket he wore, watching glumly as the cab took off. Well. That was that. He’d dropped a few thousand bucks on sexy clothes he’d never get to see her wear.
Sucker.
The word replayed in his head as he turned and started walking back to the parking garage where he’d left his Range Rover. Melissa hadn’t liked his truck either, even though it was expensive and brand new. But he liked it. It would be great for trips to the cottage, summer or winter.
He glanced at his watch. He could use a beer. Time to hit the Sin Bin.
He drove to the restaurant and bar owned by his friend and Chicago Aces teammate Jared Rupp. The Sin Bin was a popular Chicago eatery and bar where Duncan and his buddies liked to hang out. He’d heard some of the guys planning to meet up there later, but he’d anticipated spending the evening with Melissa.
He walked into the bar, tossing his car keys and looking around for any of the guys. Still a little early for happy hour, the place was only half full and he didn’t see anyone he knew. With a shrug, he took a seat at the bar.
“What can I get you?”
He looked at the girl who’d appeared behind the bar. To his surprise, he didn’t recognize her. Rupper must have hired some new staff.
“Moens Ice draft, please.”