I let out a low whistle. “Okay, moving on.”
“Why do you get to interrogate me about my love life?” She turned to face me and tilted her head, hazel eyes pinning me with a probing look. “How come I can’t ask why you’re such a fuckboy?”
I raised my eyebrows, meeting her gaze with a level look. “I think you just did.”
Well, that didn’t bode well for down the line. Plus, fuckboy struck me as a little extreme. I did have some standards. They were just…broad. Let’s be real. I was young and single, and girls threw themselves at me, so why would I say no?
Though I was in the midst of a serious drought at the moment—not necessarily by design, but because every text that popped up on my phone offering a hookup was from someone other than Bailey. I had thought about trying anyway, just to see if I could get myself out of the mindfuck I was in, but I didn’t really want to.
Objectively speaking, it made zero sense because I had no real reason to think we would hook up ever, let alone any time soon. But certain body parts of mine didn’t care for reason or logic, so here I was. Practically a born-again virgin.
And obviously not telling a single soul about any of this.
“Then answer the question.”
I shrugged. I didn’t have a good answer and felt a little dumb for it. “Because I can?”
“Guys are wired so differently,” Bailey murmured, looking down at her red paper cup.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I could never…do that. With someone I didn’t know.”
Knowing what I knew now, I was thankful we hadn’t slept together that night. She would have regretted it, regretted me.
“Not to poke holes in your theory here, or make judgments about good or bad, but lots of girls do.”
“I guess so.” She hummed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe it’s just me.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” I said.
“I don’t know. It’s not like it’s worked out for me so far, either.”
I knew exactly what she was referring to, but again, I didn’t want to make her feel self-conscious by bringing it up. Knowing some of the personal shit I did while she didn’t know that I knew made for a massive fucking moral dilemma. It was one-sided and unfair, but I also didn’t want her to think I was teasing her or being a dick.
Bailey shivered, rubbing her arms. “I should have worn a warmer coat.”
“It’s getting pretty chilly,” I said. “We should probably head back. Maybe your roommates went out or their company’s gone by now.”
“Dare to dream.”
We stood and headed for the staircase. It was even darker now, most of the light coming from the streetlamps lining the park. A gust of wind kicked up, blowing a pile of dead leaves on the ground in a miniature funnel.
“You know, this is a little spooky.” She started to descend the stairs, with me following behind.
Speaking of nice views, I would follow her anywhere, any day.
“What, walking around a secluded forest with a guy you don’t know that well?” I said with a shrug. “Maybe a little.”
“Good place to dump a body,” she mused, gripping the handrail as she scaled the stairs. “But wouldn’t it have been easier to off me after the bar?”
“I prefer a long con, myself.”
“Ah, I see.”
On the path back to the parking lot, she caught her foot on a tree root that was hidden in the ground, tripping and losing her balance.
I grabbed her elbow to steady her. “I got you.”
“Thanks,” she said, a little breathless.
Rather than continuing our trek, we froze, looking at each other for a beat. Adrenaline hit me like a rush after a goal. She gazed up at me, lips slightly parted, and then I realized I was still holding on to her arm. It was like a moment in a cheesy movie where the characters would lean in and kiss, but I wasn’t going to push my luck twice in one day.
Even if I really wanted to.
Even if she did kiss me back earlier.
“So much for not being clumsy.” I gently let her go.
“I’m not,” she insisted.
I stole a glance at her, fighting a smile. “Maybe just clumsy around me.”
“Maybe so.”
The lights were out at Bailey’s place when we reached her street. I pulled in illegally again and shifted into park. Leaning over to her side, I ducked my head to see out the passenger-side window.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
Bailey glanced over to confirm. “Praise God.” Exhaling a sigh of relief, she turned to look at me. “Thank you for tonight. It helped a lot.”
“Anytime.”
Silence fell between us again, but this time, it was awkward. Super awkward. Like maybe I should hug her, but the physical space between us made it too difficult to gauge her reaction to me getting closer. So, like a chump, I did nothing.
“I guess I owe you now,” she said, unbuckling her seat belt.
“I’ll definitely be collecting on that.”
Bailey grabbed her purse and dropped her chin, giving me a stern look. “Are you being dirty again?” Her voice was low, a little husky, and it definitely made me want to be dirty.
“No,” I said. “Unless you want me to be.”
Her lips tipped up at the corners. “Text me, okay?”
“I will.”
By Friday evening, Bailey and I had texted back and forth almost constantly, but I still hadn’t come up with an opening to see her again. And it was taking my head out of the game, which was fairly fucking dire given the scouts in the stands.
We were getting our asses handed to us, down zero to two, so I wasn’t the only one having an off day. Coach Miller finished reaming us out and stormed off, slamming the dressing room door behind him. The rest of us glanced at one another, every expression a mix of guilt and irritation with the rest of the team. There were still six minutes left in the first intermission to stew.
From beside me on the bench, Dallas studied me. “What’s up with you?”
“Other than my game being shit, you mean?”
“Your default setting is vaguely pissed off at the world.” He gestured at me. “And right now, you’re oddly mellow. Even with this game in the toilet.”
“Preoccupied, I guess.” I didn’t dare tell him with what.
“Well, un-occupy yourself, fuckface,” he said. “I can’t carry this game alone.”
Fair point. A lot of the guys were coasting tonight, which wasn’t helping me get my head straight. But it wasn’t an excuse, either. Usually, I would be the one reaming everyone out.
“Plus,” he lowered his voice, “scouts, man. Get it together. What happened to the fire you had the last few games?”
“Two of those were against Callingwood, and I fucking hate them, so…”
It helped when I genuinely wanted to cause bodily harm to a good portion of the other team, especially their captain. I didn’t have nearly the same size ax to grind with New England U tonight.
“So pretend we’re playing them. Get mad, bro. I need your head in this.”
I nodded. That could work. I would pretend everyone was Morrison out there and crush them accordingly.
A few minutes later, we headed back out, and Dallas and I hopped onto the ice for the first shift. Palmer, one of our D-men, immediately took a stupid-ass penalty for tripping. Idiot.
We headed into five on four play. I was at the high slot to disrupt cross ice passes and block shots from the point. The Wolves’ right winger wound up and passed to their center. Not today, bitches. I skated forward to intercept it, blocking the shot—with my fucking ankle. Searing pain shot through my foot, radiating up my leg.
Somehow, I managed to skate forward and beat the defender to the rebound, sending it over to Ward. He lined up and sank it in the top right-hand corner. With a fist pump, he skated off to our bench.
“Nice one,” I said, sitting beside him.
“When I told you to try, I didn’t mean sacrifice your sorry ass.”