I know exactly how he feels.
Charlie kept so much from us until it was almost too late, and she and Fi are a lot alike in that sense. They both have a martyr MO when it comes to people they love—I think we alldo—and it makes for stupid decisions sometimes. Love and loyalty are double-edged swords.
“I assume you know better than to tell Charlie and the guys about all this?”
He chuckles. “She’s been calling me nonstop because she knows you’re hiding something.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you have a huge crush on Fiona and you’re embarrassed about it.”
My face flushes. “Thanks for that, asshole.”
He grins wide. “I had to tell her something to get her off my back.”
“Marcus?” The voice is muffled like it’s coming from another room. I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.
“Well, I should get going,” he says quickly.
“Who was that?” I narrow my eyes. “Do you have a girl there?”
“What? No,” he scoffs. “Definitely not a girl. I’ll call you later, okay? Stay safe. Say hello to Fi for me.” Then he hangs up before I can respond.
That was weird. Marcus isn’t exactly forthcoming about his personal life, but he doesn’t hide stuff from me if I ask. More guilt twists in my gut when I realize that I probably haven’t been the best brother over the past several months. Between managing the pub, menu brainstorming, and this stuff with Fi, we’ve hardly talked at all beyond business. Maybe he met someone.
“Really?”
I jump at Michaels’s voice, barely managing to catch my cup before I drop it off the deck. “Fuck, Michaels. You scared me.” He’s changed into jeans and a heavy red flannel and is holding a coffee mug in one hand with a picture of Garfield in a bathrobe on it and reads,Not a morning person.
“Cool cup,” I snark.
“Don’t change the subject, dickhead.” His eyes flash with anger. “You just called me a washed-up, smart-mouthed hockey player. Can’t you just admit that youactuallylike me?”
His attitude raises my defensive hackles. “That would require me lying, Stitch,” I say flatly. “Also, eavesdropping isn’t a good look.”
“You’re so full of shit.” He steps closer. I smell coffee and my body wash mixing with woodsy pine.
He smells like me. I think I like it.
My stomach curls with that familiar anxiety I’ve felt every time we’re intimate. “What?”
“Acting like you hate me when you actually don’t is peak toxic masculinity.”
I shiver because it’s cold.Right? Yes, it’s cold. Duh.“So youdidlearn something in college.”
Why did I say that?
I see the moment Michaels snaps. His hazel eyes, so close to mine, blaze with rage, and he slams his mug down on the table, sloshing his coffee.
“You can push me away all you want,” he growls between clenched teeth, “but I’ve seen the way you look at me when my cock’s out.”
The fire in his gaze reminds me of who he used to be on the ice—a man possessed, a man who owned every game like he was invincible.
I feel myself getting hard.
Fuck, stop it!
“You want me just as bad as you want her, Bastian. You’re just too scared or homophobic to admit it.” He steps closer, and I worry my half-erect dick will betray me. “I sincerely hope it’s not the latter.”
