My whole body is vibrating. That itch stirs within me. The need to strike out and hit somebody is too intoxicating to deny. I wanted to hit him. More than I’ve ever wanted to hit anyone, and that’s saying something. The way he was speaking to her. The way she smiled up at him, those freckles bunching while she blinked those doe eyes in his direction… I almost fucking snapped.
I’m wound so tightly right now that I’m scaring myself.
I swore I was going to cool off. Knocking someone out at my buddy’s engagement party will not be a good look. He’s another groomsman. He means a lot to Lowesy. I can’t just fucking hit him.
I like him, too. Usually. Not tonight.
Fucking blond hair and blue eyes. Dude practically wants to be me.
I shake my head, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself down. I dig back to my anger management sessions and go through the list to calm myself down. Expression, suppression, and calm the fuck down.
I can express this shit without throwing a fist. That’s possible.
I’m pissed because Dalton was flirting with my girlfriend who isn’t my girlfriend. I’m furious because she was eating it up. She’s never looked at me like that, all walls down and completely open to the conversation. He was dishing out compliments, and she was practically begging for seconds. Yeah, that made me angry. Made my chest ache a bit, too.
Why shouldn’t I be mad? Because she isn’t my girlfriend. She isn’t my… anything. Just my friend. She’s realistically allowed to flirt with anyone she wants, but…No, actually.No. That’s another reason why I’m mad. She’s going to do this at Declan’s engagement party?Where we are surrounded by my teammates and other important people in the hockey world? People who expect Arden to bemygirlfriend?
We have rules. She’s breaking them.
Calm. I have to calm myself.
But then the door flies open.
I cringe, swearing under my breath. I guess Iwillend up hitting someone tonight.
When I glance up in the mirror, my heart stops.
Emerald dress, gorgeous, brown eyes, and her back pressed against the door. Her throat bobs, eyes burning into mine through the reflection. Without turning, she reaches behind her and locks the door.
“You’re sweating.”
I bring a hand over my face. “Good eye.”
She cocks a brow. Makes no move toward me. “What’s your problem?”
“Not now, Red,” I grumble, and her eyes pinch a bit. “Just give me a minute. Alright?”
She watches me carefully, gaze skirting over to my tossed tie and torn open shirt. Inexplicably, she shakes her head.
“No.”
Of course not. Why would she make anything easy? I reach forward and yank the faucet on, rinsing my hands in cold water. When I press them to my burning face, she’s still watching me like a little hawk.
Still not the same way she was looking at Dalton.
“Two minutes.”
“No,” she says again, pushing herself off the door as that dangly little purse slides off her shoulders. She marches toward me, dropping the bag on the wet sink. Scans my face for a second, red brows furrowed in the middle. “What’s wrong?”
I let out a long breath through my nose. That itch of my temper is still there, and I don’t want her to be the one who pokes me. “Nothing. I’m good.”
“No, you’re notgood,”she hisses. She grabs my face so fast that I don’t have time to stop her, forcing me to look at her so that she can see every inch of my expression. “I know what you look like before you explode. You're half a second away from it. What is going on?”
I ignore how much her touch grounds me, how my palms stop itching enough to let me take a breath. I still say nothing, just meet her gaze as if she doesn’t intimidate the hell out of me by merely existing.
Those red brows furrow deeper, and there is a flash of disappointment that I hate. “God, Carter. When are you going to trust me? When are you going to behonestwith me?”
When it’s not about you.
