His usually fatalist expression flickered. A muscle twitched in his jaw. I was clearly annoying the fuck out of him.
“I should go.”
I had prostrated myself enough here. “I hope your father gets better soon. And good luck in the fall.”
He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to commit my stupid, lovelorn expression to memory. Always good to remember the warning signs for the next stupid girl who fell ass over skates. I raised an eyebrow, going for aloof and abso-fucking-lutely okay with what was happening here.
I expected him to back away, but instead he grasped my arms and pulled me close, his lips barely a whisper from mine. That cool Arctic gaze fired hot for the briefest moment.
“Skate well, Silver Eyes.”
Then he released me and slipped into the shadows.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lauren
* * *
I would always associate hangovers with Alexei Nazarov.
Sure, the man was frustrating enough to drive anyone to drink, but why was I the one with the fuzzy head and uneasy feeling of having made yet another mistake? It wasn’t fair. I had no doubt he was on a run or at the gym or just generally enjoying his Sunday, while I was gulping down water and wondering what exactly happened to make my hair look like tiny woodland creatures were nesting in it.
Then I remembered that his father was living with him, and that he had left him last night to come take care of me at the bar. Again. I didn’t enjoy that pang of guilt. But I knew exactly on whom I could take out my frustration.
First, I left a message for Thad, telling him I’d meet him at the coffee shop in ninety minutes. Then I showered, put on running gear and my baby blue Tokyo Adidas sneakers, and left to sweat out the toxins and gather some intel.
After thirty minutes of cardio, I headed to Jason’s. He answered the door with baby Cammi in his arms, and good golly, there was nothing hotter than a tower of muscle cradling something so defenseless. I suppressed the image of Nazarov doing exactly that the day of the Cup party.
“Morning, Lo.” He ushered me inside and headed to the kitchen. “You hungry?”
“For the scuttlebutt.”
He snorted, then turned. “Here, could you hold her?”
“Um—” But she was already in my arms. “Hey, kitten, how ya doin’? Is Daddy getting breakfast?”
Daddy was indeed getting breakfast. Jason deftly extracted the bottle from the warmer, dabbed a smidge on his hand, then turned back to me. “You want to feed her?”
“Sure.” If anything, holding her might help me focus my thoughts. It had been a while—not since my nephew, Foster—and then I had loved holding him close as I inhaled his sweet baby scent.
Jason handed me the bottle, and we both watched as Cammi avidly suckled.
“Is this breast milk?” I grimaced. “Sorry, that probably sounded weird.”
“It is. Franky pumped earlier so she could focus on her book outline.” He looked on indulgently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Do I need an excuse to see this bundle of adorableness?”
“No, but word on the street says you’re single and ready to ming—oh, that’s not quite right, is it? You got rid of one of your beaus, but you still have the other problem.”
“No sympathy for the girl who just dumped her boyfriend before she even snagged the ring?”
Leaning against the kitchen island, he threaded his arms over his chest. “I’d be Symp Central, if you were actually upset. Hatchling said you were buying rounds to celebrate at the Net last night.”
“Which could be my way of masking my incredible hurt … But you’re right. I’m not that peeved. More annoyed that I let myself be used like that.”
“Okay, spill.”
