Page 34 of Ice Rebel

CHAPTER 8

Chelsea

Roy.

Somehow the name suited him. I could easily see him playing one in an action flick, perhaps more so than his namesake.

Bonus points for the fact he was charming, witty, and easy on the eyes.

Our second drinks had almost been consumed and we’d gone through every trivial conversation in the record books. Music including concert venues. Movies. The only acceptable toppings on pizza. Fast cars. And books. Finding out he loved to read was… different.

You could feel the tension rising along with the level of heat. He sat back, slumping in his seat, scrubbing his jaw while looking behind me.

“It’s time for me to go. I have a long day tomorrow.” Practice. Work. Practice. Feeling frustrated over my smaller part in the dance given I was the better dancer. At least in my mind.

“Not without a game.”

“A game?” I glanced to my side, uncertain what he was talking about.

“The game, Clementine.” As he leaned over the table, my reaction was involuntary and I did the same.

His lips were pursed in a slight smirk, his breathing somewhat labored from excitement. “I thought hockey was the game.”

“Not a chance. Do you trust me?”

The question seemed so out of the blue, I wasn’t certain how to answer so I blurted out what first came to mind. “Yes.”

Another slow and steady grin crossed his face. “Glad to hear it. Come on.” Roy didn’t wait for me to have time to find a way to object, slipping his long legs from under the table and standing. As he extended his hand, I developed the chills.

But I accepted, allowing him to pull me to his feet and grabbing my duffle bag.

No one paid us any attention as he weaved his way through the light crowd to an empty pool table. “You play pool?” Obviously, the answer was yes, but the question seemed to fit the moment.

He moved toward the triangle thingy in the middle of the table, slowly collecting the balls from the green felt surface and in a space underneath.

“When I was a kid, we used to have tournaments in my father’s mancave. It was the one place my mother didn’t chastise him for being messy. Funny thing was, he kept the basement immaculate. My brothers and I and occasionally my sister would wager for a win. We’d spend a few hours on a Saturday trying to beat one another.”

The memories seemed sweet. “What did you wager?”

He shrugged and when every ball was positioned in the triangle, he rolled the entire group up and down the table. “Depends on how old we were. Chores. Our favorite Matchbox cars. First on the ice. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“It was.” As he stood back, he seemed to take a full minute to study me, his eyes slowly falling as if he’d never met me before. “What kind of memorable stuff did you do with your family? Or is that too personal.”

I teased, pointing my finger at him. “Against the rules.” Maybe so, but his question dredged up a million feelings. “We really didn’t do anything special. My dad was always working. At first Mom was as well but when she was home, she just never seemed to have the time.”

Roy narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Why was it I felt more nervous than before? Because I’d shared something personal? Maybe. I’d barely told Samantha anything about me. Not because I was embarrassed, but because I’d craved what I hadn’t been allowed to enjoy as a kid. What did it matter any longer? “It’s okay. He taught me about adopting a strong work ethic, which I have.”

He grabbed a stick from a holder on the wall. “You do know what they say about all work and no play. Right?”

“Except I’m not a boy as the saying goes.”

His head cock told me everything. “No, you are definitely not a boy. Let’s play some pool.”

“Okay. Let’s. But you’d better watch out, I’m good at everything.”