Page 67 of These Wicked Hearts

“You know, fuck you, alright. You ended my best friend’s career!” His jaw clenches. “You just go around hurting people.”

“We play hockey. Yes?” He cocks his head.

“We play hockey,” I snap. “We don’t purposely end careers, you asshole.”

I turn toward the bathroom. “I didn’t mean to hurt your friend that way,” he says. “I didn’t.”

My jaw ticks and I turn, seeing something sharp flicker behind Rome’s pale eyes. “You knocked into him. On purpose.”

“I know I did,” he says, dragging a hand over his shaved head. “But I tripped going into it. It was supposed to be clean. I messed up. I’m sorry.” He swallows, his gaze drifting around the room. “There are things that happen that no one understands. Your friend, though, that was an accident.”

I think about the other day with him in Coach’s office. Whatever they were arguing about couldn’t be good. “Is it something with Coach?”

His pale eyes lift to mine, and for the first time since I met him something cracks through his armor. Surprise. It flashes quickly before he smooths it away behind his unreadable bored expression.

“That’s none of your business.”

My arms fold tight across my chest. “Why even bring it up? Why apologize?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Crooked and irritating. He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Maybe I like you.”

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

His gaze lingers on me a moment. “Or maybe I’m jealous.”

I blink at him. What the hell is he even talking about? “Jealous of what?’

Rome doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans forward, bracing his massive hands on his knees before pushing himself upright. “I’m going to find a bar,” he says casually. “Would you like to come?”

Yes.

The answer slams into me instantly.

“I uh . . . n-no.” I glance up at him, and for one strange second, I think I see disappointment flicker across his face before he blinks it away. “Not because I hate you,” I add quickly, which is insane because why do I fucking care? “I’m sober.”

His eyebrows lift immediately. “Oh, uh, sorry. I wouldn’t have offered if I’d known.”

Something inside me relaxes at that. “It’s fine.”

Rome reaches for a dark hoodie and tugs it over his head. The fabric stretches across his shoulders. “Then we’ll get food instead.”

“Why?”

He sighs heavily, grabbing his phone from his nightstand. “I don’t fucking know, Atlas. Do you want to or not?”

I should say no, I really should, but I don’t know . . . up close, Rome doesn’t seem so scary. He’s kind of, I don’t know . . . sad? Pathetic? I don’t know, but I do know I’m too curious to say no.

“You can still drink,” I say quickly. “That’s fine. I won’t like spiral or anything.”

His eyes settle on me again. Pale and steady.

“Addiction isn’t something I take lightly.” His accent thickens around the words. “I will not drink in front of you.”

This is a bad idea.

It looks like I’m going to dinner with the devil.

This is weird. Really fucking weird.