Page 23 of Date With Skates

“For me?”

“That’s what I said,” he says sweetly, squeezing in between Kearns and Richtor to stretch across the table to hand Callahan a small slip of paper. Callahan takes it. Étienne winks—at him, not at me, to be clear—then saunters off.

With not a single word to me. Not one. Not an acknowledgment. Not even a smile.

Nothing.

I don’t know why that bothers me.

“Who was that?” Richtor asks.

“Nico Laurent’s PA,” Callahan answers simply, unfolding the paper and looking at it. He holds it up, looking at the guys. “Protein shake recipe. Said it’s magic.”

The guys nod then get right back into their conversation like they couldn’t care less. I know better, though. I give Roman a look that says really? He shrugs and shoves the paper into his pocket, but I see him pull it out when we’re on the bus to the arena. He then grabs his phone and starts typing something. A number, maybe? Did Étienne give him his number and purposely make a scene about it so I would get jealous?

No, that’s silly. What’s the point of that? We’re not doing the jealousy thing.

It must be Nico’s. That makes so much more sense.

Roman and Nico have been head-over-heels for each other since the first day they set eyes on each other.

I pull out my phone as the bus comes to a stop and the rest of the guys get to their feet so they can get off the bus. I open a text to Étienne.

Me: Good morning to you too.

Another game won, but I’m pissed at myself. My head wasn’t in the game a hundred percent like it normally is. I never got a text back from Étienne and I keep wondering if he’s mad at me. Not that I care, because it doesn’t matter, but I’d just like to know. The least he could do is tell me if I pissed him off somehow. If he doesn’t want to hook up anymore, that’s fine. But don’t ignore me and be a dick about it. Just say something.

My ass got sent to the penalty box two times. Both for tripping because I wasn’t fucking paying attention. I want to be mad at Étienne for it, but it’s not even his fault. It’s mine. I need to get my head straight. I need to focus on the game, and what I’m doing.

That doesn’t stop me from grabbing my phone the moment I’m back at my locker though, to see if he has finally texted me.

There are a few texts waiting for me, three of them from Étienne.

Trouble: Aww, are you sad I didn’t say hi to you.

Trouble: You poor hockey boy.

Trouble: Let me make it up to you.

Did he do that on purpose? Piss me off so he has a reason to “make it up to me,” as he said? Is this what gaslighting is? Am I being gaslit?

I shake out of it, because why the hell am I worrying so much about it?

Me: You don’t have to play games to get my dick. Just say you want it and I’ll give it to you.

There. Simple and forward.

I stare at the screen, sweat dripping down every part of my body because I’m still in my gear. The bubbles bounce and then the text comes in.

Trouble: I want your cock, Hockey Boy.

I smirk, lock my phone, and put it down so I can shower and change. He made me wait all day for an answer, so he can wait a little while for one. The shower is quick and I don’t have to do any media stuff today, so I’m able to get dressed and out quickly.

I walk out the doors, the cool air chilling my skin as I start down the walkway toward the bus stop.

Roman ran out of here like his ass was on fire, and considering I don’t know where he is, he must be gone already.

“Fancy meeting you here.”