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Fucker.
He got called up to the draft straight out of high school, while I was a year behind and played D-I at Notre Dame before making the NHL. And now with one year left on my contract, I get traded to the Slayers. To play second string to him.
Natalie stands in front of me, hands clenched together as she worries that plump bottom lip between her teeth. Even now she looks so real, so authentic, I can’t completely believe this is happening.
“I know you’re mad—”
“Yeah, I’m fucking mad.” She steps aside, and I walk into her place. It’s a neat little townhouse in the Ranch Triangle neighborhood, on the small side for what her asshole brother ought to have her in. And not even close to enough security based on the fact that I just moseyed up to her front door.
“One—” I hold up my finger, ready to count off the reasons, “—I’m mad because the way you left was bullshit. Two, you lied to me. Three, you’re fucking Baxter’s sister. Hislittlesister. Four, I’m mad because I can’t even throw this shit in his face.”
It would be epic. I can see him melting down in the locker room. Kicking his jersey like a total dipshit, eyes getting a little red and watery.
My kingdom for a single tear out of that douche.
Natalie’s breath catches, and she takes a tentative step in my direction. So different from that first night in the bar when it seemed like she couldn’t keep from stepping into my space again and again. Touching me when she talked, then realizing she was doing it and turning that sexy shade of pink before pulling her hand back and apologizing… only to do the very same thing again thirty seconds later.
She seemed so real.
Like there wasn’t a contrived thing about her.
I don’t get shit like that wrong. Except, maybe I did.
Those light blue eyes search mine. “You’re not going to tell him?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I blow out a frustrated breath. “No. I’m not going to tell him.”
“Why not?” she asks softly.
Because it would be giving him something I’d rather keep for myself. “Because I can’t afford to start something with him.”
Besides, as much of an asshole as I might be, I don’t use women. Even women who used me.
Truth is, the biggest reason I’m pissed is because I thought what happened with uswas about us. And now I’ve got to wonder if it was ever about me at all. Or if it was just about Baxter’s little sister wanting to stick it to him by letting the guy he hates most in the league into her pants.
I don’t want to think about that. Especially when I’m looking right at her and she looks like the same girl she was eight months ago with that crazy hot mix of bold and shy, sharp and soft, sweet and sexy. Christ.
His sister.
This explains why she neglected to give me her last name or her number. She knew going in she wasn’t going to see me again. Would have been nice to get that memo before I spent half the night thinking maybe I’d found something different. Special.
My eyes narrow on her. Why would she do that?
Something else occurs to me. “Why haven’t I seen you at any of the games? Anywhere?”
From the way O’Brian tells it, she’s got surrogate-sister status with half the team, and that doesn’t happen without being around a hell of a lot.
A wince. “I didn’t want to risk crossing paths, just in case you happened to be… good with faces.”
Good with faces. Like she was just some kind of filler for the night. Interchangeable with the usual bunnies. She’s so far off base, it’s not even funny. “Right.”
I take another step into her place. Look around. The space is clean and neat. Blond wood floors with creamy walls. Simple sturdy-looking furniture that’s a little big for the space but probably suits her fucking brother and friends. But it’s the TV that suddenly snares my attention, because that’s my face blown up to sixty-five inches.
Allie was watchingme.
Brows inching up with the grin I don’t bother to hide, I turn back to her. “Was I interrupting something?”
She follows the jut of my chin to the TV, and her cheeks flame red as she starts to sputter. “I was watching the game from last night—rewatching. The game. Not you.” I wouldn’t think it was possible, but her cheeks burn even brighter. “Okay. I watched you score a couple of times, but it’s not like it was on some kind of loop to repeat. It was just a really nice play and and and—”
