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Shit. She already knows who I am. And not just the hockey stuff.
“Reputation’s that bad, huh?” I ask, rubbing my neck with a sheepish grin.
I know it is. I’ve seen the posts. The polls. The bunnies running at the mouth about every Chicago Slayers player they’ve scored and the frequency with which my name comes up. It’s never bothered me before.
Now?
I want to tell her whatever she’s heard isn’t true. That it’s exaggerated… but I’d be lying. And before I can come up with a joke or even think to ask her name, she tells Nat she’s got a call to make so her family doesn’t worry.
She’sthatkind of girl.
It makes me smile because I like it, even if knowing she’s that kind of girl means she’s even further out of my league than she was ten seconds ago.
I watch her take off and then turn back to Natalie who’s the reason I’m standing here. I won’t ask her about her friend tonight. Hell, with the way that girl looked at me, all pissy indignation, I shouldn’t ask about her at all.
But damn, I know I will.
* * *
George
Unfreakingbelievable.
Ducking around a corner, I press my back to the wall and suck one shaky breath after another until the spots behind my eyes finally clear, along with any wayward thoughts about a third Slayers hockey player needing a bed in the ER.
I can’t believe it. After all these years.
Quinn O’Brian.
Two feet in front of me. Giving me that same smile. The one that put my belly into free fall the first time I saw it. Left me breathless. And then less than a day later, left me humiliated. Devastated. Working up fantasies about the wrath I’d rain down on him if I ever saw him again.
So much for that badassery. My knees barely held me when I looked up to find those stupid sea-green eyes twinkling back at me like some Disney hero come to life.
Stupid eyes.
Stupid shoulders and muscles-everywhere body.
Stupid sandy blond hair standing up like some foolish girl had just had her hands in it for the last hour.
And that introduction.
Blowing out a breath, I shake my head.
He didn’t even recognize me. Though why I ever thought he might is beyond me. Six years later and I’m still reading more into that night than there ever was. More into those soul-deep stares and slow touches. More into those tender words that turned out to be total lies.
And dang it, that shouldn’t hurt.
Ishouldn’t be ashamed. But that’s exactly where I am.
I’m ashamed to have let myself believe there was a chance in hell this dickweed would remember some girl from winter break six years ago. That maybe he’d even have come to regret what happened. But apparently no.
Well, now I know.
Pushing off the wall, I straighten up. Roll out my neck and shake the circulation back into my hands so I can get on with my life.
Quinn O’Brian doesn’t deserve a second thought.
Chapter 2
