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I don’t want to hover over her or do something stupid like reach out and touch her, so I sit back on the bench and start in on my laces. “I don’t get what I did to piss you off so much.”
She takes a slow breath and then another, watching the Zamboni make another pass. “Look, everyone says what a great guy you are,” she begins slowly, and I have to force myself to keep my ass on the bench, no sudden moves. Because I think she might actually be about to tell me. “I mean, sure, you get around, but I don’t care about that. The thing is, you hurt… someone I care about with your player bullshit.”
My mind strains toward a blur of faces and jumble of names. I’d like to think I’ve always gone out of my way to be honest and upfront with the women I’ve been with, to make sure they understand the limits on our interactions before anything happens. But even with the best intentions, hurt feelings aren’t avoidable every time. “I don’t know what to say. I— Shit, I’m sorry. Who was it? What happened?”
She shakes her head, turning as far away from me as she can get. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter who, just that there was someone, and she told me what happened between you. And when you and I met, all I could think about was how much you hurt her.”
“A long time? What are we talking about, a couple years, college?”
A nod.
Shit. “Okay, so I try really hard not to be a dick, but I can say with absolute certainty I’ve gotten better at it with maturity and experience. Still, I can’t think of anyone I was seriously bad to.” I run my hand over the back of my head. “Did she catch feelings I didn’t return… or was this something else altogether?”
“Forget it. I have the sense even if you were staring her in the face, you wouldn’t remember. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“The hell it doesn’t, George. You can barely stand to look at me.”
At this, she turns so she’s facing me head-on. “It doesn’t matter, because nothing you say is going to change how I feel about you.”
Her words hit me square in the chest, and it takes a beat, but I recover. I shove my feet into my shoes and, slinging my bag over my shoulder, push to my feet. This time I don’t try to keep the distance between us, instead reaching for the end of a single curl to brush a knuckle against its softness.
Her lips part and her eyes come up to mine.
“Remember what I said about not being able to pass on a challenge back at Belfast?”
“Yes,” she answers warily, hell, a little breathlessly.
“I was just screwing around that day. Saying any douchey thing I could to get a rise out of you. But so we’re clear… this challenge? George, I’m coming for you. And sooner or later, you’re going to like me. Just a little.”
Chapter 5
George
“Iremember those 12U tournaments, Nat. They were a blast.For us.The parents and coaches?” I cringe, thinking about the late nights, head counts, pool parties, room checks, pleas for us to be quiet, and the seemingly inescapable puker. “I love helping out with the team, but you couldn’t pay me enough to go on one of those overnights.”
She grins up from the couch where she’s stretched out, poring over some old-school three-ring. “Good, because this doesn’t pay at all.”
Contrary to all logic, that little deet has me biting my lip, wrestling over whether I should say yes. “Do we have to hold their hair if they barf?”
Before she can answer, the front door sounds with an obnoxious thud.
“You got to knock that shit off, man,” Vaughn bellows from down the hall. “We haven’t even hit regular season. And here you are risking it all, because you can’t say no to anyone in a skirt.”
There’s only one guy on the team who gets that kind of shit. And heck, there’s really only one guy Vaughn’s willing to string more than five words together for too.
Quinn.
My mouth tastes sour, and I want to grab my own shoulders and give them a shake. What do I care about who he’s with? Except apparently I do, because I’m hushing my bestie with some hand-flailing as I crane my neck to hear.
Quinn told me, warned me he was going to break me down. Get me to care. And up until a week ago, I wouldn’t have thought that was something within the realm of possibility. But then he went and showed up at Nat’s 12U girls practice, racing onto the ice wearingVassar’sjersey, lining up with the girls who couldn’t stop giggling, watching with awed eyes and openmouthed smiles as he ran at the mouth about being late for practice.
I tried to muster up a solid mad. Tried to get good and pissed about the disruption. But it’s Nat’s team, and I just help out when I’ve got the time… and she wasn’t pissed.
And then he went and did it. “Coach Baxter, I know I was late. What’s my punishment?”
Because you don’t come on the ice late without a consequence. Everyone knows.
I watched as she tapped her chin, knowing what she was going to say and hating myself for holding my breath for it.
