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“You’re going to make me drink alone?”
I smirk. “Don’t be a bad influence, Scary Spice. I drove us here.”
“Banks hasn’t been drinking,” she states, cocking a brow.
“He would have my car wrapped around a tree if I let him drive. Sober or not.”
“He’s that bad?”
“He totalled his last car two weeks after driving it off the dealership lot.” I chuckle.
She chews on that for a second before saying, “Yeah, I can believe that.”
“In any case, I’m not a big drinker. Half a beer and a whiskey is good enough for me,” I admit.
Alcohol used to be a coping mechanism when I was younger and not one I would particularly recommend to anyone.
Scarlett eyes me inquisitively, like she knows there’s more to what I’m saying and wants to find out for herself what I’m hiding. It’s surprising seeing her take an interest in me like this.
“I’m not a drinker either,” she says, dropping her eyes to her glass as she swirls the amber liquid around. There’s a sadness in her voice that scrapes my insides.
I watch her openly, greedy for more information, but she clears her throat and focuses on the game on the TV ahead of us, shutting me out.
With a nervous swallow, I say, “I meant to tell you earlier, but it’s great that you’re here. Hockey is your passion; it’s not fair for you to punish yourself by avoiding it.”
For a moment, I worry if that was the entirely wrong thing to say, but when she turns to me with a small smile, I know it wasn’t. My chest swells at the beauty of it, and I become determined to see not only more of those smiles but the full-fledged ones I know will have the power to steal my breath away.
12
SCARLETT
I bite back a groan and flop to my stomach, my arms jelly from holding a plank position for so long. Sweat clings to my skin, making me feel disgusting. I probably don’t smell all that great either.
“That was the last one. How’s the shoulder?”
I glare up at Adam and his stupid perfect smile as he watches me, waiting for an answer. He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and bulging beneath his tight black long-sleeve that looks a solid size too small. His lack of sweat and sore muscles has my scowl deepening.
I need some ice and Tylenol before I wind up punching him in the crotch. He’s been helping me for a good two weeks now, and even if I can tell that my shoulder is improving more and more with each therapy session, it hasn’t changed how aggravating that man can be.
It’s not normal for someone to be so happy. It’s borderline unnatural.
The only time I’ve seen him be even remotely upset was at the hockey game a week ago, and even then, he was quick to return to his normal pippy state before I had a chance to dig for much information. As if allowing himself to wallow in the dumps with the rest of us was completely out of the question.
I roll my eyes. “Do you get off on pain and suffering or something? What’s with the smile?”
He chuckles lowly and scratches at his jaw. “I get off on a number of things, Scarlett. But pain and suffering? Not my style. I’m smiling because I’m proud of you.”
“Oh.” Fucking hell. What does he get off on, then? No. Scratch that. I don’t want to know.
“Oh?”
I huff. “Yes, oh. I wasn’t expecting that, considering I haven’t exactly done anything to be proud of. I won’t consider myself anywhere close to where I want to be until I can last longer than thirty seconds in a damn plank.”
His brows tug together. “You think you haven’t made progress because you can’t hold a plank for the same amount of time you could before?” When I nod, he frowns. “That’s not fair to you or your healing in the slightest.”
“Well, none of this has been fair, so I don’t see why I would start caring about that now.”
He searches my face, studying it like a cheat sheet for a final exam he can’t risk failing. Nerves I didn’t even know I had flare at the intensity behind his eyes.
