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“What’s in the bags?” I asked instead.
He lifted one hand. “Dinner.” He lifted the other hand. “Gifts.”
“We agreed dinner was against the rules,” I reminded him.
“No, we agreed we couldn’t go out to dinner together and we couldn’t order dinner in with me here. But me picking up dinner and dropping it off for a coach who is butt hurt…not only is it not against the rules, it’s practically part of my contract.”
I considered this and caved. “Okay,” I said and reached for the dinner bags. “Mostly because I’m starving.”
Behind him I saw Stu looking up at us. I caught his eye and he ducked away.
Shit. Even Siberia wasn’t safe.
In my kitchen, Dillon was taking to-go containers out of the bag. “I hope you like Thai. I told them they were making food for the Calico Cove Hot Wing Queen so not to skimp on the heat.”
The reminder of that sweet night put a little squeeze in my heart. I still remember how it felt to be held in his arms. To absolutely know with such certainty how much he wanted me. “Good,” I said, in an attempt to feign casualness.
He found my plates and forks and he split the Pad Thai and spring rolls and we sat down at my tiny little table. I sat gingerly, on just half my butt.
“How is the ass?” he asked, watching me carefully.
“I’ve had bruises before,” I said with a shrug, like it was no big deal, when we both knew it was a huge deal.
“You and I both know it wasn’t a stray shot,” he said, everything about him focused and intense. I nodded in agreement.
“Hey, you should be proud of Anderson. He hit the bullseye on the first shot.”
“It’s not cool, Liv.”
“Dillon. It’s hockey. Puck happens.”
I took a bite of a crunchy spring roll and he stared at me blankly.
“You really went there with a puck joke,” he asked me. “I don’t think you even did it right.”
“I’m channeling my inner hockey girl. Also demonstrating how chill I am about the whole thing.”
“You’re making jokes now, but you looked pretty shook up when it happened.”
We were having a nice time and the adrenaline from earlier had long since faded. I didn’t want to talk about my minor panic attack. It was something I had to live with just like anyone else who carried irrational fear around inside them.
“I’m fine,” I said, and shoveled a forkful of noodles in my mouth.
“Oh,” he laughed. “So we’re just going to avoid it, is that it?”
Yes, we’d kissed. And we’d flirted. Today, he brought me food that I was grateful for.
However, opening myself up to him wasn’t necessary or prudent. It would only complicate our already complicated situation even more. So I said nothing. After a minute, he nodded like he got it.
“Fine. Ready for the gift part of the evening?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
He reached for the bags on the floor beside him and set them on the table. Then, like he wasn’t a multimillion dollar star athlete, he cleared the containers and plates and took them into the kitchen.
It was really, really hard not to be charmed by the guy.
Until I remembered how he left me on the ice today. Everyone saw me put my hand out while he skated away. The message was clear. I wasn’t that important to him. I needed to remember that.
I stared at the bags instead of opening them. There was no reason I should say anything. No reason to call him out on his hypocrisy where one minute he was Mr. Concerned and the next, he was Mr. Distant.
