AllFreeNovel
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I ruined that. One glimpse of that photograph and I know.
She’s got talent.
“Nova,” I begin again, stepping a little closer, hating that she steps back, that Steve stands between us, teeth bared.
Clearly, I’ve ruined any progress previously made with the tiny demon.
“We’ll be out of here as soon as I can manage,” she says, sliding back another few feet, turning for her bags that are still sitting on the counter. She sets her camera on the granite, furtively looks back over her shoulder before carefully tucking the camera inside.
Then she folds her jacket, shoves it into the bag as well.
And pauses, head dropping forward, shoulders stiff.
I open my mouth, intending to tell her to hang her coat on the hooks in the hall, but that’s just more stupidity talking—better that she pack up her shit so she’s ready to go, ready to get the fuck out of my house—so I clamp my teeth together, walk to the cabinet next to the fridge, the only one that’s completely full.
Of my quote-unquote shit-tasting vodka.
I personally think that my vodka is fucking delicious, mostly because itdoesn’ttaste like much, because it goes down smooth with minimal burn but gives maximum buzz.
My asshole teammates, though—
“That’s…” A pause as I glance over my shoulder, surprised she’s talking to me, surprised that she doesn’t seem pissed any longer. “A lot of vodka.”
“Yup,” I say, opening another cabinet, grabbing two glasses and sloshing a couple of fingers into each glass before capping the bottle then passing one over to her. She surprises me again by taking it, throwing it back.
No comment on it being before five.
Nothing about neither of us having eaten anything.
“Ugh,” she says, shuddering. “That’s awful.”
“It’s my vodka,” I tell her, downing my own glass and just as quickly refilling it.
“Yeeeah,” she says, drawing out the word. “I kinda figured that considering I watched you pull it out of your cabinet.”
“No,” I tell her, picking up the bottle and showing her the label. “It’smyvodka.”
Brows furrowing, she glances down then up to me. Then back down. “What do you mean, it’s your vodka?”
“I mean”—I set the bottle down on the countertop, pick up my glass and drain it a second time—“I’m paid to represent it.”
She pauses, head tilting to the side, studying me as though I’m a bug. “So you’re not just a hockey player, you’re also the face of a vodka company?”
I narrow my eyes at her, ask suspiciously, “How do you know I’m a hockey player?”
“I talked to Ella.”
My brows lift in question.
“Knox’s sister who so kindly arranged for me to stay at his—at your—house.”
Oh. Right. “I thought her name was Daniela.”
A short laugh, nothing like the beauty of those giggles earlier. “She hates being called that.”
I frown, but don’t comment further as I throw back the second glass. Probably because I’m about to be stupid by saying, “You’re not pissed about…” I wave a hand at the counter, knowing I’m an idiot to bring up my assholeness, to give her a chance for hysterics and to pick a fight.
She shrugs. “It’s your house.”
