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She lets out this half laugh that has me physically aching to hear the real thing. “Geez, O’Brian, didn’t anyone ever warn you you’ll go blind if you keep stroking your ego like that?”
“You could stroke it for me.” I’m truly ashamed of myself. Just not enough to stop.
“Not in a million years.”
“Whoa, bold move throwing down the gauntlet like that,” I bait.
Her eyes snap back to mine. Pissy. Curious. Beautiful.Engaged.
“I mean, considering how guys like me operate and all.”
Cold as stone, she answers, “Explain.”
“We get off on challenges. Can’t ignore them. Everyone knows this. So now I’m wondering if youlikethe idea of me coming after you, maybe more than you want to admit.”
Goddamn, I’m making myself sick. And I’m pretty sure one of my teammates is going to have something to say about my bullshit here pretty quick. But this is the closest thing to a conversation we’ve ever had.
I’m waiting for her next quip, anticipating the gleam in her eyes as she takes me down a peg. Only when she looks at me, it’s like she’s letting me see something real for the very first time. Something that’s not quite so sharp and has a little less edge… It stops me in my tracks and makes me want to reach out and take her hand. Ask her if she’d let me find someplace where we could talk. Talk for real, for once.
But then she just turns away. “No.”
And it feels like I’ve lost something I can’t even describe.
Christ, what is it about this girl?
Chapter 3
Quinn
Preseason
We’re halfway through training camp, and my mind is on how fast that rookie was out on the ice today. How he might measure up against me. Right now, I’ve got him beat, but he’s younger, with room to grow. Walking back from the shower, I drop onto the bench beside Vassar. He’s got his head in his phone, probably texting love notes to his girl Nat.
We’re playing Detroit tomorrow night and I wonder if she’ll bring George to the game.
I pick up my phone but the only message I’ve got is from my mom asking what I think about this latest “once-in-a-lifetime investment opportunity” my brother’s been pitching.
Blowing out an even breath, I fire off a quick text:Don’t do it.
I’ll have to call her later. Explain the legalities of why my financial guy warned me off investing, and let her know I floated Pat a few bills for rent and groceries since he’d sunk everything he had into this scheme already.
It pisses me off that he turned around and went to Mom, but seriously, I should have known he would.
“What’s the deal, O’Brian? Your dick rotting off or something?” Baxter barks out, scaring the shit out of me as he walks up with his wingman Rux on his heels.
“The fuck?” I cough, grabbing my junk—my perfectly fit, clean and virile junk, thank you—through the towel slung around my waist.
Shoving the overlong hair from his face, Rux cuts his buddy a disbelieving look and mutters, “Dude?”
Baxter turns to him and shrugs. Like the words he’s just thrown out there for the damn universe to play with are the kind you hear every day. “What? We talked about this.”
“Talked aboutwhat?” Okay, and pretty sure my voice just cracked like puberty’s about to hit or something.
“Abouteasinginto it.” Rux smooths the air with his meaty paw. “There were half a dozen scenarios why this bunny bait stopped sharing his dick like a party favor, andthat’sthe one you lead with?”
“Guys?” I choke out.
That dickhead Vassar isn’t texting anymore. Suddenly he’s all ears and—I guess that’s a smile. With him, it can be hard to tell.
