“What a fucking coward.” The words come out harsher than I intend, but I can’t help it. “I’m serious about getting his address, McKenna. That’s not just a breakup—that’s a dick move.”
“Yeah, well,” she says with a shrug, “apparently, I was too ‘intense’ and ‘career-focused.’”
The fierce protectiveness that sparked this morning flares to life in my chest, hotter than before. This brilliant, passionate woman was made to feel as if she was too much? I want to tell her intensity is exactly what makes her so magnetic. That watching her get fired up about nutrient timing or shut down Derek’s cavalier attitude about fiber with one raised eyebrow is the highlight of most team meetings. However, saying that crosses lines we’re both pretending don’t exist.
“Sounds like he was intimidated.”
“You think?”
“You don’t? Only a coward, unconfident in his own work, would put down a woman who excels at hers.”
She meets my eyes, and there’s something like surprise in their hazel depths. As if she’d never thought of it that way.
My phone buzzes on the side table, but I ignore it. “What does he do? For a living?”
“Corporate finance.” She takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I met him at the grocery store when I first moved here. He was in the protein bar section comparing ingredients, and I offered some advice about macronutrients.”
I fight a smile. “As one does.”
“It was sweet, really,” she insists, but then her smile fades. “He was into health and fitness, which was great.”
I’m into health and fitness, but I choose not to point it out right now. “But?”
“But after a while, it became this competition. Like he was trying to out-healthy me, you know? Like he knew everything.”
I can picture it now, some suit-wearing wannabe athlete trying to mansplain nutrition to McKenna. “He really was an asshole.”
“It was infuriating. Plus, when we broke up, he insisted we could still be friends,” she continues, taking another bite of pizza. “But he doesn’t actually want to stay friends. He just needs me for when the Freeze make the playoffs and he wants a hookup for tickets.”
Something dark and possessive flares in my chest. My hands curl into fists before I can stop them. “Are you serious?”
“I mean, I can’t prove it, but…” She shrugs, trying to keep her tone light, but I hear the hurt underneath. The pain in her voice cuts through me like a skate blade through the ribs. “He was always asking about work stuff. Team events, team parties. Whether I could get extra tickets to home games.”
“That piece of shit.” The words come out rougher than I intend, anger burning hot in my throat. He wasn’t just a terrible boyfriend—he was using her. Treating this brilliant, passionate woman as if she were nothing more than someone to exploit.
Her eyes widen slightly at my reaction. “It’s fine. I—”
“It’s not fine.” I lean forward, every protective instinct I have roaring to life. “You’re not some networking opportunity, McKenna. You’re not a way to get closer to the team or a hookup for tickets. You’re…” I stop myself, realizing I’m about to say something that will probably scare her off. Something that will reveal exactly how gone I am for her already.
“I’m what?” she asks softly, her hazel eyes searching my face.
The truth sits heavy on my tongue. She’s everything I think about. She’s the reason I take notes during her presentations just to have an excuse to watch her work. The idea of some asshole using her makes me want to put my fist through something. But I can’t tell her any of that.
“You’re everything he was too stupid to appreciate,” I say finally, my voice rough with conviction.
Her expression goes slack before she glances down at her plate and swallows hard. I need to lighten the mood, need to reel it in before I scare her off.
“But also you don’t steal a nutritionist’s condiments,” I add, shooting her a smile. “Even I know you better than that.”
She meets my gaze, and her whole face transforms. No wonder she keeps her real smile locked away at work. It’s devastating.
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She waves a hand dismissively, but her voice wavers just enough to give her away. “Other than the fact he also ‘borrowed’ my Netflix password since I ‘never watched anything good, anyway.’”
“What’s your definition of good?”
“True crime. Some documentaries. The occasional foreign film.” She pauses. “What?”
I’m grinning, and she’s looking at me as if I’ve grown a second head.
