“You never want to cook.” He points out the obvious. I haven’t cooked since Kirby’s moved in. My roommate is actually a good cook, and he likes cooking, so why would I deprive him or myself of that simple pleasure?
We sit down at the small table in the dining area and dig in. It’s quiet other than the sound of our chewing and the game still running in the background.
Kirby cleans his plate and goes for seconds. He returns to the table but doesn’t pick up his chopsticks. Instead, he studies me as if he’s trying to figure something out. His intense scrutiny causes me to squirm.
What’s he see? Do I look different? I feel different, and I fear it’s Aria. I’ve lost interest in partying and chasing random women thanks to her. My emotions are conflicted and tangled into knots. The passion between us is off the charts, not because we have a deep affinity for each other but most likely the opposite. Our passion is fueled by the hatred we feel for each other, yet I don’t hate her as much as I did twenty-four hours ago.
Finally, I confront him. “Is something wrong?” I don’t conceal my annoyance. Kirby’s a great guy, but he’s too prone to psychoanalyzing others and believing he has all the answers. The fucked-up part is that he usually does.
“You tell me.”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Not a damn thing.”
I expect Kirby to argue, but he doesn’t. In fact, the subject doesn’t come up for the rest of the evening. I join him in analyzing our past games with Colorado and noting where their weaknesses are, especially their goalie. He tends to crouch too low and lean slightly to the left. We should be able to exploit that.
I call it a night about 11:00 p.m., but as soon as my head hits the pillow visions of Aria dance in my head. I can’t shake them. And I know it’s going to be a long night.
* * *
We fly to Colorado the next day. Coach wants us there early to acclimate. I’m grateful to be out of town for four days. I need to put as much space between Aria and myself as possible and work on getting my head on straight. It’s bad enough she affects my game with her constant badgering via her articles, but now she’s getting in my head for a very different reason, which is even worse.
This trip isn’t about getting away from her, though. It’s about the game. Hockey is all that matters right now. Not Aria. Not how hot she’d look naked. Not any of the drivel she writes about me. Just hockey.
I haul my luggage to my hotel room before heading back downstairs to meet with a group of guys. Most of the single guys are planning to hit a few bars. As an alternate captain, I’ve always set a good example on the ice and in the locker room, despite being one of the biggest partiers on the team. I work hard and never let up. I play each game as if it’s the final game in the Cup playoffs. Off the ice, though, I’ve never been Mr. Responsible. I’ve prided myself on being the last guy standing after throwing back countless shots or picking up the most girls on a single road trip or staying out the latest and still playing a good game. Not this time. I’ll show those rookies what sacrifice and dedication is. I’m not here to party. I’m here to win. That’s my focus, and it should be theirs too.
I snag a seat in the hotel bar with the rest of the leadership group and many of the attached guys.
For once, they aren’t talking about their women or their kids—if they have them. It’s all hockey, which I appreciate, and jump right into the conversation. I share what Kirby and I discovered about Colorado when reviewing the videos last night. Everyone listens and adds their two cents. I file away their different observations. Any edge we gain may be the difference between winning and losing.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Dash grimaces as he looks past me. I turn slightly to see the object of his disgust.
The subject of my nightmares and all too lately my lust-filled day and night dreams stands in the doorway of the bar. She glances around nervously, as if this is the last place she wants to be. Our eyes meet, but she quickly looks away and walks toward the bar. She slides onto a barstool, and I swallow hard. Aria is hot in a pair of tight jeans and a form-fitting red sweater, which accentuates her curves and makes my mouth water for more.
“You okay?” Kirby asks.
I jerk my head around and take a long pull on my beer, attempting to look casual. My heart does a little dance, while my cock begs for a different kind of dance. Shit, I’m in trouble. I’ve been in denial since that kiss, certain it was a fluke. Now I know it wasn’t. I’m lusting after the Icehawks’ public enemy number one. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I better get my act together soon. Every guy at the table stares at me as if they don’t know who I am. Hell, I don’t know who I am right now.
I distract them with hockey talk, and it works, except for Kirby, but he wouldn’t be Kirby if he weren’t trying to figure out me and everyone else in his sphere. He doesn’t say anything in front of the boys, but I know he will the next time we’re alone.
One by one the guys leave the table after dinner to call their WAGs. Of course, being single, Kirby and I are the last two. I consider escaping, but he’s already pinning me with those brown eyes of his that see too much. I’m not getting out of this easily. I have some explaining to do.
“Why aren’t you out with the other single guys?” His question seems innocent enough, but I sense he’s going somewhere I won’t like.
I shrug. “Not in the mood. This is playoff hockey. I won’t screw this up by getting too drunk or into trouble.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen with the rookies. We don’t need that kind of shit going on.” Kirby frowns thoughtfully. I’ve successfully rerouted his attention and virtually pat myself on the back.
“No, we don’t. Especially not with Aria here.” Shit, why did I bring her up? Bad move on my part.
At the mention of her name, we both glance toward the bar. She’s still sitting there, typing on her tablet and sipping the same drink from earlier. It has to be watered down by now. I feel Kirby’s gaze on me and sigh. He’s not giving up.
“What’s going on with the two of you?” He levels me with one of his penetrating gazes that sees into a guy’s very soul.
“Nothing other than the usual loathing of each other.”
“Nah, there’s more than that. You’ve glanced her way a hundred times tonight.”
“I wasn’t looking at her, but the hot bartender.” I scan the bar hoping the bartender really is hot because I haven’t actually noticed her.
