I’m showered and dressed in a fresh outfit when I wave to the guys and head for the meeting room where we had our last session. Only this time, it’s just the two of us.
The tightness in my chest intensifies as I’m heading down the hall. There’s even more pressure to make this work. After the way I lost it last time. She might not have seen me fall apart, but she definitely caught the edge of it. I regret snapping at her like that, but I’m not sure how to apologize or if it would even make a difference. I have not made a good first impression, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my father, it’s that you can’t come back from that. It’s going to take a lot more than an apology to make things even remotely friendly with her.
When I get to the conference room door, I shut my eyes and drag in a few deep breaths to compose myself, counting to five with each inhale and exhale. I focus on individual parts of my body in turn, making sure I’m good. I’m not going to lose it again or say something I shouldn’t. It happens when I get stressed. I say things I don’t mean. I know it’s not an excuse, but at least I’m aware of it. Learning to control it is a completely different matter.
When I feel ready enough, I push the door open. Wilder is already sitting at the table, the room silent except for the incessant clicking of keys as her fingers fly over her laptop. The back is covered in stickers. She must be working on something for school. I can’t blame her for taking the time during our practice to work on school stuff. Time is always in short supplywhen you’re an elite athlete and you still have to keep up with your academic work.
I’m still standing in the doorway when she looks up from her screen, and my stomach twists with an unexpected pang as her eyes connect with mine. She’s gorgeous. Long, thick lashes outline green eyes, and there’s a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. It’s small and turned up at the tip, but there’s a familiar bump in the middle. My hand strays up to run down the matching one on my nose. It has the look of a healed-over broken nose. Pretty common for us hockey players.
Her eyebrows are the pale color you see on some redheads. Interesting. It doesn’t match the artful dye job she’s got. Blonde roots that transition seamlessly into a caramel brown color. It’s a look I’ve seen on many of the women who hang out in my social sphere at home. One of those brows is raised almost to her hairline, and I have to shake myself free of the trance I slipped into when she looked up at me.
Amazing. Now I’m lusting after her, and she’s looking at me like I’ve lost it. She’s an influencer. It’s all for show. Just because you’re attracted to someone doesn’t mean you have to follow through on those feelings. She’d probably laugh in my face if I suggested it anyway.
“Can I help you with something? Have I got something on my face?” She reaches up to drag her fingers through her waves, but I catch her eyes running down my body.
“No.” My tone is brusquer than I intended. I’m trying to mend fences here, not cause more problems between the two of us.
She purses her mouth, and a couple of lines form between her eyes. “Let’s get going then.”
“Yeah.” Apparently, my verbal skills are subpar today. Dev must have rubbed off on me. I shift on my feet and then walk toward her.
Her eyes drop back to her keyboard, and she resumes typing as I roll back the chair across from her, dropping into it. My irritation rises again, replacing that brief lapse where I thought I might be into her.
“Sorry for interrupting you.” The sarcasm creeps in, but it doesn’t seem to faze her.
“Need to finish this one thing. Assignment due tomorrow.”
I lean back in my chair, tilting my head up to stare at the beige panels of the ceiling. I start counting the panels.
The snap of her laptop shutting doesn’t pull me out of my task. I need to finish it now that I’ve started.
“I guess I’m the one inconveniencing you now.” She says after a long pause, irritation clear in her tone.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine. I shouldn’t have let myself start that. The need to complete the thing is stronger than all the training I’ve had to be polite and pay attention to people. Make them feel like they’re important.
When I’m finished, I snap back to see her sitting across from me with her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m sorry. I got a little lost there.”
Her annoyance vanishes into a curious look as she tilts her head to the side. “He apologizes. That was unexpected. I’m not sure what to make of you.”
“You don’t want to know what’s going on in my head.” That was way more honest than anything I’m usually willing to share with a stranger. The surprise on her face probably matches my own.
“I guess I don’t need to delve into the dark recesses of your brain. We only need to pretend to like each other, so let’s get on with that.”
“Right.” It’s like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The chances of salvaging this into something even mildlyfriendly seem pretty slim at the moment, and the hollow feeling intensifies. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve got a few things on my social media planner that I could pull your guys in on, and a few ideas for what we can do together. What about you? Is there anything you’d like to do? Or you won’t do?”
I shake my head. “I’m not really into social media.” Most of the photos on my phone are of objects, not people. A random sign I happen across. Interesting items I see discarded on the side of the road. Flowers and trees. Hardly the stuff of Internet virality. But the peace of nature and the randomness of seeing a tree with a fairy door at the base are calming in all the chaos of the world. I post on my handful of accounts sporadically.
“Yeah, I checked out your gram, and it is seriously lacking in photos of people, or hockey. I can’t imagine that’s going to be helpful. Maybe you should start some new accounts. If we get going on these collaborations, you should be able to grow your account disgustingly fast. With a face like that, you’ve already got a serious advantage.”
I’d be impressed that she thinks I’m attractive if she hadn’t said it in such an appraising way, like she’s evaluating my worth as a commodity. “Glad you’ve noticed me.” I lean forward. “Look, I’m not really into splashing my face all over social media. I can’t stand all that fake bullshit.”
She looks up at me from under those lashes again. “Are you kidding me? Yeah, I’ve noticed you. I’ve noticed you’re an arrogant, entitled ass. You’ve never had to work for anything in your life, and you think the sun revolves around you because of your family privilege. Some of us don’t have a trust fund to fall back on, so we do what we can to get by.”
My eyes narrow, nails digging into my palms I’m clenching my fists so hard. How fucking rude. She has no idea how hard I have to work to keep up with school, my dad’s bullshit, and the sport Ilove. All with a clock ticking away the minutes until I have to give it up. The one thing I’ve ever cared about besides my sister. “You have no idea how hard I work.”
