If the idiot had kept his filthy paws off her, none of this would’ve happened. The asshole came after her to antagonize me. To rattle my cage. “Chett and I shouldn’t breathe the same air.”
“Why is there so much bad blood between you two?”
I rub a hand over my face. I’ve had my quota for the day of talking about my ex-wife and her spoiled brat, but after today’s brawl, Harley’s question doesn’t come as a surprise. “He always wanted to play for the New York Blazers instead of playing for the New York Supersonics. He assumed once I tied the knot with his mom, I’d be championing his cause. I told him that’s not how it works. He had to earn his position on the team by getting drafted. He wasn’t going to get any preferential treatment.” I shrug. “He resented me for not going to bat for him. No way was I going to put my career on the line for a guy with such a sense of entitlement.”
“That was a smart move on your part. Imagine divorcing his mom, but having to have him on your team.”
I shake my head. “I dodged that bullet.”
“Speaking of dodging a bullet,” she says, with a coquettish shoulder shimmy. “As far as addressing your concerns, youmight’ve made a threat, but Chett is going to come out looking like the aggressor.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“There were people recording when that guy stated he was a predator who was intimidating me. That’s not the best label for a guy who wants to become the greatest hockey player of all time by pulverizing every one of Kaz Lindström’s records.” Harley deepens her voice to say that last part, mimicking Chett.
“Good call on kicking him.”
“I was willing to do anything to prevent you from looking like the bad guy in the story.”
“Such a protective fake girlfriend.”
She lifts her chin up. “I take my role as fake girlfriend to the great Kazimir Lindström very seriously.”
“You played the part to perfection, Goldilocks. You sure as hell looked the part.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Well, it helps when my fake boyfriend makes me look like a princess, with accompanying bling.” She points both index fingers to her necklace.
I reach out and caress her earrings and then trail a lazy finger across her necklace.
Her gaze lowers.
“The diamonds accentuate your eyes,” I say. “They’re usually a seafoam green, but tonight, they’re flecked with more gold than usual.”
Her gaze meets mine. “You’ve noticed my eyes?”
“I picked up on every shade in your eyes when you and I escaped the birthday party and spent some time together talking in the Hamptons,” I say. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you. Do you want to know what the second thing was?”
She nods.
“Come a little closer.”
She scoots over.
“Your hair.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m hardly the first blonde you’ve ever met.”
“You’re not, butyourblonde hair looked soft as silk.”
“The other blondes didn’t have soft hair?”
“Not as soft as yours.”
“And you could assess that without even touching my hair?”
“I have a keen eye.”
She bites against her lower lip, suppressing a smile.
