“Really?”
I know what we agreed to. He won’t sleep with her, whoever she is. But we also established that if either of us found someone worth pursuing, this would end. Why am I already concerned that this thing between us could be over before it really begins? I push that thought away.
“Try not to be too jealous, Kendall.”
My name in his mouth sounds like a curse and a promise, wrapped into one.
“Jealous?Please,” I mutter, feeling my heart racing.
He disappears down the hallway, and a minute later, I hear him saying goodbye to my parents, thanking my mother for dinner, promising my father he’ll review the game film before practice tomorrow. The front door opens and closes. Seconds later, the engine of the Range Rover starts in the driveway.
I’m left pressing my thighs together, trying to remember how to breathe.
I’m playing with fire.
I straighten my clothes and smooth my hair before going downstairs to tell my parents bye. I might not survive Patterson, even if he’s responsible for making me feel alive.
13
PATTERSON
Three days have passed since I had Kendall pinned against her bedroom wall with my hand between her thighs, and she hasn’t reached out once. There hasn’t been an emoji lighting up my phone or any signal that she wants to see me. Her silence is crawling under my skin, and it’s making me irritable as hell.
I check my phone for the fifth time this morning while the espresso maker gurgles in my kitchen. Still nothing. She’s supposed to reach out when she wants to meet up, because I refuse to be the one to contact her first. Kendall proposed this arrangement; she set the rules, and now she needs to take initiative. I won’t be the one to do it.
Maybe Sunday got to her, and she’s reconsidering it all.
Her father’s voice echoed up the stairs while my mouth was on her neck, and I knew how close we were to disaster with her parents downstairs. Or maybe she really is pissed about the dates I’m going on. It was to remind her of our agreement and where things stand between us. However, I saw the flash of jealousy in her eyes before she masked it.
The date was a PR setup my agent had arranged weeks ago. I sat across from a woman whose name I can’t remember, noddedat the right moments, and thought about how Kendall ground against my thigh in that bedroom, surrounded by her skating trophies. I can still almost hear the desperate edge in her voice when she asked me to meet her that night.
I told her no because if I’d gone to her apartment after leaving her parents’ house, I would’ve fucked her until neither of us could walk to prove a point. Weirdly, I don’t want to rush this even though we’re running out of time.
I shove my phone in my pocket and head to the facility for morning practice while the February air bites through my jacket. I tell myself I don’t care if she reaches out or not because this is just sex. We’re two people whohateeach other and need to burn off tension without expectation until the season ends. That’s all it can be.
Practice is brutal. I push harder than I need to and take hits I could avoid.
Coach’s words from Sunday keep bouncing around my skull.“… bury it so deep that no one ever sees it again.”
The whole facility has noticed the tension between us. My coaches and teammates have noticed. Kendall is becoming an unwanted distraction, and I hate that she has this power over me without even trying.
During a scrimmage, Wyatt fumbles an easy pass I send his way, and the puck skitters into the corner, where Boston’s defense would’ve eaten him alive in a real game.
“What the hell was that?” I skate up on him harder than necessary. “Do better.”
Wyatt’s face goes red. “Sorry, I?—”
“You what? Forgot how to play hockey?” I’m in his face now, and some distant part of me knows I’m being an asshole. “Get your head out of your ass or get off the ice. We need to win if we want to go to the playoffs.”
“Cross.” Callan’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Back the fuck off.”
I skate away without another word, leaving Wyatt standing there, looking like a kicked puppy, while the rest of the team exchanges glances. I know they’re wondering what crawled up my ass and died, and I can’t exactly explain that Coach’s daughter is to blame.
The days blur together, and I fill every empty night with distractions.
By Friday, I’ve been on four dates with four different women, and the headlines are everywhere. TMZ,Page Six,Deadspin, and even LadyLux are running photos of me leaving restaurants and clubs with models and actresses whose names I don’t fully remember.
The narrative is exactly what I need—Patterson Cross, playboy extraordinaire, living his best life during the season. No one would ever guess that each night ends with me taking a cold shower before staring at the ceiling, thinking about someone I shouldn’t want.
