Whatever the case, she didn’t want to discuss it with me and completely shut back down when we walked into her dad’s yard. Her expression was impassive again, her eyes vacant. I fucking hated it. I preferred tears over indifference — only hers. I didn’t know how she did it, but she even looked beautiful when she cried. Her eyes were soft and held a plea that practically screamed, “Save me.” From who or what, I wasn’t sure, but I had the awful feeling it was from herself, and as much as I hated to admit it, that was something only she had the power to do.
I shut my eyes and took a breath.How the fuck did I end up in this situation?I’d always been a selfish person. It was easier that way. Only my mom and brother were allowed inside my bubble, mostly because I couldn’t get rid of them even if I tried. Everyone else was kept at arm’s length. Garnering attention from such a young age meant constantly questioning everyone’s motives. I loved and respected my teammates and valued their friendship, but I didn’t sit around talking to them about my problems. To them, I was a badass center who had reached a level of notoriety they could only dream of, a playboy who discarded women. It wasn’t like the women cared. Most of them were puck bunnies that just wanted to say they fucked me, as if that earned them a medal of honor or some shit. And then there was Lyla fucking James, with her indifference and snarky comebacks. Someone who truly didn’t give a shit who I was. Who hadn’t even fucking heard of me until a week ago. If I kept everyone at arm’s length, she kept them on a different plane altogether.
While she was in the bathroom, I looked around for anything that would tell me more about her. I was starved for her. Not just her body, but her. Her attention, her secrets, her smiles, her laughter. Anything. Everything. I wanted to break inside her brain and rummage through her memories, worries, fears, likes, and dislikes. Fucking everything. I didn’t like that my left wing knew what happened to her. It was unfair since Prescott had known her a long time, but I didn’t want to play fair when it came to her. I wanted to win at all costs. I wanted to be the sole keeper of her secrets. I wanted to possess her. The smartest thing would be to walk away now, because I knew I’d get lost in this girl if I waited any longer. I was already lost, and I’d only known her for a week. Lyla was a walking red flag. She’d given me every reason to run in the opposite direction, but I was stuck in some weird gravitational pull she had on me.
I kept perusing. She didn’t have much in the guest house — a small jewelry box with a dancing ballerina and a bookshelf. There was a glass soccer ball on the bookshelf that caught my attention. It was fucking nice. Maybe her father got it for her as a present? When I stood in front of it, I realized it was a trophy. Notjusta trophy. It couldn’t have been. The only thing I’d seen that was this nice was our NCAA title trophies, and we didn’t casually keep those at home on a bookshelf. This one had her name on it and was dated two years ago. She would have been a second-year student then. Maybe it was an MVP trophy. I leaned down to read it.
Hermann Trophy.I took my phone out and Googled it. I’d seen things about her playing soccer, but I hadn’t paid it any mind since the season was over, and I figured she was just good enough. According to this, Lyla fucking James was to soccer what I was to hockey.Veryimpressive. I went to the school’s sports page and confirmed that it ended in the fall. I wished I’d known about this sooner. I clicked on the roster and saw she wasn’t on it. She wasn’t on last year’s, either.What the fuck?I looked at the trophy again. It made no sense. Had she quit after the accident? I understood taking a break, but quitting was unfathomable to me. I tried to put myself in her position and couldn’t wrap my head around it. My competitive nature would never let me stop playing before I was forced into retirement. She could have gone pro. I knew that wasn’t something that appealed to everyone. Prescott wasn’t interested in playing beyond college, which was also unfathomable. He’d hang up his skates after the final tournament and go into law, like his parents.
At the sound of the bathroom door opening, I put my phone back in my pocket and turned around. She walked toward me with that ghost of a smile I now knew was the best she’d give. I still had yet to be on the receiving end of her blinding smile, but I’d take this one. I’d take all of them. I’d even take her gloomy attitude if it meant I’d have her. I almost laughed at myself. I was alone in a bedroom, inches from a bed, with the hottest girl alive… thinking about her smile.WHO THE FUCK WAS I?Jesus. Maybe my last concussion was worse than I thought.
“Your makeup looks good again,” I said, like a fucking moron. It looked good. She’d just spent fifteen minutes fixing it.
“Thanks. I’m ready when you are.”
“Do you want to hide out here until it’s over?”
She cocked her head slightly. “With or without you?”
“With.”
“Then no,” she said, and my heart dropped just like that. My. Heart. Dropped. What. The. Fuck. I watched her lips move into that tiny smile again. “Just kiddiiiing.”
“That’s not funny.” I stared at her, my heart flipping as it started pounding again.
“Really?” she asked, her face neutral. “Rumor has it you don’t give a shit about anyone or anything except hockey.”
“Rumor, huh?” My lips pulled into a slow smile. “Have you been asking around about me, Lyla James?”
“No.” She scowled, looking offended that I dared to think such a thing, which made me want to laugh. “I was at the grocery store and saw your face in a local magazine. The girls behind me were talking about you.”
“Hm.” I closed the distance between us. “What else did they say?”
“I stopped listening.”
“Why?” I cupped her face, thumb on her cheek, the rest of my fingers fanning over the side and back of her neck.
Her breath hitched, eyes widening slightly as I tilted her face. Fuck. Those eyes would be the death of me. Even vacant, they were beautiful, but she didn’t have her mask up right now and I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I was dying to kiss her. I wouldn’t, though. I wasn’t sure what she was sad about, but I assumed it had to do with her mother’s car accident, and I didn’t want her to link the memory of our kiss to that. I searched her eyes, waiting for her response.
“What?” She whispered.
“Why did you stop listening to them?” My lips twitched with the satisfaction that I’d made her lose her thought.
“Because a million different things can be said about you, about anyone. Some may be true, but in my experience, most accounts aren’t. I don’t want to hear anything about you unless it comes from you.”
This fucking girl. When had anyone given me the benefit of the doubt? Never. I’d had to prove myself repeatedly to get to where I was today because people questioned my skills, my mindset, everything. My mind raced with a million questions: did this mean she would no longer push me away? Was it an invitation to kiss her, to ask her out? I mulled that over and realized I’d never actually asked a girl out. If I had it my way, I’d lock us in here and throw away the key. Every version of Lyla James fascinated me, but this was my favorite.
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I ran my thumb in soft circles against her cheek.
I looked at her plump lips. They parted slightly. She’d dabbed some kind of colored gloss on them. I didn’t kiss women, but when I did back in high school, lip gloss annoyed the shit out of me. It was sticky and usually had a flavor I hated. I didn’t know what was on hers, but I wanted it on my lips. I wanted to kiss her more than I’d ever wanted to kiss anyone in my entire life. I wouldn’t unless she initiated it, but fuck, I wanted to.
“We should go,” she whispered, holding my gaze.
“We should.”
She took my hand, pulled it from her face, kissed the palm, and walked out the door. It was one of her ninja moves, where she dropped something on me and walked away before I could react. I stared at the door, my mind reeling. It took me a moment to move. I left the guest house and shut the door, but I didn’t try to catch up with her. I let her walk back into the tent by herself. Something told me she needed that. When I walked back in and headed to the table, she was talking to the guy next to her, but her eyes were locked on mine as I approached. I wasn’t sure she was still listening to anything he was saying, which brought another wave of satisfaction.
I sat down beside her again. To my left, I had two basketball players I’d already met. To my right, I had the most maddening woman I’d ever met. I had no idea who was next to her or sitting next to him. She was the only reason I was at this table. She was the only reason I was here at all. I’d turned it down for three consecutive years, but Prescott mentioned she hated it and was always forced to come, so here I was. I could’ve sat with my agent, who had already stared at me like I’d lost my mind for not sitting with one of the three NHL coaches here, but I didn’t care. And after the display of emotion she showed me, I was even happier with my choice.
