I glanced at the mess and sighed. “Just go. It’s fine.”
“No, really. I can pay for them.”
There was something very disturbing about when he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. A moment of sadness and I wasn’t certain why. “No, please go.” When he didn’t budge, I shook my head. “Go. Okay? That was just stupid and I need to get going.”
He appeared hurt, although without seeing his eyes, I wasn’t entirely certain. All I knew was that I’d never acted soimpulsively in my life. Not once. I was the good girl, the one who never did anything wrong.
After he stared at me for a few seconds, I threw my arm out toward his car. He held up his hands in surrender and carefully backed away. When he almost slipped again, I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
He grinned like some kid and managed to make it to the driver’s door without further incident. But he hesitated again. Maybe he was planning on asking for my number.
No. I wasn’t capable of being with anyone right now. So I turned away, still furious with myself and with the muscular stranger.
When I heard the roar of the engine, I headed for the porch. The mess would need to wait. By the time I was near the door, he was rolling down the road, the deep throaty sound of his engine rumbling in my chest.
Just as the Trans Am disappeared from sight, I heard my phone. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Still dripping, I rushed into the living room, trying to figure out where I’d left my phone.
“Hello.”
“Christine Carrington?”
“Yes, this is Christine.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a couple minutes?” As the caller identified herself, I moved into the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter.
“Yes, of course.”
I listened, but her voice slowly drifted into a slight echo. Enough of one that I heard maybe every other word. When she was finished, I took a deep breath. “That’s fine. I’ll be there on Friday. Thank you for calling.”
As soon as the call ended, the phone slipped from my hand just as a single tear rolled ever so slowly down my cheek.
CHAPTER 7
Steven
“That was shit, Masters. Absolute. Fucking. Shit.” The coach’s face was beet red. “And get that scruffy shit off your face. You look like a goddamn convict.”
While a few of my new teammates chuckled, I scrubbed my jaw. Okay, so I hadn’t shaved in over a week and was all furry. The single act had been my response to all the recent unwanted changes.
Coach Wagner didn’t mince words. That’s one thing I’d admired about him prior to coming to Tampa Bay.
Now I hated his frankness and attention to every detail with a passion.
He couldn’t care less who I was or why I’d been brought onto the team. From what I’d been able to tell, he hadn’t been allowed to weigh in on the decision to add me to the roster. Quite frankly, I think he hated me, but not for my hockey skills or even lack thereof.
Because he was annoyed with my bite.
Sure, a small part of me could understand that when a shifter was brought onto a team, the baggage he brought with him included more than just bad boy personality issues or even run-ins with the law.
The notoriety and intense scrutiny dumped on the team was a pain in the ass to navigate through. Fine. There were millions of people who thought shifters threw every game, getting rich doing so.
First of all, gambling on your own damn team was highly illegal. Second, what kind of fun would it be to throw a game? Whatever the reason for the bug crawling up the coach’s ass, I just didn’t care.
He didn’t need to treat me like I’d never stepped on the ice.
Plus, he was walking away as if what I had to say didn’t matter. That was utter bullshit. When he disappeared, I could feel all eyes on me.
So I huffed and puffed, which caught the gaze of a couple of teammates.
