“And I’m saying no.” I step back, pulling the door closed. “I don’t know how to make that any clearer.”
She throws her hand out, stopping the door. The playful seductress act evaporates, the pouty expression replaced by a much harder one. “You’re really going to turn me down? I moved back to Boston.”
Irritation makes my neck prickle, but I keep my tone even. “I didn’t ask you to.”
Anger flashes across her face, but once again, she smooths it away easily. “I’ll give you time to think about it.”
She turns on her heel of one of the red bottomed Louboutins I got her for her birthday a few years back and struts down the hallway without looking back.Fuck.Jake was right.
I close the door and run a hand through my damp hair, my heart pounding harder than it did during the third period.
Gigi’s not the type to take rejection well, and vindictive is a mild term to label what she can be when she feels slighted. She’s not going to quit. She never does.
Actually…
I let out a bitter laugh. She certainly quit our relationship, so maybe that’s not as true as it once was.
My phone buzzes with a text from Logan, forcing my thoughts away from her.
Logan Clark
You’re still coming to dinner, right? My mom made special gluten-free crescent rolls.
And Frisbee misses you. I really think you’ll get along this time.
Cameron Davies
Yeah, I’m heading down now. Would never miss out on your mom’s cooking.
Cameron Davies: And I avoid Frisbee because I’m allergic, not because I don’t like him.
I take a deep breath, centering myself. Time to pretend everything’s normal and not like I just kicked out my ex-girlfriend. I stopped thirty-seven shots during tonight’s game, so I can certainly do that. Right?
I expertly maneuver between two cars whose drivers should have their licenses revoked. I’m in a pissy mood. Not only did it take me twenty minutes to find this goddamn parking spot, but I’m still rattled by Gigi’s hotel visit earlier this weekandI’m nursing a scratch from the Devil.
Or as my sister calls him, Zo.
Sophie may have found her cat in a dumpster outside her favorite restaurant, but I swear he crawled there from the depths of hell. If I so much as breathe wrong, the furry fucker pounces on me. All I did was lean over to grab a tissue from the coffee table—because my allergies don’t matter to the cat distribution system according to Soph—and he acted as if I was about to lob a grenade. Insane motherfucker.
Her other cat, Kit, is fine, but that’s because he has one singular brain cell and it’s holding on for dear life. Seriously. He looks constantly surprised. If he wasn’t cute and content to just exist, I’d be seriously concerned.
“Are you going to pout all night?” Sophie asks, shutting the passenger door with more force than necessary.
“I’m not pouting,” I mutter. “I went to your apartment to help you hang a piece of art and your cat accosted me. I’m allowed to be annoyed.”
Her gaze flicks upward. “He barely touched you.”
“Tell that to the Band-Aid on my arm,” I snap. “You need to keep a better eye on him.”
She bumps me with her shoulder as we head toward the restaurant. “He’s a cat, Cameron. I don’t have him under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”
“You should,” I tell her. “He’s a menace and a danger to society.”
“He only leaves my apartment to go to the vet,” she says. “You act like he’s roaming the city, starting gang fights and bullying children.”
Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. Zo may be small, but he’s got a big brain filled with evil ideas.
Jake is here, already waiting inside the vestibule with his brows drawn together and his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. Other than poker night and postgame bar hangouts, any time I spend outside of hockey is with my sister, so I normally wouldn’t let a friend crash our dinner. But Jake’s dad is in town and he’s avoiding him by packing his calendar so tight there’s no room to breathe. Right now, Jake looks like he’s ready to pummel the next person who stares at him funny, and that man is likely to blame.
