Me:We should loop in Facilities. The rink setup will matter.
Ellie Monroe:I’ll handle it. Focus on your team.
Me:You’re bossy.
Ellie Monroe:I am not.
I can’t help myself.I wish I could take it back as soon as I press send, but it’s too late.
Me:I like it.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Three little dots appear and then disappear about four times before disappearing all together. I’ma fucking idiot. She already doesn’t want to do this, and I go ahead and say something like that?
I try to imagine her face when she got the message. Was she pissed or was she flustered? Did she smile or grimace? Honestly, she probably rolled her eyes and tossed her phone to the side, not thinking anything of it.
I really don’t want to make her life complicated, but for some reason, I need her to know that I’m not that guy anymore. I’m not the guy that up and left her without a word. I’m not the guy that can’t balance life and hockey. I’ve grown, and as much as I want to get back to my team, I also want to prove to Ellie that I’m not the guy she thinks I am. She needs to understand that if she gave me another chance, even though I don’t deserve it, that it would be different this time. I wouldn’t hurt her.
Later that night, I’m washing my dishes from dinner when Ellie walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing tiny shorts and a t-shirt that’s so big it almostcovers them. My eyes wander down her legs, landing on her pink toenails before making their way back up to her blushing face. She knows I was checking her out, and I don’t even care. She can’t come down here looking that good and expect me not to look. I’m only human. I mentally tell my dick to calm down before he causes a scene.
Ellie makes her way toward me, leaning over the counter to reach for a plate in the cupboard overhead. She stands on her toes and reaches, but the plate is too far back. I watch her struggle for a moment, her shirt riding up a bit, revealing her ass to me. Goddamn, why’d I look?
She falls back on her heels and huffs in defeat. I smirk, looking down at her and trying not to laugh at the adorable pout on her face.
“Do you need help?” I ask calmly. Her eyes narrow as she glares at me like the answer to that question is obvious. It is, I just want her to ask for it.
“Use your words, Ellie. Do you need me to help you?” She visibly shrinks at the use of her name. She hates asking for help. We have that in common.
She nods, and I shake my head and tsk.
“Tell me,” I demand, turning the sink off and wiping my hands on a towel before crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back on the counter.
I watch as the internal struggle she’s having fades into resolve.
“Can you grab me a plate?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“Can I grab you a plate…” I wait for her to finish the sentence. She rolls her eyes, and I chuckle. She’s annoyed, and I’m finding this kind of amusing.
“Can you grab me a plate,please,” she asks again, this time emphasizing the please at the end.
I turn around and easily grab a plate from the cupboard, handing it to her with a smile.
“Was that so hard?” I ask her. She snatches the plate from me before walking away and placing it on the counter.
“I want you to bring some ideas to our meeting tomorrow. If this event is going to happen any time soon, we need to come up with a plan,” she states, all business.
She places a piece of chicken onto her plate, along with some rice and puts it in the microwave. I lean over the island, watching her as she stares at the microwave and avoids looking at me. When it beeps, she removes the plate and places it back on the counter, all without looking up.
“Why are you watching me?” she asks, cutting her chicken into pieces. She stabs a piece, and I watch as she pulls the empty fork out of her mouth and chews. Why am I hard right now? I should not be hard just watching her eat. There is something seriously wrong with me.
“I’m not,” I lie, because it’s clear that I am.
“I can see you,” she replies, her eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shrug, feigning innocence. The truth is, I don’t know why I’m watching her, but I can’t stop.
“Did you hear me?”
