Apollo sits forward, steepling his fingers together.
Scott looks between Penelope and me, and then to the twins. “You saw that, right?”
The twins nod.
I’m regretting making them sit next to Pitstop. “Saw what?” The attempt to make my voice sound cool, calm, and collected fails miserably, and it comes out thin.
“Oh, no.” Apollo shakes his head. “You don’t get to dismiss this.”
“Not when you specifically asked us to move to this very table,” Artemis adds before picking up his water and draining half the glass.
“Wanna talk about it?” Scott pats my back. “She doesn’t seem to like you much.”
I grunt. “Understatement of the year.”
“You need some help with wooing her?” Apollo’s eyes light up. He’s a romantic at heart, and with his girl still in Australia doing some serious ballet dancer recovery shit with some big wig ballet school, his cupid tendencies have nowhere to go.
“I’m good.” I wave them off. Our food is delivered, and we all dig in. But when Penelope gets up from the table thirty minutes later, there’s a deep urge to follow her. I can’t stop myself. I put my arm out to block her escape. “Hey.”
She looks at my arm. Looks in my eyes. Looks at the guys at the table.
The guy who’s with her looks like he is thinking about—and probably could—sever my arm from my body if I don’t retract it soon.
She doesn’t say anything, simply responds to my ‘hey’ by arching a brow. Though she gives the dude she was with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Something about him is familiar. Have I seen him before? I feel like I know him. How do I know him?
I study his frame, the broad shoulders, the crooked nose. Is he a jock? Does he play hockey?
I can’t for the life of me place this guy but there’s a familiarity about the way he’s scowling at me.
She picks up my half-drunk chocolate shake and holds it wordlessly above my head.
She wouldn’t fucking dare.
“I’m just saying hi.” My brows tent. Would she?
“Let me pass.” The challenge in her voice must make my brain short circuit, because now I don’t want to. I want to push her, to see what she does. She had the balls to eat my dinner when it was just the two of us, but will she?—?
Cold, gloopy chocolate milkshake slops onto my head in a constant trickle from the glass.
“Son of a—” I retract my hand. My instinct is to cover my head but it’s already too late.
The guys are laughing, she’s got that savage glint in her eye, her full lips tugged up into a smirk. “Excuse me.” She places the glass on the table in front of me before catching a bit of the milkshake dripping from my chin on her finger and slipping it into her mouth. The sounds she makes spark life in my crotch.
This is not good. At all.
Pitstop follows the two women out the door, but the guy pauses. “Apollo, Artemis.” He throws them a salute.
“Oli.” Apollo nods.
Artemis shakes his hand. “Good to see you Oliver.”
My jaw drops. Fuck. Idoknow him. He plays hockey for a different college team. Didn’t he move to Michigan State? Nah, it wasn’t that far away... Where is he? Minneapolis?
When they leave, Scott hands me a stack of napkins. “What did you do to piss off Oliver Lindstrom’s sister?”
Is that why she hates me?
Because her brother plays against me on the ice? Did I hit him too hard one day, and she got mad about it? Surely not, it’s the nature of hockey, right? It’s all a bit of give-and-take. I’vebeen on the receiving end of Lindstrom’s checks once or twice in the past, too.
