She sucks on her bottom lip but nods and sets her hand in mine.
I flip it over and lean in closer. The red mark in the center of her palm sends fury through my veins again. “Fucking Dirk,” I mutter.
“I shouldn’t have caught it. But it was instinct.”
“He shouldn’t have flung a puck at you in the first place.”
She shrugs. “No, he shouldn’t have.”
“This needs ice.” Very gently, I run a finger over the spot.
“Yeah.” The single syllable is a little breathless.
I don’t take my eyes off her as I pluck a piece of ice out of the tumbler closest to me.
When I set it to her palm, she hisses.
My gaze roams over her. Over this pretty girl that has me wanting to do anything I can to ease her pain. I can’t ease the ache in my own chest that comes from seeing her in pain, but I can do something about her hand. I slip the ice into my mouth and hold it in place with my teeth. Then I bring my mouth to her palm and roll it across the angry red skin for a handful of seconds before pulling it back and brushing my lips against her cool skin.
Eyes meeting hers, I silently ask her if this is okay.
She gives me a quick nod, holding my gaze even as I slip the ice out again, this time just past my lips. I repeat the process, this time stroking her skin with my mouth, the ice a mere excuse.
She hisses a surprised breath. “JJ.” It comes out as the most beautiful whine. A whimper. It’s a sound I’ve memorized. A memory that has lulled me to sleep and awoken me more nights than I can count.
I slide the ice to one side of my mouth, but I don’t release her. “Is it helping?”
She shakes her head.
She doesn’t have to speak to tell me she doesn’t mean the pain in her hand. This isn’t helping us.
Looking away, I bite into the ice, breaking it up and swallowing it down.
She pulls her hand back, and I pick up the whiskey and pour us each a generous amount. Then I take a quick swig.
“So you wanted to talk?”
Her eyes fly to mine like she’s shocked that I’ve switched topics so easily.
But I can’t just sit here and stare at her. If I do, I’ll tell her everything in my head—everything in my heart.And that’s far too dangerous.
“We need to figure out how to act around one another now that…” She sighs.
Now that Tabitha’s gone?Is that what she wants to talk about?
“Now that I’m your coach,” she finishes.
Right. Of course. Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? Bray is right; I need to stop looking at her this way.
“Okay.” I dip my chin. “I’m open to whatever you think will work.”
“That’s kind of why I wanted to do this,” she murmurs, head down. “I have no idea how to even talk to you anymore. It’s been so long and there’s so much baggage.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I have to fight the urge to move closer to her. “Two truths and a lie.”
She tilts her head, frowning. “Huh?”
“Covering everything that happened when we weren’t speaking would take a long, long time,” I explain.
