Why does everything between us have to be a battle? It’slike the drumbeat leading up to conquering the enemy. He leans back, assessing his enemy, long fingers tapping against the armrest. “I’ve been trying to think of your last name when you were tutoring me. What is... was it? Not Morrow.”
The question lands sharper than it should. Somehow I keep my face neutral.
“Excuse me?”
“My brain says it started with a P. Or am I making that up?” He studies me carefully. “What was it?”
I smother under the silence, while freaking out on the inside. I question my judgment over and over. Going ice skating was dangerous. I should’ve shut him down there and left.
“Why are you asking?”
He shrugs but it’s too deliberate. Too soft. “Because I’m trying to remember things I should’ve paid more attention to.”
I stare at him, holding my breath for a long note. There’s something underneath his words. Not quite an apology. Not quite regret. Curiosity? Maybe.Whatever it is, it’s enough to make me uneasy.
“You don’t need my old name to catch a football,” I say.
“True,” he agrees. “But I think it matters.”
I shift my notebook onto my lap in an effort to protect myself, go into professional mode and buy myself two extra seconds. “It doesn’t.”
“So there is an old name. Or was that a fake name and this is your real one?” He exhales through his mouth and his gaze drops to my hand tapping the pen for just a moment.
I should be irritated, instead, I’m annoyed that I exposed myself. I should have never taken him on as a client. Whatare the odds that a professional football player was also a hockey player?
Gathering my thoughts. I say quietly, “There are old versions of everyone, it doesn’t mean they belong in this room.”
Our eyes meet. God, he’s unbelievably handsome.
“So that means you aren’t going to tell me? You know I can find out, right.”
“I’m setting a boundary. We talk about you when we’re in session.”
One corner of his mouth pulls, exposing his dimpled smile. “You really love that word, boundary.”
“I do.”
Amusement dances in his eyes, “Most people would lie better than you.”
“Most people aren’t me.”
“No,” he mumbles, his voice, lower and softer than usual. “They’re not.”
Something has changed in him since catching me at the rink.
The air shifts. Just enough to make me aware of the darkness fallen around the building, the emptiness of the reception area and the fact that we’re very much alone.
I force us back to safer ground.
“How did practice go today?”
Parker looks mildly disappointed at the pivot, which tells me I made the right call.
He answers with one word. “Better.”
“Define better.”
He rests his elbows on his knees again. “I only dropped a few during drills.”
