Page 26 of Hard to Handle

“Every kid’s dream, right? So many would kill to be in my shoes. Save it. I’ve heard it all. I’ve thought it all, and I leave everything out on the ice every damn time I play.”

I nod slowly, letting him know I hear him, but I don’t buy what he’s saying. I’m missing something. “But you’re angry.”

“And your point?” he snaps.

“It’s affecting your game. Your life.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he mutters as he skates past me.

“I know a change of scenery is sometimes needed. I know that stars can sometimes burn out. From what I’ve seen—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his skates cutting into the ice as he stops right in front of me, the plexiglass the only thing separating us.

“I make a living knowing what I’m doing. Just like you do.” I shrug, trying to act as unaffected as possible by his nearness. Trying to pretend my pulse isn’t racing as my body remembers his kiss last night. Trying to hide the flush on my cheeks over how I overstepped.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I say quietly. “I overstepped. I . . . your point was made. Again. I apologize.”

Our eyes hold, question, dismiss, and right when I think the conversation is over, his lips turn up in the slightest of smirks. “Same hotel as the team?”

The mental whiplash lasts only seconds as I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he threw me. “Why am I staying in the same hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Convenience.”

That cocky grin spreads wider as he just shakes his head ever so slightly and takes a step closer so his skates hit the barrier between us.

“What?” I ask, relieved by the sudden levity. This verbal sparring is exhausting.

“Just trying to figure you out.”

“Didn’t you know? I’m an open book,” I tease.

“An open book inside a block of ice.”

“Amusing,” I mutter, unnerved by his intense scrutiny and hurt by his dig, even though it’s more accurate than not. Those eyes of his hard to look away from.

“I’d say it’s amusing too, but I’m the one who’s always on the other end of whatever game you’re playing.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shift on my feet. This is the last place I need to address why I’m here in Chicago. The mood has changed, the moment lost to speak to him. “You know what? I’m not going to be your verbal punching bag. By the way Maysen stalked out of here, you’re pissed at him. Fine. Be pissed at him, but not me. I know that look in your eyes, and I’m not going to be the one you toy with so you feel like a man in control again.”

I stalk toward the players’ opening, the click of my heels only rivaled by the slice of his skates on the ice. And just as I reach the entrance to the tunnel, Hunter is there, his hand on my bicep pulling me back toward him.

“A man in control again?” he asks, his fingers adjusting his grip as his chest brushes over mine. “I’m always in control.”

“That one seemed to touch a nerve, did it?”

“Maybe you should ask yourself how in control you are, huh?” His eyes flit down to my lips and back up to mine, the warmth of his breath hitting my lips. I can all but taste his kiss again but know that mistake will not be repeated.

No way.

No how.

Not after last night.

“Let’s move on to adjectives that start with I. Irritable, much?”

His chuckle is that low rumble that tells me he’s ready to play. That’s the last thing I want right now. “Irritable? How about indecisive?”