Page 85 of Hard to Handle

“What?” he snaps as he looks back at me.

“I’ve texted and you haven’t answered. I thought maybe we could talk, you know—about—”

“About what? Our mistake?” He scrunches his nose up and my insides twist at that stupid phrase. “No thanks. I’m sure Callum or another one of the guys will be along shortly, and I don’t want to fuck up your reputation with them because you slummed it with me.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you kidding me?” I stare at him dumbfounded, hands out, head shaking.

“Nope. I’m not kidding in the least.” He takes a step toward me and lowers his voice. “You wanted sex, you got sex. You want to take the temperature on a new client, then put your damn toes in the water. Sleeping with him and bolting for old time’s sake is a dick move.”

His words sting and hurt and I stare after him, blinking. There’s obviously so much I don’t understand about last night.

I walked away trying to protect my heart.

He watched me walk away thinking I was using him?

I’ve really screwed up almost every aspect of this.

“You have this pegged all wrong. Me all wrong.”

“Morning,” Katzen says as he strolls into the coffee shop and then stops and looks from Hunter to me and then back. “We still working on that coupling thing?” he asks obliviously. “Because if you are, I think there should be a lot more lovin’ and a little less fighting.” He holds his hand up in mock surrender and laughs when Hunter glares at him. “Just saying.”

“Whatever,” I say with a roll of my eyes and a forced smile.

“I’ve got a phone call with Sanderson,” Hunter says and holds his phone up as if that’s his answer to why he keeps walking and doesn’t engage.

Or maybe to throw it in my face who his agent is.

“Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?” Katz asks with an over-exaggerated flip of the bird to his teammate.

“No idea,” I murmur.

Me.

I did.

I’m the one who pissed him off and screwed this up.

“Well, shit,” Katz says, sliding into the seat in front of me. “If he’s not going to sit with a pretty lady, then I definitely will. I’m around way too many jockstraps these days and not enough G-strings.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “If you’re looking for G-strings, you’re sitting at the wrong damn table,” I say but then shift in my seat, considering the black lace one I put on this morning.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

DEKKER

THEY’RE BEING LITTLE BRATS, BUT their comments on the scouting memo give me a much-needed laugh.

And then I hit send, leaving the status for Hunter Maddox blank. Serves those nosy little punks right.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

DEKKER

I SIT IN THE PRESS booth in whatever damn city we’re in and answer my messages. One after another. Email and phone call after email and phone call.

But I work through them as the Jacks practice on the ice below and work on a new defensive play that just might work in the coming weeks.

It would be smarter to work in my hotel room, but I’m distracted. Not by work that desperately needs my attention but rather the man on the ice who has consumed my thoughts since he left the coffee shop the other day.