The Bad Boy Hockey Collection: A Collection Of Single Daddy Romances

I debated just driving home, saying screw it and not even bothering to give an explanation. Letting her think I just hadn’t shown up.

But, no. To hell with that. Megan had lied to me, to my face. She could damn well admit the truth to me, face to face, as well.

Which is why I flashed my truck headlights, announcing my arrival.

My back pressed up against the driver’s door, I stand outside, leaning with my arms crossed in front of me, waiting. Megan appears a minute later, a smile plastered on her face as she shuffles down the steps.

A smile I know is fake.

“Hey,” she greets me, her eyes scanning down my casual outfit of a green and black plaid shirt over a black t-shirt and jeans. “You look good.” She leans forward to ki

ss me, but I push away from the truck, away from her, which causes her expression to fall. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t speak immediately, too afraid the anger boiling inside me will overflow into every word. Then, “When are you leaving?”

“Leaving for where?” she asks, her brows drawn down in confusion.

“Dallas,” I snap.

“I’m not—”

“If you’re going to answer, Megan, do me a favor and let the next words that come out of your mouth be the truth. Because the last ones you said to me sure weren’t.”

Her eyes grow wide as realization dawns on her. “You heard me tell Aunt Nancy...” Her voice trails off, not finishing her sentence.

“About the job interview in Dallas? Yeah, I heard that.” And as though I need to defend my actions, I add, “The door was opened when I came up the front steps. I didn’t plan to overhear you, but here we are.”

“I didn’t think—”

“Tell me, Megan,” I continue, running my hands through my hair, exasperated. “You said you found out about the interview a few days ago. When, exactly?”

Her eyes are locked with mine, and she shakes her head. “Craig, I—”

“When?” I bark, cutting off her stammers.

She holds my gaze, searching my eyes. For what, I don’t know, but when she answers, her shoulders sag in defeat, her head bowing forward. “I got the call before I left to meet you at the arena.”

It’s like a stab to my gut, even though I suspected as much. “Before you and I had sex,” I correct her. “Before you stood in front of me and said you wanted this. Wanted us.”

“I did want you!” she exclaims, tears brimming her eyes. “I still do, Craig.”

“But you have no intention of staying here, Megan,” I remind her, a vicious edge in my voice that I can’t seem to stamp down. I wave toward the house. “You said so yourself just a few minutes ago...you want out of this town.”

“I thought—”

“You know what, Megan? It doesn’t hurt me that Cardon Springs isn’t the kind of place you want to be. Hell, I have days where I’m not sure it’s the place I want to be.” I reach for the handle and pull the driver’s door open. “What hurts is that you didn’t have the guts to tell me, but you still thought it’d be okay to play around with me while you waited for your chance to escape. Jesus, you were about to come and meet Ellis, even though you knew damn well you had no intention of—” A hollow laugh escapes my throat. “Whatever.”

I can’t explain half the thoughts running through my head, too fueled by the hurt and anger that is flooding my brain and muddling my concentration. I shake my head and attempt to haul myself into my truck, but Megan’s hand juts out, stopping me.

“Craig, just wait,” she pleads through tears. “I can explain. It’s not what you think.”

As gently as I can muster, I pull my arm away from her grip and tug the door closed. Through the open driver’s side window, I reply, “It is, actually, which is kind of humorous in an ironic sort of way. I used to be someone you’d call a player, Megan, so you’d think I’d recognize one when I see one.” I turn the key in the ignition and shove the gear shifter into reverse. “So, maybe what hurts the most is that you were playing me, and yet I didn’t even see it coming.”

I back out of the driveway, leaving the woman I thought I was falling for—the woman I thought was falling for me—standing in the middle of it, tears streaking down her cheeks as she watches me drive away. That’s when my own tears begin to sting my eyes, and I let them.

***

Ninety-six hours. That’s how many hours there are in the span of four days. And that’s how long it’s been since I talked to Megan in her aunt’s driveway.