Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

Oh shit, I winked. Was I flirting? Fuck, Evie was the last person in the world I was supposed to be flirting with.

“Deal,” she agreed. “And I get to ask you more questions while we shoot. It’s a whole methodology thing.”

“Cool, as long as I get to ask you a question for every one you ask me.”

She blinked.

“Seems only fair, Evangeline.” I shrugged.

Her breath caught and her eyes flared. “You’re the only one who calls me that, you know.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Okay. We’ll drink. And skate.”

I grinned. “Bottoms up.” I threw back the shot and the alcohol slid down my throat with a welcome burn, as though it was cauterizing the wounds Dad and Sterling had ripped open in the parking lot.

Evie grabbed the salt shaker from the cabinet, then licked the web of her hand and shook the salt over it.

Shit, that was just as hot as her wearing my number. I looked away, grabbing the bottle and my own empty glass.

“Bottoms up,” she repeated, and sputtered a few seconds later. “Don’t you have any limes?”

“Nope.” I laughed and trudged downstairs. A few seconds later, I heard her footsteps coming after me.

We were quiet as we laced up our skates, and I made a mental note to pick up a pair for Evie. It was all well and fine that she was using Mila’s, but if she was going to be skating down here then she should at least get to have her own skates.

She tied her hair up and got her camera out, checking the settings.

I poured us each another shot. “Do you care that I’m wearing different warm-up pants than last time?”

“Not at all. It’s to improve on the images from the last session and replace them, not continue them.” She wrinkled her nose at the shot, but tossed it back like a pro.

I did the same.

Once the burn settled in my stomach, I headed out onto the ice. I always ran the Zam after I finished each session, so the surface was smooth enough to reflect the lights I’d had installed over the rink.

“How’s David, anyway?” Evie asked, skating out behind me, her camera secured around her neck by a thick strap. “It’s my first question.”

I huffed a little laugh and dropped down to the ice, slamming the pegs into the ice to secure the goal. “He’s good. Still doing the whole lawyer thing in Chicago.” I stood and skated over to the goal, then tugged it back across the ice with me. “I can’t believe you wasted your question on David.”

“Hey now, he was like a brother to me growing up,” she retorted, taking some test shots. The click of her camera filled the silence of the rink.

“And I wasn’t?” I lifted each side of the goal one at a time, dropping it into place. Not like I needed the pegs. I wasn’t exactly going to skate into the goal or anything, but I liked the routine of it.

“You were…” She cocked her head to the side and studied me as I skated by, heading for the rack where I kept my sticks. “Something different,” she whispered.

At least that was what I thought she said, but when I whipped around, she was snapping away at the goal.

I took another shot, but she shook her head when I offered her one, hoisting her camera. “Let me get the shots done first. I can’t afford to fall on the ice and smash this thing. It would drain my savings to replace it.”

“I’d replace it for you,” I answered quickly, stripping my shirt off and tossing it at the bench.

Her jaw dropped as I skated forward, gripping my stick in one gloved hand and the bag of pucks in the other.

“What?” I shrugged. “If I was the one that caused you to break it, then I’d replace it. It’s as simple as that.”

“Right,” she muttered with a little head shake. “Of course.”

I dumped the bag out over the red line that signified center ice in a typical rink, but was at the end of mine. The contractor hadn’t been able to fit a full-sized rink down here, but I was more than happy with what I had. “You ready?”

She nodded. “Why don’t you skate toward me and then shoot?” She glided toward the goal and set herself off to the side.

I was half tempted to tell her to move a little farther away given the way I’d been fucking up lately. I moved the puck onto my stick, then took a deep breath and moved, my motions practiced and smooth, as though my entire body was on autopilot. Evie clicked away as I approached.

My wrist jerked a second too soon and I dinged the rail, right where the goalie’s head would have been.

“What’s wrong with your shot?” Evie asked.