“Like you care,” I say, and I hate the emotion that’s taking over.
He narrows his eyes, and I can see the annoyance on his beautiful face. “I get it, I was a dick. But come on, cut me some slack here.”
“Why? I’m just another—”
His hand gripping my wrist stops me. “No. I do care. And, yeah, maybe at the time you were, but that all changed when I found out who I had slept with.”
“Because of my mom—”
“Yeah, and because of you.”
I look down at my hand in his hold as fire courses through my whole body. “Oh.”
“I’m really sorry.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just shrug. “It is what it is,” I say simply.
“No, it’s more.” I look away as his thumb moves to my palm, pressing gently. “On a totally different subject, and this goes against my better judgment, you look really hot tonight.”
“Oh wow, whiplash,” I say as our eyes meet.
“Yeah, I know,” he says softly, his thumb gliding up and down my palm. “As much as I know this can never happen, I can’t keep from telling the truth.”
“Oh?”
He grins, that heart-stopping, slap-your-momma kind of smile. “Truth is, you’re stunning, and you’re still talented as all hell. Like, wow.”
Now, against my better judgment, my lips curve. “Well, thanks.”
“So, you accept my apology?”
Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be mad. I move my wrist out of his hand. “I don’t want to wear your dick as a necklace any longer.”
“Hey, that’s progress.” He gives me a smirk.
“I guess, for us, it is.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I am sorry, though.”
“I hear you.”
He nods as he steps back. “I’ll see you around, Shelli.”
“Yeah.”
He turns without another word, walking toward the truck with such swagger. I watch as he gets in, and then I turn on my heels to head inside. When I cuddle deeper into his coat, I turn to run it back to him, but he’s already driving off.
With a wave and a sexy little smirk to boot.
That plan for getting over Aiden… Yeah, that’s gonna be a real bitch.
Chapter Thirteen
Aiden
I slam my body into the Canucks’ defensemen, fighting for the puck. The bastard has it caught between his skate and the boards like a fucker. He knows if I get it, I’m scoring. I poke my stick at it, using my hip to push him, but he outweighs me and isn’t budging.
“Move, fucker!”
“Fuck you, you pussy!”
I use all my body weight to push him off just as Wes grabs the puck and passes it to Sinclair. I go to rush the net, when the guy I was just in the corner with shoves his stick in between my skates. As a result, I’m eating ice. I wait for the whistle, my bench waits for the whistle, but nothing.
“Son of a bitch! Ref, you blind?”
“Play on, Brooks!”
I hear the thunk of puck on pad, realizing Sinclair has shot. I scan the ice, seeing the puck where Wes just threw it up the boards to Reeves. He cradles it as he moves in, passing it to Sinclair, who returns it back. I skate around my man, trying to screen the goalie. I get jabbed in the back by the goalie a few times as we try relentlessly to score. Wes shoots, he hits the damn post, and when the puck hits my blade, I’m convinced this is a goal. Top shelf, yes, baby. Come to Daddy!
But the damn goalie gloves me.
“Fucking hell!”
“Not today, you fairy-looking bitch!”
I glare at the goalie. “I don’t look like a fairy! My beard grew in—try it!”
Asshole. That should have been a goal. I should have gone lower. Damn it. I skate to the bench while our next line comes on. As I go in through the door, Coach is yelling, “Good shot, BB. Great pressure. Keep shooting. You’ll find the back of the net.”
I could kill Tate—honestly. I thought BB would have fallen off by now, but nope. It’s been two weeks, and it’s stuck. Lovely for me. I lean on the boards as I watch our defense fight off their forwards. The Canucks came to play tonight. They’re up by one and giving us a run for our money. I squirt some Gatorade into my mouth as I take in lung-filling breaths. I feel as if I’m flying, and it’s been like that since my first game on Assassins’ ice. I love it here. The crowd is electrifying, the ice feels like home, and knowing my family is up in the box watching me is so overwhelming I almost can’t handle it.
But I am.
In the seven games we’ve played, I have nine assists, and I’ve scored three goals in just the last three games. None on home ice, though. I’m itching for a goal here. I want to be the reason the goal song plays and the lights go nuts. I want to hear the crowd yell for me like they did for my dad for so long. I want to hear the announcer call my name and number. It’s something I’ve been waiting for since I was a kid. But like Coach said, it’s coming. I can feel it. I’m one of those streaky players. When I get hot, I get hot. And right now, I’m hot.