“Did you ask me out because you felt sorry for me because I looked like trash?”
He squints at me, and my beautiful sister says, “What is wrong with you?”
“Shut it,” I snap as I meet his gaze. “I don’t like being messed with.”
He just blinks. “Nothing about you looks like trash.”
“That’s untrue, and I don’t need you kissing my ass. I just want to know the truth.”
From beside me, I hear, “Hey, wanna tuck in your crazy?”
I’m about to knock her out with a loaf of French bread. The low tenor of Nico’s voice steals my attention. “Is it so hard to believe that I would ask you out because I want to?”
I snort. “Dude, look at you. You are famous. Everything on you is name brand. That watch is worth more than my shop. Those shades you have hanging on your shirt are more than I make in a week. I would be scared to touch your shoes. I mean, I’m worried there is mayo on the floor and it’ll get them dirty. You are dripping money, and meanwhile, I’m rocking some Target yoga pants that I found on clearance.”
His eyes darken a bit. “So, you’re judging me?”
I’m a little taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“You’re judging me.” He comes to the counter, and I swear, if it weren’t between us, he would go toe-to-toe with me. His eyes capture mine, and I feel a slow creep of heat crawl up my neck. “I have money, so obviously I can’t be interested in a girl who apparently is wearing Target clearance. That’s unfair. The thing is, I don’t care what you wear or what you don’t wear. I don’t see any of that. All I see are these stunning emerald eyes that I want to know. Thick lips that I want to make smile. And other inappropriate things that I can’t say in front of your sister.”
I can’t believe him. “I don’t like games, and I sure as hell don’t like handouts.”
He holds out his hands. “Neither of those things is being done here.” He then leans forward toward me, and I arch my back since I don’t know what he is doing. Holy Grilled Cheese Jesus, he smells like heaven. His eyes, they’re like little nuggets of chocolate, and everything inside me tingles. His voice is so low as he says, “A little advice. Not everyone is out to ruin your day. Some of us just want to make it a little better.”
He stands back up, handing Callie a twenty before taking the subs. “Thanks, Callie. You ladies have a nice night.”
“Bye, Nico. Sorry my sister is crazy,” Callie calls to him.
He looks over his shoulder, those darn eyes dangerous as all hell and only on me as he calls back, “It’s okay. I like a challenge.”
The door shuts behind him, and I’m flabbergasted.
Beside me, Callie starts giggling. I glare down at her. “What?”
“He so wants to hit it.”
I have no clue what I am going to do with her.
Or better yet, with Nico Merryweather.
Chapter Eight
Nico
I pick at my nails, my heart in my throat. I know Dr. Jenkins is staring at me.
“Nico?”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I shrug. “I don’t miss her.”
I look up as she nods gently. Today, her hair is down, and she’s wearing a very expensive-looking pantsuit. I know she is trying to look older, but with that baby face, she’ll need more than just a new suit. “Okay, but do you understand why it didn’t work?”
I shoot her a deadpan look. “She was in love with someone else.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Like shit. Like I wasn’t good enough for her.”
“Elaborate, please.”
I lean on my knees, looking down at her green heels. Not the color choice I’d make for shoes, but to each their own. Let your freak flag fly, as my mom always said. I swallow hard. I hate talking about Shelli. About me. But apparently this is supposed to help. “I felt I was getting comfortable. I was only sleeping with her. I was only calling her after games, and we were always texting. I felt like I wanted to open up to her.”
“Have you ever opened up with anyone?”
“No.”
“No one?”
“Not even Chandler, my best friend.”
She looks surprised. “You haven’t told Chandler your diagnosis?”
I look away. “No.”
“Management knows?”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “Somewhat. My last therapist was very discreet.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m terrified,” I say softly, meeting her gaze. “Right now, I’m a full-on hockey god. Nothing can touch me. People think I’m perfect and—”
“Why does it matter what people think?”
Her question has me pressing my lips together. I swallow hard as the emotion clogs my throat. “I grew up the weird kid. No one wanted to play with me because I couldn’t keep myself in check. Every little thing bothered me, I felt every single emotion, and I couldn’t shut up. No one liked me. People love me now. I don’t want to mess that up.”