Page 69 of Big Stick Energy
How stupid am I? I did this to myself. And now his half million followers can see it on my face in high definition.
By the time he’s done winning at volleyball, I’m basically seething. When he comes to stand beside me, I wordlessly hand him his Coke, and he drinks it in three gulps.
“Something wrong?” he asks, because I’m cursed with a fake boyfriend who’s uncommonly perceptive to other people’s emotions.
“Well, yeah. Zoe texted me after you put that photo up on Instagram. So now the whole team probably wonders why the two of us look so cozy on the beach.”
His face falls. “I wasn’t thinking about that. I just thought it was a great picture.”
I look over my shoulder and catch Tessa staring at me from a few yards away. My least favorite person. “This is because you heard what Tessa said earlier. Didn’t you? You must have. When she asked why I’m not in any of your photos?”
“Yup,” he admits as the wind churns his hair like a supermodel’s. “She said, ‘All he cares about is hockey.’”
“Eric!” I didn’t expect him to admit it. “We’ve been over this! I don’t need you to rescue me from Tessa.” I think back to themoment he leaned in to take that picture. How happy I was. And he was putting on an act the whole time.
He turns to me with another frown and says something I don’t understand. “God, Darcy.” He shakes his head. “You arereallytalented.”
“At what?”
“At assuming the absolute worst.” He sighs. Then he sets his glass down on a table and offers me his hand. “Come on. Take a walk with me.”
“Right now? I think it might rain.”
“Yes, right now.” His hand remains outstretched. With a grumpy sigh, I take it. His warm fingers close around mine, and the ache in my chest redoubles.
Then he leads me away from the party, holding hands like a real couple. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t think about the team seeing that picture. That was an oversight.”
“Youknowthey gossip more than housewives on a reality show.”
“Yeah, my bad. And I’ll delete it right now if you want. Even though that’s kind of shutting the barn door after the cow gets out. But you still have it all wrong—I didn’t post that photo to fool Tessa.”
“You just admitted it!”
“No, Ididn’t.” He gives me an exasperated look. “I said I heard what she said about me. It’s almost the same thing that DeLuca said to me once—that if my social media were a person, it would be the most boring guy at the party.”
“Rude.”
Eric guides me down the darkening beach toward one of thebig wooden swings that’s been constructed here. We sit down, but Eric isn’t relaxed. His hands are clenched into fists. “DeLuca wasn’t wrong. And then here comes Tessa, with her biggotchamoment. And I wanted to smack her, mostly because she’sright.”
“About what, exactly?”
“Me.When she said that shit about my social media, I looked at my feed. And it’s nothing but hockey. That’s my whole life—hockey, more hockey, and trying to make up for the fact that my brother died young.”
Ouch.
“So, a few hours later, I’m on a beach with you. And we take this funny photo of our ugly marshmallows. And Darcy—” He turns his head, locking his gaze with mine. “Nothingin that picture is a lie. Not one thing. I can’t speak for you, but I was having a top ten night. I wasn’t stressing about the playoffs or the schedule or Weber’s girl trouble. For once, I’ve even given up worrying about how my mother is doing, because we already know the answer to that. I was justliving.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
“Yeah, for once in my stupid life, all I want to do is burn some marshmallows and turn my brain off. Oh, and I also want to do this.”
He turns toward me, and I’m not ready. There’s no time to brace myself for the sight of Eric’s intent gaze roving across my lips. Or for the feeling of his broad hand forking through my hair as he pulls me in.
Then his mouth crashes down on mine, hot and demanding. Like he’s trying to prove a point. And for a split second, a last gasp of self-preservation causes me to stiffen in his arms. But Eric iskissing the hell out of me, and I’ve dreamed about this for so long. In idle daydreams during boring meetings, in half sleep on red-eye flights, in dangerous moments of weakness when I’d catch him laughing in the locker room.
Who could fight that? A second later, I melt against him like butter on hot toast. And almost immediately, the reality of his kiss blows away all my daydreams. The real taste of him—marshmallows and urgency—is so much better than the fantasy. The feel of his stubble against my chin, the sound of his breath catching when I tilt my head to improve our connection.
