Page 59 of Game Misconduct

“What are you doing here?” Her eyes narrow into slits, but her yawn ruins the effect. Her hair is falling out of the braid, sticking up in places. The cozy pajamas she’s wearing—navy blue, with hot-pink polka dots—swallow her whole.

Fuck, she’s cute.

After putting the baked egg dish into the oven, I pop two slices of whole wheat toast into the toaster. “How’s your head?”

“Fine. Why are you still here?”

The coffee pod I brewed twenty minutes ago is cool now, so I add a healthy splash of hazelnut creamer and hold out the mug.

“Drink your coffee.”

Her face creases in a frown. “I don’t like hot coffee.”

“It’s lukewarm.”

Suspicion clouds her features as she takes the cup, bringing it to her nose as she inhales the scent of nutty hazelnut.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m really not.” The toast pops up, and I pull it onto a plate before putting two more slices in. “Breakfast will be ready in about half an hour. Why don’t you go take a shower?”

She stutter-steps backward. “What?”

“You have the day off, right? Don’t have to be at the rink?”

I have to get a workout in, but there’s no on-ice practice today. There are a few errands I have to run, but not anytime soon. If I don’t have to be there, I doubt she does, either.

“Don’t you need to go?” she fires back.

“I have time.”

She harrumphs.

“Babe—” The word slips from my lips automatically. And all hell breaks loose. If she could light me on fire, she would.

Her hackles rise, fury on her face. “Don’t call me babe,” she snarls.

“You like it when Luke calls you babe.” I hate that I say it, but it’s too late; the words are already out, hanging in the air between us.

She scoffs. “I don’t have to worry about him forgetting my name.”

My stomach twists. “Is that what you think of me?”

That day in Ohio, she accused me of not knowing her name. Insinuated I was only interested in sex, and not in her as a person. I don’t think she realizes I wanted more with her; I still want more.

“It’s a negative association with the word.”

“Okay…”

Bex sighs, leaning her arms on the counter opposite me. I pick up the knife again, slicing the stems off the strawberries.

“That day… I thought you were calling me babe because you didn’t know my name. That I was so forgettable to you even when you were inside me.”

She’s addressing it. She’s actually acknowledging that day.

But then her words filter into my brain, and the knife clatters from my hands onto the cutting board. I barely avoid getting nicked as I stare at her.

“Holy fuck, Bex. If you think I’ve forgotten even one damn thing about you all these years…”