Page 145 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Dekker

“Just say it.”

The fight he’s angling for, the one I can sense in his tone of voice and how he’s pulled into himself and thoughts since we parked, I don’t really have the energy to give.

“Say what?” I ask as I glance over to Hunter as we walk through the parking lot toward the hotel entrance. It’s been a long drive, it’s late, and I’m beat.

“Whatever the fuck it is that has been on your mind since we left the bar.”

“Who said I had anything to say?”

“You’ve always been shit at hiding your emotions. You think you’re so good at it—a hard-ass—but they’re on your sleeve when it comes to me.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Huh. Then I guess the last time I saw you before, when you walked out of the hotel, I misread you and had you pegged all wrong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Caution vibrates through me.

“It means you walked out because you broke the rules.”

My feet falter, and I have a hard time swallowing as his words hit my ears. “Broke what rules?” I feign ignorance.

He takes a step closer to where I’ve stopped and stares at me. I’m glad for the cover of the night, but I don’t think it’s going to mask the sudden anxiety I have about where he’s going with this. “You tell me.”

Our gazes hold in an awkward dance where it seems he doesn’t want to follow through with whatever accusation he’d planned. I don’t want to open Pandora’s box.

I’m not sure what’s worse, him telling me he knew I had feelings for him or me realizing he knew and let me walk away without saying a word.

I shake my head when I realize why he made the comment. Such a Hunter thing to do. Dodge. Deflect. Turn the topic around to the opposition by changing the subject so he doesn’t have to answer and be the one to open himself up. Classic fucking Maddox.

I’m glad I didn’t say anything. I’m glad I didn’t give him the distraction he was angling for and answers he might not have realized.

“Tell me something,” I ask, bracing my hands on my hips.

“Nothing good ever came from a sentence starting like that.” He crosses his arms over his chest, already on the defensive.

“You’re the one who came after me, so why can’t I ask you a question in turn?”

His exasperated sigh fills the silence around us. “Look, it’s been a good night. We had fun. We didn’t kill each other, which is always a bonus when it comes to us, and while it’s a good thing, it’s also kind of unnerving because it’s us, right?” He chuckles but there’s an exhaustion to it. “Just let whatever it is go that you need to know and don’t ruin the night, okay?”

“What do you do in the off season?” I ask.

He laughs in protest. “I’m not doing this, Dekker. This isn’t the discussion we’re having.”

“Just . . . humor me. Please. I . . . please.” I reach out to grab his arm to stop him when he begins to walk, but I see the minute his shoulders fall and know he’s going to give me an inch here. “It’s not a trick question. It’s just . . . what do you do in the off season?”

“Practice. Work out. Practice some more.” His arms fall to his sides.

“And in your downtime?”

“Study hockey, film, opponents, weaknesses.” He says the words like I should know this—and I do—but I need him to hear it. I need him to listen to himself and realize his single-minded focus.

“And what else do you do besides hockey?”

“What is it I do?”

“Yeah, besides twenty-four/seven hockey, what else do you enjoy doing?”