Page 25 of Offside Angle

Well, fuck. There. I’m engaging.

Apparently he notices the shift too, because some of the amusement leaves his face.

“Just saying hello,” he says. “Properly this time.”

“Look.” I lower my voice, mostly because the last thing I need is Cole hearing one interesting syllable and crawling over the seats like a fucking raccoon. “I’m not doing this with you right now. We’re on a plane, we have a game in two days, and I have enough shit in my head already. Just… leave it.”

That should be the end of it.

Naturally, Santiago Vega has never respected the phrase that should be the end of it in his life.

He shifts a little closer, not enough to make a scene, just enough that I notice. Which is probably the point.

“Funny,” he says. “You used to be really good at running away from things that made you uncomfortable. Guess some things never change.”

My head turns toward him before I can stop myself.

Well. There it is.

Straight for the fucking ribs.

“I’m not running.” The answer comes out sharper than I intended, but now that he’s managed to piss me off, apparently my mouth has decided it no longer requires adult supervision. “I’m trying to focus on the series. On my team. On not having my life turn into a circus two days before the most important games of the season.”

Santi doesn’t interrupt. He just watches me, which is somehow worse because now I can practically feel him waiting for me to keep digging.

So obviously I do.

“And then you show up out of nowhere with your camera and your fucking pet names, calling me cariño and bonito as if you took a short vacation instead of disappearing for years.” I shake my head, irritation gathering momentum now that I’ve started. “You don’t get to walk back in here and pretend none of it matters.”

The second the words are out, I want them back.

Fantastic.

So much for I’m not doing this with you right now.

Santi studies me for a moment, and for once there’s no obvious joke waiting behind his eyes.

“Everything is fine, cariño,” he says eventually. “I don’t remember anybody getting hurt.”

I stare at him.

“Hmm. That so?”

“Yeah.” He settles back slightly, but his eyes stay on mine. “I remember we were laughing right up until we weren’t. Then I remember you stopped talking to me.”

He pauses, and I already know from the look on his face that I’m going to hate whatever comes next.

“There was sand. Waves.” His gaze drifts over my face like he’s pulling the memory apart piece by piece. “And the sun made your pretty eyes sparkle.”

Oh, fuck him.

Of course that’s what he remembers.

“Shut up,” I mutter. “Nothing happened.”

Santi tips his head, studying me for a beat. “Exactly. So why are you so angry at me?”

And there it is.