Page 11 of Forbidden Forward

He clears his throat, startling me out of my nonsensical thoughts. “So what’s the deal with you and your bro? Do you live close by, or are you visiting, or … I don’t remember seeing you at any team events before.”

“Let’s say I’m visiting … for the foreseeable future.”

He doesn’t ask the next logical question, and relief makes me thankful to this man I don’t like.

“How long ago did you move, and where from?”

“I left San Francisco a few days ago, which explains why you haven’t seen me around. Not that you will in the future, though.”

“Because …?” he prompts.

“I don’t want to cramp his style. Besides, I’m not big on parties.”

“I get that, but not every event is a party.”

“How about I’m not big on get-togethers with people I don’t know? Also, these team events involve hockey players. You guys can turn anything into a party.”

He makes a grunting noise, and I’m pretty sure he agrees with my statement.

“What made you want to leave San Francisco?” And there it is. He pauses, as if he senses he’s stepped into a minefield. “I only ask because I lived in SoCal and loved the lifestyle. I wouldn’t have moved if I hadn’t been traded, so I’m curious.”

Okay. That makes sense. “Big difference between San Fran and SoCal,” I point out. “For one, I bet it’s not as cold when you go sailing down there.”

A mild chuckle escapes him. “True. Honestly, if you didn’t know better, you’d think they were in entirely different states.”

The intensity in those gray eyes holds my gaze captive a beat or three too long, and I’m overcome by a need to elaborate. “I’m between jobs at the moment. A change of scenery seemed in order after I lost the lease on my apartment.” And my entire life. “Donny was generous enough to offer me his guest bedroom until I figure out where I want to land.”

Colby nods and sips at his tea. The silence isn’t as awkward as it should be. “Look, I know you don’t like me and your brother doesn’t like me, so you have no motivation to do me any favors, but I’m asking for one.” My brows scrunch together, and he goes on. “Can we … can we keep today just between us?”

“You’re saying you don’t want me running to my brother and telling him I happened to bump into you at a marina I had no business visiting and that I sat on a sailboat drinking spiked tea with you?” I practically laugh out loud at the absurdity of that question.

A hint of a lopsided smile shows itself. “In a nutshell, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons, and they’re private.”

The rebuke—if you can call it that—is mild, but it stings. I guess we both have secrets. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to hide, nor do I care, but believe me when I say it’s also in my best interest not to let him know about this little encounter. So yes, I will keep this between us.”

Pleats form between his dark brows. “He wouldn’t be pissed at you if he found out, would he?”

“He’d get over it. That wouldn’t keep him from being pissed—and staying that way—at you, though.”

The creases deepen. “Because …?”

I sigh. “Because he spends his life being pissed at you.” Did I really just blurt that out? Donny will kill me if he finds out. But he’s not gonna find out, is he, with both of us keeping this secret?

Colby leans back, all casual ease, and lightly drums long, tapered fingers on the tabletop. His hands are rough—no surprise—but his fingernails are neatly trimmed, as if he gives a flying fig about his appearance. Not manicure-level, but he’s no nail-biter. I like how they look. Capable, used to hard work, strong.

I must have a thing about men’s hands because I notice them right away. I should have known the first time I saw Royal Montgomery’s hands that he was the sort of man to run from. They were on the soft side, and his nails always had a well-buffed sheen. I found out later that he got weekly manicures. I let it go at the time, though, because it dovetailed with his entire aura. Polished, upper-class, sophisticated. If only I hadn’t been so blinded by his charming smile, I might have seen through the facade he had so carefully crafted.

Colby’s bass timbre yanks me back from the abyss of self-pity I was about to topple into. “Any particular reason you know of that keeps him in perpetually-pissed-off mode when it comes to me?”

I twirl my cup, sifting through my words. “He says you’re a pest.” And that’s one of the nicer things I’ve heard about you, Mr. Chase.

One side of his mouth curls up. “That’s good to hear.”

I blink. “It is?”