Page 12 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“I’ll drive you home.” I rush the words without thinking because giving him a lift seems like the natural thing, the decent thing. He gives me a look like it’s a crazy thing.
“I’m driving Maggie’s car,” I say. “It’s the least she can do for you.”
He pauses a beat while I hold my breath, realizing I may be sending mixed signals. Then he shrugs.
“Okay, but I’m driving.”
I nod and then take Maggie’s shoes off her feet and tuck a blanket around her. He snatches the keys from my hand as soon as I fish them from Maggie’s bag and we leave.
On the way in the car, Levi calls Ryan and Ryan says he ran into some friends—doesn’t say who, and that he’s on his way to their house.
“That was discreet of you,” I say. I’m trying not to sound impressed, trying to mock him, but Iamimpressed.
“I’m learning,” he says. “How about you? What’s up with that job of yours? Last place I expected you to land.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, forgetting to be cool, reverting to the open-book naivete of my pre-Olympic persona, to my girl-next-door self because now he’s the boy next door again, the one I remember from when I first developed a crush. Though in truth, I think I was always a little in love with Ryan O’Rourke.
“I mean you’re smart and talented and ambitious and you’re too genuine—or you used to be—to star on a gossip show.” He pauses, watches the road as they cruise by a stretch of ocean gleaming under the moonlight. I try to get my hammering heart under control because I don’t want him to get me, to be right about me. To still know me like we were before . . . everything.
“I can tell your heart’s not in it, Chels.” His voice is low and intimate, sending goose bumps up my bare arms. I tense my muscles to stop myself from throwing myself across the stick shift into his arms. It would be a stupid thing to do and not just because we’d crash Maggie’s brand-new car, but because I don’t want to repeat history with him. He’s already made it clear I’m no more than a kid sister to him and no matter what else has changed, I know my heart would break all over if he turned me away again.
Waving my hand, I laugh. “It’s a job. It won’t be my last job. It’s a stepping stone—like the American Hockey League.” I don’t owe him any explanation, do I?
Well, okay maybe I do since I’ve piled onto his trashy reputation numerous times in my short stint with the station. Sighing heavily, I say, “Okay, you’re right—it’s a trashy job. But in my defense I had no other offers and I have bills to pay. We can’t all strike it big right out of the box.”
“Never mind. You’re right. I have no business asking you about it. I didn’t mean to imply—okay, I did imply that the job isn’t good enough for you.”
“If you put it that way,” I say on a laugh. He smiles at me with that boyish crinkling of his eyes, the same one I remember where one side of his mouth pushes his cheek into a deep crescent that’s not quite a dimple. He’s like the boy I always knew.And loved.
My face falls and I turn away, not believing I just had that thought, swearing to never drink another margarita as long as I live if this is what happens to me, if I become delusional and silly like a star-struck little girl. God, what is wrong with me?
“But you’re good,” he says, “and I’m sure you’ll get your big break sooner than later.”
Nodding, I keep my eyes trained out the window at the ocean and the dark beyond, the line where the water stops and the sky starts, wondering why I have such a hard time learning my lesson, why he has to be so kind, so good, so right here, and so damn out of reach. I want to hold a grudge against him, to not feel the stirrings of that crush revived all over again, but the tenderness is starting to bloom.
Fuck it. Fuck him. Pulling up my proverbial big girl panties, because I’m not one to wallow, I say, “I could. With your help.”
He turns into the drive and stops the car, shuts off the engine, then turns to me.
“What the fuck do you want me to do?” He’s angry. And I don’t know why. Except maybe because he was being real and kind and I’m sounding like a bitch who wants a favor.
“Feed me some gossip now and then. That’s all.” I say it like I’m all innocent, like I wasn’t going to suggest he strip naked and let me take vids of him to show on air. Because I wasn’t, but that’s what he makes me feel like somehow.
He nods. “That’s all?”
I nod. “Of course. What else would I be asking for?” Guilt squeezes me.
He leans close and says, “For my ass in a compromising position?” Then he grins. “But I know you’re not that girl. I know I can trust you this weekend. You’re my sister’s best friend. Come inside and say hello to Levi, meet his parents.” He pushes his door open, turns his seductive blue-eyed gaze from me without waiting for an answer, and practically leaps from the car. I get out, not bothering to wait for him to come around and open my door even though I see that’s exactly what he’s doing. How can a man who’s so good, be so bad?
He’s nice, polite, and decent, and yet he’s the most superficial hound when it comes to women. I don’t get it. Never did. But I’d better get it through my head fast because I’m stuck here with him until Sunday.
