Page 10 of Roughing
“Yes.”
This man was infuriating. His answers were as minimal as possible. Drawing him into a conversation was as rare as the Icehawks winning a game. Okay, that was a low blow, but I hadn’t said it out loud.
“They don’t mind you bucking the dress code?” I took note of his casual clothes.
He shrugged. “Money and a classy lady on my arm.”
I snorted, but I was classy. I knew how to dress well, and I did so. I never left my apartment without full makeup, hair done perfectly in what style suited me that day and dressed impeccably. I loved my designer clothes and shoes, even though I didn’t have the budget for them. I was an expert at finding deals online and in various consignment shops, but I still ran up my credit cards and drained my bank account. Restraint was not my friend when it came to walking away from a good deal on Louboutin booties or a Versace fringed leather minidress. Some people had a drug addiction, some abused alcohol, others gambled. I had a fashion addiction with no cure in sight. Wanting to be the center of attention was another one of my flaws, but I tried hard to counteract my insecurities.
Briggs ordered a bottle of wine, and it was heavenly.
“I’m afraid to ask what you paid for this.” I took another sip and let the amazing flavors dance on my tongue.
“Don’t ask.” Briggs’s rare smile tugged at my heart, and I refused to fall prey to the real man lurking underneath the thick body armor. I’d seen glimpses of that man, and I was vulnerable to him.
My gaze slipped to the menu, which didn’t list any prices. I guess if you had to ask how much, you shouldn’t be eating here. I didn’t feel bad about spending Briggs’s money. As he often reminded me, he had plenty and rarely spent it. Regardless, a twinge of guilt sliced through me. I didn’t want a relationship with him, and we weren’t friends. Just fuck buddies. I worried I was taking advantage of him, and I didn’t like that one bit. I might be a princess, but I was an independent princess, not a mooch or a user.
“What looks good?” Briggs asked.
Briggs looked good to me. Too good. My gaze locked on his handsome face, and my body begged for another round between the sheets or anywhere else we saw fit. Briggs and I were inventive and reckless when it came to where we chose to do the deed—one of the things I adored about him.
Going to dinner changed things between us, and I’d made a grave error in judgment by accepting his invitation. We kept things focused solely on sex. Now I’d changed the rules while promising myself I wouldn’t sleep with him again.
I’d muddied the waters, blurred our carefully set boundaries, and now I didn’t see a way out.
ChapterFour
DINNER OUT
~~Briggs~~
Michella and I made small talk. Mostly Michella talked and I listened, one of the few things beyond hockey I was good at. Her irritation faded, and I was mesmerized by her beauty and animation. I fought the urge to share my day and ask about hers, but I’d lived my life these past two years as a loner. Sharing with another person had become foreign to me.
This might sound like a pity party, but I was out of practice because I had no one to talk to. My mother was doused in alcohol from the second she staggered out of bed in the morning. My father was nonexistent except when he needed money. And my sister, well, she was gone. My heart squeezed painfully, and I pushed thoughts of her out of my mind, as I often did. I swept the pain and guilt under the rug to fester and emerge as rage and frustration.
One by one I lost touch with my friends until the most stubborn of them finally gave up and walked away. I told myself I didn’t care. I wanted to be left alone. I didn’t need anyone butting into my business, nor did I miss the pitying expressions and words of concern. At least, I told myself I didn’t.
Being a loner suited me just fine, but the solitude of the past few weeks enforced by my suspension had me questioning everything in my life. I’d never been a big talker, but I had been friendlier and a good teammate.
I glanced up. Michella studied me over the rim of her wineglass. I managed a joyless smile. Fearing she might have read my face and was about to ask a personal question, I quickly ducked to the left and avoided her hit. I racked my brain for something to say that wouldn’t involve answering probing questions.
“Tell me about your new job.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Like I said, I’m working as an investigative assistant. I’m the office’s girl Friday.”
“That’s okay?”
“Not really. I have a hard time accepting authority.”
“We do have that in common.” I almost smiled again.
She shrugged and didn’t furnish additional information, making me dig. I didn’t. We sat in uncomfortable silence, which she couldn’t bear. I, on the other hand, enjoyed looking at her. Michella was beautiful, stunning, and sexy. Her clothes fit her as if they were made for her. Her makeup accentuated her features without being overwhelming. And that body. I’d seen plenty of it, and I sure as hell wanted to see more. Preferably tonight, but something told me that wasn’t happening no matter how much each of us wanted it.
“Do you recall a talented young player who walked away from hockey after he won the Cup? Drew Delacorte?” she asked.
I jumped, caught off guard by her out-of-the-blue statement and not sure why she was bringing up Delacorte. I nodded. When it came to hockey, I usually kept up with league news.
“He’s part owner of Gone Missing and played junior hockey with my brother, who pulled some strings to get me hired in the new office they’ve opened in Portland.”
