CHASE
“What the hell, Carter?” Bailey pulled away from me and came to a stop on the sidewalk outside the arena. Her eyes flashed with anger. “Where are you taking me?”
Late afternoon sun glinted off her dark blond hair, bringing out the green and gold in her hazel eyes. Unlike most girls I met at nightclubs, she was even more attractive in a normal, everyday setting, free of all the makeup and tight clothing. And like when we first met at XS last weekend, she had reverted back to hostile mode.
Just my luck: one of the hottest chicks I’d ever met hated my guts. Or was she hot because she hated me? Maybe it was a bit of both.
I didn’t want to examine that too closely. But it was probably both.
“To my truck.” I pointed with my keys to the corner of the parking lot, where my black F-150 was parked several rows down.
“And then what?” She unzipped her black puffy jacket and slid it off to reveal a white short-sleeved V-neck underneath. It dipped down in the front, showing the slightest hint of her round, perky cleavage. But I managed to keep my eyes above shoulder level. Mostly.
“Whatever you want.”
“I don’t even like you,” she said. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” Bailey drew in a breath and paused, watching me.
I said nothing. Just watched her back and waited her out.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a defeated sigh. “Fine.” I’d received warmer receptions from women, to say the least.
We weaved through the parking lot at a pace that was, fortunately, much faster than last weekend’s drunken excursion. I always ran hot after games from the physical exertion and metabolic boost that followed. Combined with the unseasonably warm fall weather and my dark suit pants, I was running at a thousand degrees. I loosened my tie as we walked and slipped it off, followed by my suit jacket. I hated the fucking dress code for games. What was the point?
“Are you stripping now?” Bailey asked dryly.
“I can if you’d like.” I unbuttoned my collar and rolled my sleeves up to my forearms. I was roasting. Was I nervous or something? What was going on? “But then you’d have to pay me, and I don’t come cheap.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
Bailey came to a sudden stop in front of my truck instead of getting in. She looked at me, to the vehicle, then back at me. Her expression hardened. “I changed my mind,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “I don’t
want to go anywhere with you.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you want to go back inside?” “Well, I can’t now. You blew up my life.”
Really? Seemed to me like her life blew up, oh, approximately last Friday. It had just been raining shrapnel ever since. But it was easier to blame me, I supposed.
“I think you’re overstating things here.”
“Not even a little. Everyone is going to be pissed at me.”
I snorted. “For what? Moving on? Morrison sure did. Though it was a downgrade, if you ask me.”
Almost imperceptibly, she flinched. I immediately regretted what I said, even though it was true—that girl Morrison was with had nothing on Bailey. Not even in the same league. But tact wasn’t my strong suit, and she seemed vulnerable in a way I wasn’t used to dealing with.
She straightened her spine, glaring at me. “No, for sleeping with the enemy.”
“I don’t think literal sleeping counts.” I strolled past her and opened the passenger-side door, holding it for her. “Unless this is your way of hinting at something.”
“Definitely not.”
All I wanted was to get inside my truck and blast the air conditioning directly at my face. Stop by home and change into a T-shirt and jeans instead of this ridiculous suit. Then inhale at least three plates of food. I would figure out the rest later.
If her company factored into any of the above, all the better. Unfortunately, she was hell-bent on arguing with me.
We stood, locked in a standoff, while I cooked under the sun, waiting for her to get in the damn vehicle. My truck chimed, reminding us that the door was still ajar. James might be the only person I’d ever met who was less argumentative while drunk.
Time to de-escalate the situation a bit.
Taking a few steps, I drew closer until she was within arm’s reach. I didn’t actually touch her, but that was the point. “James.” I dropped my voice, keeping it low and smooth.
“What?” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you have other plans tonight?”
Her mouth scrunched up. “No.” “So what’s the problem?”
“Everything?” She gestured between us. “You, me, this?”
I ducked my head, catching her eye. “Are you hungry?” It was just a guess, but it was dinnertime and would explain some of her irritability. And I was definitely starving. A massive burger was in order, stat. Maybe two.
As if on cue, her stomach gurgled loudly. Her cheeks flushed pink, which was pretty adorable. She jutted her chin defiantly. “No.”
“Great,” I said, ignoring her reply. “What are you in the mood for?”
She looked down at her black Converse. “I don’t know. Pizza? Burgers?
I’m not picky.”
“Let’s swing by my place so I can change, and then we can grab some food. My treat.”
“Okay,” she grumbled, finally climbing into the truck.
After stopping by my place, we ended up at Burger Bar in the trendy brewery district nearby. We ordered their signature boozy milkshakes,
burgers, and fries, and somehow, I even talked her into sharing an order of onion rings with me, but I was borderline worried she’d poison them if I wasn’t careful.
“I hope you know I’m not going to sleep with you.” Bailey took a sip of her chocolate-Kahlua milkshake, eyeing me warily from the other side of the booth.
I grabbed an onion ring from the middle of the table and set it on my appetizer plate. “Technically, you already did.”
“If you use that loophole to tell everyone and give them the wrong idea, I will strangle you with hockey tape.”
“Relax, James. I was kidding. I didn’t think you’d sleep with me tonight.”
Sober Bailey had made it abundantly clear on Sunday morning that she was not, in fact, a one-night stand type of person. I had no delusions about that changing soon. Though obviously, I wouldn’t turn her down if it did.
“Oh really?” She raised her blond eyebrows. “Then what about all that crap you said to me at the bar?”
“I was teasing you.” I shrugged, biting into the gigantic onion ring. Oh my god. It was almost orgasmic. Food always tasted exponentially better after games.
“Yeah, right.”
Our server returned, quickly setting down our plates. She slid Bailey’s chicken burger with sweet potato fries over to her, followed by my loaded double cheeseburger with regular fries, before disappearing again.
“Well, it’s half-true,” I said, picking up my burger. “I was teasing you in a playful way. Obviously, I was hitting on you too.”
There was no point in denying that part. Hostility aside, she was freaking gorgeous. My attraction to her grew every time we hung out. What muddied the waters was whether she was attracted to me now, in the absence of tequila.
I was pretty sure she was. But the death stare made it hard to tell.
Bailey leaned over the table, brow crinkling. She lowered her voice, like she didn’t want anyone to overhear. “Does that actually work with other girls?”
Did she want honesty here or what? I guess that’s what I would give her. “Most of the time,” I said, taking a bite of my french fry.
“Seriously?”
“You came back, didn’t you?”
“That was the tequila talking,” she snapped. Damn. She was cute when she was annoyed.
“Huh.” I stroked my chin. “Isn’t that a country song?”
She placed her palms flat on the table, resting her forehead on them. “You are exasperating,” she muttered, still facedown.
“Back atcha.” I just wished I didn’t enjoy it so much. Liking the dynamic we had going on was problematic. But I put the fun in dysfunctional, so I guess that wasn’t a huge surprise.
Bailey lifted her head, curtain of golden hair falling in her face as she looked up at me. “Why aren’t you out celebrating your win and hat trick against us with all your Falcon buddies?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. In fact, I was missing at my own house party at this very minute. My phone, switched to silent, had been blowing up. “I guess that scene gets old after a while.”
“What, you don’t like having a crowd of doting fans throw themselves at you? That seems like it would be right up your alley.”
Honestly, being here with her, getting the gears, was far more appealing than being surrounded by a bunch of people who didn’t actually know me but claimed to think I was great because I could hit things with a stick.
I swallowed a bite of my burger. “Don’t you ever find it…superficial? That whole scene?” I asked. “We’re joined together by this single common thread, but otherwise, I’m not sure most of us would even be friends.”
She should know, as it looked like she was about to be ex- communicated by Captain Dickhead. I’d seen it happen before. But she hadn’t grasped what was coming yet, which made me feel bad for her. She didn’t deserve that.
“Deep thoughts from Carter over here,” she said. “I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Life of the Party. Don’t all the Falcons love you?”
“Ha, no. Ward and I are solid. And Tyler’s cool, odd duck that he is. But I’m pretty sure half the team would throw me under a Zamboni if they thought it would help them make the league.”
Bailey blinked slowly at that. “Okay.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Did you seek me out at the bar because you knew who I was?”
“No, I didn’t know. Not until you came back, anyway.”
“But you came up to me tonight to piss off the team,” she said.
“Honestly?” I pinned her with my gaze. “Partly. But also, it looked like you could use a friend.” When I’d walked out of the locker room, that stricken look on her face was all I could see. It pissed me off, especially because that douche Morrison had put it there. I couldn’t not do something.
She bristled. “I have friends.”
“And what were they doing while your ex was parading that chick around right in front of your face?”
Another flinch. Maybe I should filter my thoughts around her. I never really had, but surely I could learn.
“Amelia and Jillian are caught in the middle,” she said, looking down at her plate of food. “I’m sure this whole situation isn’t easy for them.”
An odd pang tugged at my gut. Sympathy? Pity? It was unfamiliar, and I didn’t like it. At any rate, these friends of hers sounded shitty.
“It’s nice that you’re thinking about their feelings,” I said. “But who’s thinking about yours?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You were thinking of my feelings tonight when you abducted me in front of everyone?”
“Of all the ways you could have left the arena tonight, do you honestly think that wasn’t the best-case scenario?”
“I guess…” She shifted in the booth, avoiding my eyes. “But you were trying to rattle Luke. Don’t act like you were doing me a favor.”
Rattled didn’t even begin to describe it. I would have paid good money to capture a photo of Morrison’s face when I threw my arm around her shoulders. It was the perfect mixture of rage, disbelief, and jealousy. As much as she was protesting right now, there was no way she didn’t enjoy that as much as I had.
“I’d say it’s a win-win, wouldn’t you agree?” While technically, Bailey wasn’t his business anymore, I was well versed in the inner workings of the male mind, and to Morrison, she absolutely was. That meant there was a 100 percent chance that he was losing his shit right now. The smug as fuck smile I flashed him pretty much guaranteed that.
Morrison wasn’t a direct threat on the ice—he didn’t even engage in fights when he was challenged, let alone start them. But he would send his minions to do his bidding, which meant I would probably need to look out for Bailey’s brother and a few of the forwards for a while.
There was a decent chance of a full-on line brawl with Callingwood in the future because of what I’d done.
Dammit. I had enough fires erupting in my own life, most of them self- ignited. Now I’d thrown kindling onto the perpetually smoldering feud between the Falcons and the Bulldogs.
Coach Miller was going to have my head.
“As much as I may hate him right now,” she said, “I am still firmly Team Bulldog.”
I shrugged. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
Part of me did admire her sense of loyalty, however misguided it was.
When Bailey left the table to use the bathroom, I checked my texts. Ignoring most of them, I wrote Dallas back.
Dallas: Where the fuck are you?
Dallas: You ditched us.
Chase: Something came up.
Dallas: You mean someone.
Chase: Exactly.
The server came by with our bill, leaving the black leather folio on the end of the table. Bailey lifted her hand like she was going to make a grab for it.
I leaned over and yanked it out of her reach before she could. “Don’t even try.”
“You can’t pay for me,” she said, blond brows knitted. “This isn’t a date.”
“I’m well aware. And I’m still not letting you pay.”
“I don’t know whether I should thank you or throttle you.” Bailey sighed, slipping on her jacket. “Does that mean I owe you now?”
I pulled out my Mastercard and handed it to the server. “Well, you did grace me with your sunny personality over a meal, so I guess we’re even.”
“Har-har.” She rolled her eyes.
“Though you do seem marginally more pleasant now that you’ve eaten.
Emphasis, marginally.”
“I guess I was kind of hangry. I spent all my money on—” She stopped and cringed. “Never mind.”
She almost let her guard down. Interesting.
“Do tell.” I pressed forward, lowering my voice. “Hookers and blow?
Me too.”
Bailey laughed. “Nothing nearly that interesting, sadly.” “Well, the night is young.”
The drive back to Bailey’s place was filled with conversation. She was easy to talk to, as long as we avoided any mention of hockey, the Bulldogs, or the Falcons. Signaling, I took a left, pulling into the parking area for her brownstone complex. I eased into the visitor spot and put my truck into park, leaving the ignition running. At least she was sober enough to get upstairs without falling down them this time.
“Here.” I held out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?” Bailey pulled away and hugged her phone against her body, eyeing me suspiciously.
“So I can look at porn, James. What do you think? So I can put my number in it.”
“Who said I wanted your number?”
“Who else are you going to text next time shit gets weird?”
She unbuckled her seat belt, still clutching the phone. “Why would you want me to text you?”
“Maybe I need a friend too.” “You need a friend?”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “Like I said, half the team would throw me into a skate sharpener if they had the chance. Maybe three-quarters. Coach Miller might even get in on that action.”
Bailey chewed her bottom lip as she scanned my face. I raised my eyebrows, waiting.
“Fine.” She unlocked her phone before passing it to me. “But I’m not giving you mine.”
I quickly entered myself as a contact and handed it back to her. “Text me sometime.”
“As a friend.”
“Right,” I said. “As a friend.”
