Alex

Instead, I follow Alex to the door, suddenly a bit shy now that we’ve pulled away from the coziness of the couch. But he doesn’t let me stay shy for long because when he reaches the door, he spins on me and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close. It’s endearing, the way he’s choosing a comfortably intimate embrace rather than a lust-filled kiss to say good night.

“Will you watch me play while I’m gone?” he asks with some trepidation.

Pulling back so he can see my face, I tell him, “Absolutely. I’ll be screaming for you here in my living room.”

“I’ll call you after I get back to the hotel after our game tomorrow night,” he tells me, then leans in softly to place a feather of a kiss to my lips. I’m beyond warmed by the fact that Alex is being such a gentleman, and completely mortified that I don’t want him to be.

Which makes me curious.

“Where did that prick go that I met that first day in my office?”

Alex’s eyes cloud just a little, even though he gives me a smile. “He’s probably still there, Sutton. I’ve been a prick far longer than I’ve been charming. You’re seeing a new side to me, but you know the old is bound to come out.”

I c**k my head to the side and say, “We all have days when our monsters come out, Alex. You’re not going to scare me off if I see yours.”

“I’ll be careful not to show you my true monster,” he quips as he steps out of the embrace.

Turning to reach for the doorknob, I lay my hand on his arm gently. He stops and glances back at me.

“I’m serious, Alex. You won’t scare me…I’ve seen a lot of stuff.”

“I’m not worried about scaring you. I’m worried about hurting you,” he says with a haunted look on his face. “But not enough to warn you away. The bastard part of me is okay with you taking that risk.”

“Always painfully honest,” I murmur as he opens the door and steps across my threshold.

“Always,” he says as he turns toward me to shut the door. But he gives me a smile and a wink, and it lightens the mood. “Lock the door behind me.”

“Okay. Safe flight tomorrow.”

Then he’s gone.

I lock the door dutifully and shuffle my way back to my bedroom, checking my email briefly on my iPhone. I’m startled when my phone buzzes with a text from Alex.

Sitting in your driveway, wishing I hadn’t left.

My fingers type furiously back to him.

Me too. I’m so bad.

I don’t wait long for his response.

The wait will make it better. Promise. And I like you being bad.

Sitting down on my bed, I lean back against it, clutching my phone to my chest. I want to text him—no, call him—and tell him to come back inside. I’m not sure I ever wanted something this badly before…except there was a time in my life when I wanted so badly for my dad to quit using drugs. But then I realized that was beyond my control and was nothing more than hopeful wishing.

Running my thumbs over the phone, I text him back.

It will make it better. Agreed. And you can see my bad side some other time.

Alex’s text back is short.

Looking forward to it. A lot.

Smiling, I set my phone down on the bed beside me, and close my eyes…savoring this evening.

Then they pop back open with insight and determination.

Picking my phone back up, I dial Brandon and wait for him to answer. I’m going to tell him that he and I will never move past the friendship we have been trying to build again. I can’t let him go on believing that the possibility of something more exists. I can’t lead him on in any way. Because—after tonight with Alex—there is no way I could ever have something with Brandon. That is brutally clear to me right now.

Chapter 13

Alex

Sitting on the bench in the visitors’ locker room, I contemplate sending a text to Sutton before I get dressed for tonight’s game. We’ve had a successful road trip so far, winning three of the last four, and tonight’s a very important game. If we win, we’ll take over the leaderboard for first place in our division. It’s a standing that didn’t mean much to me just shy of a month ago.

But now?

Now I want this win very badly.

And I think I want this win because of Sutton. When I talked to her last night, she wanted me to explain how the league was broken down and how teams earned points for the rankings. She got so excited when I told her that we could take over number one in our division, f**k if I don’t want to get that win for her.

I want to give it to myself too, because in a miraculous change, I’m starting to like the game again.

Do I love it? No.

And every time I get another voice mail from my dad following a game, it causes the loathing and bitterness to rise. The one I got just this morning is a prime example. He’s well aware of the importance of this game to the Cold Fury. So when he called this morning, I promptly ignored it and then was an immediate glutton for punishment by listening to his message.

Alex…tonight’s an important game. You need to rise above your petty differences with me. I know you don’t listen the way you should, but your old man knows a thing or two about hockey. I expect nothing less than perfection from you tonight. Don’t screw it up.

I really, really wish for the day that I can listen to these pearls of wisdom and just laugh about it, but that day is nowhere in the near future. I wanted to hurl my phone across the room and crush his arrogant, demeaning voice right out of the microchip processors inside. Instead, I did what I always do. I pushed delete, stewed on it for a few hours, and then let it go.