Page 46 of Bombshells
“Us?” he repeats, as if he’s forgotten the word.
“You and me, together,” I add, just to clear up any ambiguities.
“You want to have that conversation right now? In this busy place?” He glances around, incredulous. We’re standing near the open doors, where the party rages inside. The band is playing, and people are dancing already.
“It doesn’t have to be here,” I say with a shrug. “We could go back to my place right now. It’s very quiet there.”
He stares. “Right now.”
“Right this very second,” I say, dropping my voice into a sultry register. I’m daring him. It’s childish. But he’s the one who sent me all the mixed signals. He has it coming.
Bryce looks conflicted. His cool eyes do a slow trip down my body.
Yes!
Then he sighs. “I do not think it is a good idea.”
My heart crashes. Why? I nearly shout. Why does Bryce need to overthink it?
But goalies don’t panic. “Look, you’re very confusing to me. We did have a conversation once about us. As a couple. I didn’t dream that, right?”
He looks down, and shakes his head. “No. That was a mistake, Sylvie. I should not have said those things to you. And we should not have another big conversation now.”
A mistake. Wow. Okay. “Thanks for clearing that up.” I set my nearly empty cocktail down on a ledge. “Sorry to be your mistake.”
“You are not.” He makes a noise of frustration. “All the mistakes are mine.”
So here we are again. I know better than to be surprised, I guess. What I am is frustrated. Inside, the band is playing a fast song now—a swing tune. I can either stand here and argue with Bryce, or redirect all of my frustrations. “Dance with me, then,” I say, holding out my hands. “That’s all I ask.”
“Have you ever seen me dance?” he asks, an embarrassed smile forming on his rugged face.
“No, Bryce. But that doesn’t mean you can’t.”
He takes my outstretched hand, and my heart lifts as he brings it to his lips and kisses it.
But then he drops my hand. “Je suis désolé, Sylvie. I am sorry to disappoint you.” Then he turns away, and disappears into the crowd.
Fifteen
The Twist
ANTON
At some point in their conversation, Sylvie and Campeau switch to French, so I can’t understand what they’re saying. But I don’t need to know French to understand what’s just happened. Sylvie entreated him to go home with her. And then she asked him to dance.
And that damn fool said no. Twice.
The look on her face makes me want to punch him. I’m not kidding. I have never hurt a friend, or even wanted to. But there’s a first time for everything, apparently, because the pain in her eyes is not okay.
Fiona makes a beeline for Sylvie. Their heads bend in conversation, with Fiona’s eyes darting toward Campeau and then back to Sylvie.
“Excuse me, ladies.” I approach them both. “I have a couple items of business with you two.”
“Really?” Fiona asks. “But Baby Bayer, this is a social occasion.”
I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. “First, I owe you twenty bucks. Three goals in three games, minus the goal I got this week.”
“Aw, shucks,” she says, taking the bill I offer her. She folds it in thirds and then tucks it into her bra. Fiona is a hoot. “Thank you for the timely payment. And congratulations on your goal.”
