Page 18 of Ice Cold Heart

“What do you think?”

He shot me a knowing glance. “I think you could give Eva a run for her money in getting people to do what you want.”

I huffed out a laugh, letting go of the weird tension, and sat next to him. “Nah, Eva could run circles around me. People tell me no all the time, but being nice gets you a lot farther than being a fuckboy.”

Reece laughed. “Speak for yourself. I do just fine with my fuckboy habits. What did Coach’s daughter say?”

“I walked her to her car, and we came to an agreement.” I purposely didn’t mention the walk to the newspaper office, my raging jealousy at seeing her sharing inside jokes with her work buddy, or the details of our deal.

“Knew it,” he gloated. “Seriously though, I’m glad you’re getting the help you need.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “If I bring Avery over here, are you going to hit on her again?”

“Absolutely. Flirting is my primary form of communication.”

“In that case, I’ll make sure you’re gone before I invite her. For your own protection, of course. Wouldn’t want Coach misinterpreting your attempt to communicate.”

“Might be worth it,” he said under his breath.

I silently agreed. Avery did something to my mind when I was in her vicinity. Flipped around my survival instincts until I forgot everything else but her, which was the only explanation for why I’d agreed to her deal. Not just agreed—I’d immediately upped the stakes. I could still feel the curve of her hip under my hand, the warmth of her breath on my cheek, the press of her soft body as she surrendered.

Before I could get too far into a fantasy with my roommate sitting next to me, I leaned forward to snag the other controller. “Let’s see if you’ve learned how to score.”

“Boy, the things I could teach you about scoring…”

I ignored his comment and immediately took a shot on goal, notching my first point. “We’ll see,” I murmured again, my mind on a pair of dark red lips.

8

Cole’s mouth was going to get me killed. I couldn’t describe a single second of my drive home, but I could explain in detail my newfound appreciation for men in sweatpants.

A thought my dad immediately ruined by standing in the kitchen wearing a similar pair. With Cole on my mind, I’d forgotten the way I’d left his office after denying his request. The tension immediately returned, especially now that I’d crossed a line with his chosen hockey player.

His shoulders stiffened when I closed the front door, but he set his wooden spoon aside and faced me with his arms crossed. “Avery.”

“Dad,” I replied in the same vaguely disappointed tone.

I tried to slip past him toward the stairs up to my room, but he cleared his throat, a sign I’d come to recognize as him wanting to say something but not being sure how to say it. With a sigh, I sent off a series of texts to Cole, dropped my messenger bag on the bottom stair, and returned to the kitchen.

The scent of tomatoes and oregano made my stomach growl, but I went for a banana on the counter instead of asking what he was making. Petty? Probably, but I’d spent the last twelve years believing some pretty sketchy shit about him.

I considered my presence effort enough at this point.

We stared each other down from opposite sides of the island, a sea of marble between us and his sauce bubbling away behind him in the silence. This was why I hated coming home. I’d moved in less than two weeks ago, and we still hadn’t had a full conversation. Hours at the library fighting off frat bros and puck bunnies was infinitely preferable to our regular standoff. So was the idea of spending my time with Cole.

“I’m going to tutor your hockey player. As a favor to him because he was nice to me. This has nothing to do with you and your generosity.”

He tilted his head in assent. “I didn’t mean it that way in my office.”

Easy for him to say now that I’d given in. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’m going to pass on the intensive.”

With a huff, he turned off the burner under his pot. “No, you’re not. I said I’d pay for it, and I will.”

“It’s not about that. I don’t really want to go back to Dallas.” I’d applied before all the shit hit the fan, back when I’d known where my life was headed. After Scott, and the anonymous article I’d written, I didn’t want to risk anyone connecting the dots.

“When are you going to tell me what happened back there?”

“Hopefully, never.”

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