Page 13 of Hate to Love You

I throw a desperate glance over my shoulder, hoping I can slip away before he makes his way over. Unsurprisingly, Zara and Luke are still fused at the lips. Sheesh. Are they going to come up for air anytime soon? I hunt around for Megan, but she’s been swallowed up by the crowd.

Looks like I’m on my own. Which is precisely why I didn’t want to come here in the first place. Damn Zara and her trembly lip. She owes me big time for this. Searching for options, I spin back around. But it’s too late. He’s here, standing before me in all his massive glory. My eyes linger on biceps that are showcased rather nicely by the snug graphic T-shirt he’s wearing. I really hate myself for being able to appreciate anything about this man.

“Davies!” he exclaims as if thrilled to see me. “You made it!”

“Yep,” I drawl, hoping that one word is enough to convey my unhappy state.

He glances at Luke and Zara and shakes his head. “Those two are like a couple of cats in heat. Someone needs to turn a hose on them.”

I chuckle. Brody’s right. They are. Realizing I’ve just agreed with him—which has to be a first—I slap a hand over my mouth, trying to rein the noise back in.

His eyes widen with exaggerated shock. “Holy shit, did you just agree with me? Has hell officially frozen over? Should we break out the ice skates?”

I shake my head, trying to backtrack. “No. That’s not what I—”

“Oh, yes you did,” he cuts in smugly. His eyes dance with glee.

God, he is so loving this.

“I heard it with my own two ears.” He folds his thickly corded arms over his well-defined chest. The cottony material stretches so tautly that I’m surprised it doesn’t shred right off his body like the Hulk. Most of the girls at this party would swoon if that happened.

Okay, that does it. I need to get away from him. I’m obviously losing my mind because all I can think about is the hard, sinewy muscle he’s packing beneath that shirt. And what those thick slabs of power would feel like against my fingertips.

Is it hot in here?

Right…I need a drink.

Latching on to an exit strategy, I gesture toward the kitchen where the keg will be set up. “Well, it was great running into you, McKinnon, but I’m in need of liquid refreshment.” I take a hasty step away, wanting only to flee his presence.

I don’t like the way Brody makes me feel. There’s this unwanted push and pull of attraction that constantly flares between us. Half the time, I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s just easier to avoid him and hope it goes away. Although, it’s been three years and it’s still there, humming insistently beneath the surface. Bubbling up when I least expect or want it to.

“Of course. Where are my manners? Let’s get you something to drink.” He holds out his hand. “Come on.”

I stare at his wide palm as if it’s a hissing snake and shake my head emphatically. “No, that’s okay. Your entourage has been waiting ever-so-patiently for your return.” I point to the bevy of girls he stepped away from who are openly staring with longing in their eyes. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, now would you?”

“Davies.” He chuckles. “You’re hilarious.”

With one swift movement, he swallows up the little bit of distance I’ve managed to put between us and grabs my fingers before I can pull them away. Awareness zips through my body when we make contact. He glances sharply at me. Questions hover in his eyes as our gazes lock. When I stare silently, his fingers tighten possessively around mine.

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, a path magically forms in front of him.

Even if Brody weren’t Whitmore’s star hockey player destined for NHL greatness, people would still scurry out of his way. He’s tall. At least six foot three and two hundred and twenty pounds. His chest and shoulders are broad. I can only imagine what it must feel like on the ice when he drops his shoulder and slams into a forward driving for his net.

It takes only a minute before we find ourselves in the kitchen. Had I gone it alone, it probably would have taken me three times as long to push and shove my way in here. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say thank you, but I bite the words back at the last second.

Even though it’s the polite thing to do, I just can’t force them out.

Rather than look at Brody, I focus on the bar that has been set up at the far side of the kitchen. Every possible kind of liquor has been set out on the counter. There’s a dizzying array of options if you want to get your drink on. If you’re looking for something a little tamer than shots or mixed drinks, there’s a silver barrel near the sink.

“Pick your poison, Davies.” He smirks, his eyes gleaming. “How about we start off with some body shots? I’ll go first.”

“Not in this lifetime,” I retort.

Body shots…as if.

He laughs. “You’re such a killjoy. I think you need to loosen up.”

“I’m loose enough, thank you very much,” I say primly. This isn’t the environment to let your guard down. Anything under the sun could happen, and I prefer to have my wits about me.

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