It’s hard to tell whether that’s a demand or a request. Probably the former. It’s Rhett. I don’t know him, but I’ve encountered his type before. “I’ve got to check it through with Mercy,” I say, remembering his request to be back for dinner last night. “But shouldn’t be a problem.”
“He’s got a lot of rules for you. Thought you were turning nineteen?”
I nod. “This weekend. I have obligations. That’s all.”
“If it’s your birthday then I’ve got to take myboyfriendout for his birthday. Save Saturday for me.”
For him. Jesus, he lays it on thick. How did Jack stand him? “That’s the day of the family thing.”
Just saying “the family thing” lights my body with excitement. They’re making a whole big deal over me.
“Sunday?” he wheedles. I don’t think a guy like Rhett is used to negotiating such things.
“Yeah, should be fine. I just have to?—”
“Run it byMerc,” he says with sarcastic emphasis on Merc. Yeah, yeah. He hates him.
His hand tightens around my wrist, and I need another look at something so monstrous dominating something delicate. I stare at his bear-paw hand, circling my pencil wrist. Rhett releases his grip and I take my arm back, rubbing over where his fingers were, enjoying the lingering pain.
“I’m sorry. I’m not used to having to be so gentle.”
“You’re like a bear with a mouse, Elkington, but that’s all right. I like it. See you tomorrow.”
His way-too-gorgeous face twists with confusion. Yeah, I like roughness. “See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” I say.
“I assumed that you come here all week. Tomorrow’s Wednesday. And our first date ifMercsays it’s okay.”
My tummy swoops.Date.That word from his smooth and rumbly voice. Heat creeps across my neck and I need to get out of here before he notices.
“Right, see you tomorrow.”
He races onto the ice, and I head to the dressing room. My phone dings, it’s Jack.
I’m sooooooo sorry about this. *broken heart emoji* But the baby puked all over me when I was on the way out the door. I’ll be a little late.
Awesome. Now I’m stuck waiting. This is why I wanted to take an Uber, but Mercy won’t have it. Too expensive, he says, even though his boyfriend is a millionaire, and it violates the family feel he’s trying to cultivate for me. Yeah, yeah. Nice, if inconvenient.
But, hmmm. Maybe this is an opportunity. Rhett got a candid view of me; I want one of him. I sneak out to the ice but keep hidden.
He’s doing some high-powered drills that look boring and exhausting. Not that what I do isn’t exhausting, but at least it’s fun and expressive. This reminds me of the military or something—ice military. There’s not even any music. What kind of psychopath works out this hard without music?
Rhett finishes up with those and then pulls out a net and a bunch of black things … what are they called again? Right. Pucks. He starts slapping them at the net like a maniac and I flinch and tense with everywhack!Jesus. They’re like mini-flying saucers. No wonder you’ve got to wear all that padding with those things flying around. How many do they use? I’ve never actually watched a hockey game. My entire opinion of hockey is based on what I’ve gathered via social media. It’s all I need to know to declare the sport as utterly barbaric. All I hear about is fighting, fighting, fighting. We’re humans, not buffoons. Haven’t we evolved past these savage displays of testosterone?
Rhett sends puck after puck hurtling toward the net, and without wanting to, I’m mesmerized by the raw power. I can’t take my eyes away from him. Then he starts showing off to absolutely no one—the dick—skating backward, doing hoppity jumps on his skates, and slapping the puck into the net so hard that,shit, I get hard.
This can’t be happening. I will not be turned on by masculine animality.
“He’s amazing out there, huh?” a voice from beside me says. Jack. He’s actually wearing jeans, proper footwear, and his leather jacket. One hundred bucks says he got a talking to from Merc. Wait, where’s the baby? Did he forget the baby?
“Did you lose the baby?” My heart races. It would be a very Jack thing to do to forget him—it. He can’t remember to close a cupboard door to save his life or his ass.
Jack shrugs. “Left him in the car with the windows rolled up. Was I not supposed to do that?” I scowl. He laughs. “You should see your face. Merc’s home and I don’t think Stanley’s feeling so good, so I left him with his daddy.”
They’re so fucking weird. Merc refers to Jack as the baby’s daddy when Jack’s not around. Jack refers to Mercy as the baby’s daddy when Jack’s not around. They can’t both be daddy. Jack does that with his dads and it’s fucking confusing. They really need to talk about that. It’s none of my business, though.
“Hey, Elkington!” Jack calls across the ice, giving us both away. Damn him.