Page 48 of A Little Complicated

She scoffs. “Seriously, is there no winning with you?”

“Guess not.”

She licks her lips. “I didn’t come out here to fight.”

“Then why are you here, Opie?”

Fuck, I sound like a dick, but I don’t back down, pinning her with my glare.

With a huff, she asks, “Where’s Reeves?”

“Probably working or on a date. Then again, those are one and the same,” I grunt.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to ask Reeves.”

Her brows bunch, but she doesn’t push me. “Okay, then.”

Annoyed by her curiosity, I ask, “Why do you want to know where Reeves is?”

“Because you’re not usually a loner,” she points out, running her hands along her bare thighs as she brushes something off them. “Are you out here because you’re hiding from me?”

“Give me a little more credit, Opie,” I grumble. “Maybe I simply wanted some peace and quiet tonight.”

“Hmm.” She tears her gaze from mine and turns to the skyline, looking less than convinced. She’s beautiful like this. With the moonlight kissing her freckled cheeks, her wavy hair hanging down her back, and her father’s worn baseball hat flipped backward, showcasing just how fucking perfect she really is.

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” she asks.

I blink slowly and scrub my hand over my face. “Nothing.”

“The guys didn’t mean anything by it. Just so you know.”

It.

As in, my friends talking shit behind my back. They really think I’m this much of a pansy ass and am hiding away all because of a few comments? Hardly. Besides, I’ve been wondering the same thing for months. They’re not the only ones wondering if I’ve peaked. Or maybe Iamdistracted, and I’ll get my shit together before the season starts.

Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly.

“Seriously,” she continues. “We were just talking, and—”

“I’m a big boy, Opie. Don’t worry. My ego’s fine.”

Her lips incline. “Good. So, since we both know you haven’t peaked, was the other theory more accurate? Are you distracted?”

By her? Fuck, yes. But she isn’t the only thing plaguing my mind lately. I clench and unclench my fist, watching the way my veins pop in the moonlight.

“You ever wish you did something other than hockey?” I ask her.

She hesitates, her brows bunching, but only for a second. She answers my question despite the lack of relevance to the conversation.

“Not really,” she replies. “Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure it’s in my blood.” A smile teases her lips but disappears quickly. “Why?”

“I don't know. Sometimes, I wonder if we all would’ve turned out the way we did without our parents’ influence.”

“You mean like hockey and college and how close all of us are?”

“Yeah.”

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