Page 77 of A Little Complicated

“Fine.” I stand and set my bowl in the sink. “What time?”

“Noon.”

I grip the edge of the granite counter until my knuckles turn white. “Can’t wait.”

* * *

She’s late.I check the time on my phone as I lean against my bike in the parking lot. The rest of the team filed out almost an hour ago.

What’s taking her so long?

Annoyed, I head into the empty arena. Ophelia’s on the ice, sprinting from one end of the rink to the other. Most of her pads sit on the half-wall separating the team bench from the ice, along with her helmet, gloves, and stick. Other than her, the place is empty.

I sit on one of the red spectator seats and wait for her to notice me, but she doesn’t. Or maybe she does, and she’s avoiding me. I wouldn’t be surprised either way.

What am I doing here? And how do I handle this? By pretending? Sweeping shit under the rug? Fucking suffocating?

Yeah, the last sounds about right.

Maybe we’re still playing the game of chicken, waiting for the other person to crack instead of actually talking shit out the way I know we should.

But my shit? It’s not her baggage. She shouldn’t have to carry it. Not now. Not ever. And last night? Last night made everything so much worse. Even now, I’m not sure how it happened.

I was buzzed. She was drunk. I was jealous of all the guys watching her dance in the middle of the family room, and I couldn’t find my brother, so I decided she should go home and sleep off the alcohol. I didn’t expect her to call me Archer, but I didn’t correct her, either. It seemed easier than trying to explain why I wanted to help her at the party when I had no right to.

She isn’t my problem.

Or at least, she wasn’t…until she kissed me. Or fuck, I dunno. Did I kiss her? Yeah. I did. She called me Archer and begged me to kiss her, and because I’m a fucking prick with no restraint, I did it. I kissed her.

Fuck, I kissed her.

She was even sweeter than I remember. More pliant. But just as excited. Just as ready. Honestly, it’s a miracle I pulled away. If she hadn’t called me by my real name, I’m not sure I would’ve snapped out of it in the first place. And that would’ve been a fucking disaster.

But even then, I couldn’t control myself. I went to my room and jacked off, imagining Ophelia riding my dick until I came in my hand like a little bitch.

Slush sprays the opposite goal as she skates to a halt, resting her hands on the top of her head while she catches her breath. Her strawberry blonde hair is twisted up in a messy ponytail, and her face is red from exertion. Even from here, I can tell she’s never looked prettier.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like a creeper or what?” she calls without bothering to look at me.

“I’m not staring,” I yell back at her.

“Just hiding in the stands while I run drills,” she quips, finally gifting me with an amused smirk. It makes me want to fall to my knees and fucking worship her.

Not. My. Girl, I remind myself.

Standing, I reply, “I’m here to take you home because my brother asked me to.”

Her scoff is loud and almost unhinged as she throws her head back and laughs. “You’re joking, right?”

“Come on,” I urge, but my feet take me down the steps instead of up them, leading me closer to the girl of my dreams as if they have a mind of their own. “Stop being an overachiever for once in your life. Let’s go. The rest of the team left an hour ago.”

She skates toward me, stopping at the edge of the ice. “Asshole Maverick’s back, I see.”

Gripping the half-wall separating us, I lean closer and give her a condescending grin. “Good to see you too. Come on. I wanna get out of here.”

I start to push off from the half-wall, but she places her hand on mine. “Wait.”

“Not in the mood, Opie.”

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