Page 23 of Billionaire Devil

“What’s interesting?”

I’ve touched a nerve, obviously. “You went to UCLA?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

“You told me last night.”

“Right.” She’s embarrassed by the memory or lack thereof and twirls a long strand of her hair self-consciously. “Last night I gushed about a whole lot of stuff I shouldnothave gushed about. I’m sorry about that. My oversharing knew no bounds. Tequila and champagne are clearly alethal combination when it comes to obliterating self-control.”

I shrug. “It was a good way to break the ice. I feel like we’re old friends at this point, I know so much about you.”

A light grimace crosses her expression. “A littletoomuch.”

“You must have gone to a few Bruins games,” I fish.

“A few.” She’s still staring out the window.

But I’m not letting her off that easily. “We’ve got a long drive, honey pie. You might as well tell me what’s rolling around in that pretty little head of yours because I’ll keep interrogating you until I getallthe dirty details you’re clearly skating around. No pun intended.”

Lila gives me a dismissive look, like she has no intention of telling me anything. And like she’s starting to second-guess her decision to come with me.

But it’s too much fun getting a rise out of her to relent. I lift my eyebrows, letting her know I’m not bluffing. “We’ve got five whole days together”—at least—“and I’m nothing if not persistent.”

More eye rolling. But then, as though realizing I’m as relentless as I’ve promised, she gives me the short answer. “The guy I spewed about in far too much detail last night…was a hockey player.”

“Ah. The unrequited lover. That explains the mood. What’s Troy’s last name?”

She gently pinches the bridge of her nose. “Let me guess. I told you last night that his name is Troy.”

“Sure did. Tell me his last name.”

“No.” Another huff. “I just said I’mnottelling you. Is there something wrong with your hearing, Terminator?” She imitates me again, muttering in a deep voice, “Affirmative.”

I can’t hold back a low laugh. “Come on. I can google it. How many guys named Troy have played for the Bruins? Actually, it rings a bell.”

“It does?” Cautiously, like she’s horrified by the thought.

“Yeah. Now that I think about it, there was a Troy who played center for the Bruins for a while.”

I can tell shereallydoesn’t want to tell me, but we’re in too deep by this point. And maybe she knows me well enough by now to know I’m far too thorough—okay, and nosy—to let this go. “Troy Beckett.”

I glance over at her. “Troy Beckett. Yeah, I remember that name.”

“Did you know him?” Her face is flushed and I fucking hate that it might be because we’re talking abouthim.

“I didn’t know him personally. But I knew of him.” I almost don’t say it. “He was famous for being the biggest douchebag in Division 2.”

She sighs, folding her arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” She can’t bring herself to look at me—or barely. Her mouth is twisted into a sultry little pout. I feel like kissing the pout right off her and showing her what a real man does. Namely, the opposite of ignore her. That thisangel waseverignored is a fucking crime. “Anyway, it hardly matters,” she murmurs.

“Of course it matters.” I’m no choirboy, but there are so many things wrong with this equation, it’s beyond infuriating. She loved him. She mightstilllove him.And he can’t have her. He’s not fucking good enough for her.

I don’t know what to do with my rage at the thought or why I feel like there’s fucking fire burning through my veins.

So I twist the knife. “But you already know he’s a douchebag, don’t you, Lila? Because he never swept you off your feet like he should have. He never lifted you into his arms and carried you to bed like a fucking caveman because you’re so damn beautiful there should have been no other choice.”

She makes a scoffing sound, sliding me another half-surprised glare, but it’s softer this time. “You mean likeyouwould have? Give me a break.”

I veer the RV into the right lane, signaling only after the fact. Someone honks at me.

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