Page 19 of Scoring Grey

“Yes, it was. Don’t lie.” He leans in, and I don’t move. I know he won’t try anything I’m not ready for, but he also likes to push the boundaries. Cal has always looked at boundaries like a dare. He gets that they are there, and he’ll respect them, but that doesn’t mean he won’t give you ten reasons to question why you set them to begin with. “Now you have to come…” He’s close enough. I can smell his minty breath as it dusts over my face, and still, I don’t move. Two can play his game. “I can think of a few places I’d like to hide you.”

“I’m guessing the closet and bathroom aren’t either of them?”

“Smart girl,” he says as his eyes drop to my mouth.

I let his eyes linger just long enough to suggest I’m considering allowing him to do precisely what he’s asking, and then my hand finds his chest, and I push him back. “Too bad I have a perfectly comfortable bed here that’s already paid for and I don’t have to hop on a plane to sleep in. Plus, I have a painting I need to work on if it’s going to be ready in time for the charity auction.”

He bites his lip and smirks at my antics. “Fine, but if you’re going to stay here, I want you to sleep in my bed.”

“What? Do you have cameras in there to film your escapades or something?”

“No.” He rubs his jaw. “But that’s not a bad idea.”

“Shocker,” I mock. “But the answer is still no.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” I pull the blankets around me. “I don’t want to sleep in a bed you’ve had other women in.”

“You’d be the first woman to sleep in it. You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought there. I don’t bring just anyone to my home. It’s where I relax, shut out the world, and turn off the noise. I can’t do that with memories I don’t care to have lurking the halls. But you—your memories are ones I want to haunt me for the rest of my days. They’re dark and light, bitter and sweet. They’re echoes of a past I long to live again.”

The one thing I don’t remember about Cal is his words. He was always goofy, never failing to put a smile on my face, but all the sweet nothings and telling me exactly what he’s thinking is new, and I know he’s aware they’re making me stumble. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” he parrots.

“You heard me. I’ll do it, but you don’t get to sleep in that chair tonight and I’m tired.”

He sticks his hand out. “Deal.” We shake on it, and he stands up, only to reach across, steal a pillow, and toss it on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“You said I couldn’t sleep in the chair. You said nothing about sleeping on the floor.”

I roll my eyes and stifle my smile. Reaching for my bedside lamp, I switch off the light. “Suit yourself.”

Fear and happiness grip my chest as I press my head against my pillow. When he does stuff like this, his words feel true. They aren’t empty. Instead, they feel like true reflections of his heart. However, it’s the possibility of losing it all once again that scares the hell out of me.

6

CALLUM

“Balfour, where were those moves last night?”

“Fuck off, Austin. If you’d trim that lettuce attached to your face, you’d get your stick on the puck,” Roe snaps back in my defense.

“You don’t have to take my licks, Roe. As I remember it, we brought home a win last night. He’s just butt hurt. I’m not at the top of my game, but I still play better than him.”

I take a drink of water. We won last night, and while I can’t say I’m back to where I once was, I’m better than I have been. Last night, I felt more like myself, and it showed. It’s likely because there was a chance Eloise could have been watching from the box. Regardless, we brought home a win. Austin isn’t anyone’s cup of tea; he’s rough around the edges and, in my book, an overall prick. I’ve tried to figure him out, but he’s made it clear I’m the last person he wants to talk to. While we all want wins, the guy making the plays does matter. Records and ranks all play into endorsement deals and trades, and you had better believe he wants them. For those reasons, as captain, I have a target on my back. Austin is ready to step in and take my spot. He doesn’t seem to comprehend that he can have it if he wants. He just has to play better. I’m not holding him back; the only person doing that is himself, but I digress.

“Balfour’s right. A win is a win, and you guys brought one home last night. However, we still need to win eight if we want a seat at the table this playoff season, and to help us get there, Greenlight PR is coming to assist the team with their image and likability in the community,” Coach Beck says, straddling the ice and the bench.

As the guys murmur Greenlight, I ask what everyone is undoubtedly thinking. “How the hell is a PR company going to help us right now? If anything, this is a distraction when we should be focused on the game.”

Before he can answer, whistling and shoulder slapping steal my attention, and I turn to see what the commotion is all about, only to find a tall brunette skating onto the ice from the other side. She glides effortlessly across the rink, her silhouette familiar as she takes long strides, gaining momentum before leaping into a waltz jump. The second I see that jump, I get a sour taste in my mouth. It’s obvious what’s going on here. Whoever this PR woman is, she’s clearly trying to show off her skating skills and liken a sense of commonality to get in our good graces, and I don’t like it. Don’t be someone you’re not just to try to score brownie points. If you’re good at what you do, do that. She was hired for PR, not her ability to skate. I watch as she does a couple more spins, captivating the guys, and my annoyance builds. This performance is cutting into the time I spend with Eloise before I leave tonight.

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