Page 32 of Puck of the Irish

Shep takes his hat off and runs a hand through his hair before tugging it back on again, looking thoughtful.

“Maybe she just actually really likes you and is scared to let herself hope that maybe you mean this whole dating thing.”

“But I do mean it!...I think?” I add, frowning. I mean, I do. I really do want to try for more with Nat, I think, but there’s also a part of me that’s terrified of it. “I’ve stopped fucking aroundwith other chicks already since we started whatever the hell this is. That has to count for something, right?” Shep chuckles.

“For you? It absolutely should. I don’t think you’ve ever gone more than a few days without some new chick riding your co?—”

“Ok, ok, I get it, asshole,” I cut in, throwing my bottle cap at him. He snatches out of the air with those annoying goalie reflexes—great on the ice, but when I want to ding him in the head with a bottle cap, they turn out to be a pain in the ass. He laughs at my annoyed expression and runs the fingers of his right hand over the tattooed knuckles of his left.I really think I need a tattoo…I shake myself. Now is not the time for distractions.

“But even more than that, I went over and took care of her when she was sick a few days after the Kodiak game.” His brows rise at that. “When in the fucking history of me have I ever taken care of someone like that. Someone other than you. You don’t count. I mean someone of the female persuasion.”

“Never,” he agrees.

“See! So, it should be obvious that I’m serious, right? That I’m really willing to give this a real shot?” I sigh heavily. “Or maybe it’s not. Maybe I have to be an adult and come out and say it? But now I can’t. I have to just leave it be then, right? She said she was done, so that’s it.”

Shep eyes me thoughtfully.

“I think you give her time to figure out what’s going on and then see what happens. Maybe she’ll surprise you. She might have a whole host of her own reasons why she flipped out, you don’t know. She might have a psycho ex or something like Mac.” I can see the fury in his eyes at the thought of Hattie’s ex-boyfriend who is a real fucking piece of work. I thought I’d known enough before, but now I know so much more and would gladly put the bastard six feet under with a smile on my fucking face.

Does Nat have something in her past that’s making her unsure about this whole thing? Maybe it has nothing to do with me at all. And now I feel like a conceited ass for assuming it was all about me. To be fair, it usually is, but every now and then, I do take a backseat.

Changing subjects, I ask Shep if he’s ready for the Christmas party next week and in no uncertain terms, ask if he’s ever going to get around to telling Mac how he feels. He ignores the question and I tell him he’s an idiot, not for the first time.

“You remember we’re all meeting up for drinks tomorrow, right? So you’re going to have to play nice with Nat.”

I roll my eyes. “As if I would be anything but perfectly cordial.”

“Don’t be cordial. Be yourself. Whatever y’all have going on, you better figure it out. The group isn’t breaking up, alright?”

I snort. “Did you just say ‘y’all’?”

He grins at me. “It rubs off on you, what can I say?”

Drinks are…fine. Nat and I both do an alarmingly great job of acting completely normal. We hug hello. We laugh. We play darts. We pick songs on the jukebox. No one would ever know that we’re in the middle of a confusing ass post-hook-up situation.

“Look, Rizz, about the other night?—”

I hold up my hand. “Water under the bridge. It’s fine, Nat. Really. I get it. I won’t push for more again, I promise.” I give her a winning smile and make a cross over my heart to seal the vow. She doesn’t look relieved like I think she will, and that gives me stupid hope that maybe she’s not set on this whole being done thing either. Do I know if I want to be in an actual,adult relationship? Not completely. But do I know that I can’t stop thinking about Nat and would give my left nut to touch her again? Abso-fucking-lutely. I have no idea where that leaves us, but really, it doesn’t matter because I wasn’t lying: I’m not trying again. She made the choice to be done. She’ll have to be the one to choose otherwise.

But damn if I don’t want her to choose otherwise.

She clears her expression and posts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I get the feeling suddenly that she’s very used to putting on a façade for people, to pretending to be fine when she’s really not. But why? I feel like there’s so much I still don’t know about Natalie Morgan and wonder if she’ll ever really let me in, whether as a friend or otherwise.

“Another round?” she asks brightly, gesturing to my empty bottle. I nod and she grabs the rest of the empties from the table, waltzing to the bar, nudging Jules in the shoulder on the way where he and Bobby are playing pool. I let out a long exhale, wondering how long it’ll take before this whole thing gets easier.

My guess: fucking never.

The Christmas party is a special kind of torture. It’s a good ass time, as always, but seeing Nat looking that fucking good and having to act like I don’t notice or care is almost impossible. She’s in a tight, deep crimson number and sky-high heels that I would love to have digging into my back right about now. I clear my throat and tear my gaze away from where she’s dancing with Nowski and ask Mac to dance with me. She eyes Nat, but shrugs and accepts.

I twirl her around the floor and she laughs breezily. I dart a surreptitious glance at Nat to see if she’s watching, to see if she’sjealous like the teenage idiot I am deep down. She’s watching, just like I hope, but quickly pulls her gaze away when our eyes meet. Mac doesn’t miss the exchange and rolls her eyes, but remains silent. She has no room to talk.

I dance with Kasey, one of our trainers, and a couple of other girls, but all the while my gaze searches out Nat. It’s very fucking inconvenient. We end up next to each other and partnerless somehow when the next song starts, and so I hold out my hand in invitation. We’re friends after all. It’s pretty much expected that we’d dance. She slides her hand into mine and I force the small shiver of pleasure away. We start to spin slowly, and I make sure to keep far more distance between us than the last time we danced. Memories of her in those cut offs and that tiny shirt seep in but I stop them in their tracks.

“Having fun?” I ask because if I don’t say something, my lips will try to occupy themselves in other ways, no matter what I promised myself.

“Yeah, it’s a nice party.”

“They go all out every year. It’s a great organization.”

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