Page 19 of The Tape Job
“Have you spoken to him yet?”
“No.”
Johnny sighs, and then he pokes at the ice with his stick. “Look, that morning at the gym, neither Ryan nor I said anything about you. In fact, I don’t even think you came up in conversation.” Johnny grabs a water bottle from the ledge and squirts it towards his mouth. “I know nothing, Vic.”
“Fine,” I snap. I don’t buy it.
“Just grow a pair and speak to him.” He slams the bottle down and draws his attention back to where Liam and Ryan are. “That shit you pulled the other night can’t happen again. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Or am I embarrassing you?” I flash him a scowl.
“Vic—”
“I’ll talk to him when I’m ready.”
He sighs before throwing his attention back to Matt Rodgers who signed with us after his contract lapsed, and apparently, the club made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’s skating with a few of the other guys from the third line, but it all looks peculiar. Forced, even.
“What’s the deal with him?” I whisper to Johnny.
He takes his helmet off and leans over the boards for a towel. “Don’t you remember that shit last season? It’s mainly some crap between him and Bettsy, but the tension in the dressing room is crazy. I didn’t even know he was starting officially until I saw his goddamn name plate.”
“Oh, yeah,” I didn’t really know a lot about it, only what I overheard, and Johnny has always been terrible at relaying information.
I remember when he first told me that Ryan was coming over to play. I almost choked on my coffee. Why the hell would Ryan give up his career? Because everyone knows a year out of the NHL makes it almost impossible to get back. It was the craziest thing I’d ever heard. When I pressed him for info, he merely shrugged and said he knew no more about it, other than he was coming since Liam couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t let on that it was all my fault, but it disappointed me that Johnny didn’t bother to ask how Liam had convinced Ryan. It was the most infuriating thing ever, and I couldn’t call up Liam and ask him myself.
Johnny tosses the towel on to the bench after scouring his head one last time. He plops his helmet back on and skates back towards Bettsy.
I cycle through the photos I’ve got so far before opting for one of the earlier shots I got of Liam. That’s enough. I’m wondering how much longer I can stand here, anyway. I’m tracking him still, making sure he’s busy. Anytime he looks in my direction, I occupy myself with my notepad, or my phone, or my camera, trying my best to avoid eye contact because he can read me like a book.
I make the mistake of taking my attention away for a second, and I can smell his sweat and the remnants of his cologne before I’ve set eyes on him. My body responds instantly, every part of me tensing and aching with need. Dammit, even my anatomy is out to get me.
“Thanks, by the way,” he says, referring to the tape job on his stick.
“You’re crap at it, so why not?” I jibe, still looking down at my camera.
“Yeah, but I appreciate it. It’s not the same when I do it myself.”
“Nothing’s the same when you do it yourself.” I regret saying it immediately.
“You’re right. I’ve never been able to get the same result with my own hands.” Even though I’m not directly looking at him, I can see him in the corner of my eye as he wiggles his eyebrows, and I can’t help but smirk. But then I snap myself back.
“Photos are done, thanks. You’re free to go,” I say.
“Will you please just talk with me?” he asks.
I shake my head and look down at my camera.
“Hey?” I hear the clatter of a stick hitting the ice, and then I feel his index finger under my chin, pulling my head upward. “Look at me?”
I risk a glance directly at his eyes, and my breath catches in my throat. Bad idea, Vicky. Bad idea. Don’t look directly at him.
I’ve got to give it to him. There’s a way he looks at me which I’ve never seen from anyone else. It’s as if I’m the only girl in the world. My entire body prickles with electricity.
“Don’t,” I rasp, batting his hand away. “I need to go.” I walk away, desperate to get some space, afraid I’ll try to kiss him or something because my brain is cloudy with desire.
But he’s fast. I can hear him hopping over the boards, and he’s blocking my way before I can get off the rubber matting, my heels pressing into the smooth surface.
“Are we going to try being friends?” he asks.
