Page 2 of Ice Cold, Red Hot
I wandered around the front of the vehicle, hoping to spot someone with keys who could get the thing moved enough to let me in.
The guys didn’t seem to notice me, moving slowly back and forth with boxes and other items. There were more of them hanging off a second floor balcony—with beers in their hands, of course—yelling down to the guys on the ground.
What the fuck? Was this a party?
“Hey,” I called to a group of big, over-muscled guys standing in a cluster at the curb. “Is this your truck?”
One of them turned, gave me a leisurely up and down look, and smiled at me. He wore a backwards ball cap and jeans, and his dark eyes and thick eyebrows gave him an air of mischief as he said, “Who’s asking?”
The other guys turned to see who he was talking to, and the area around us quieted down as they all gave me assessing looks.
“I am. I’d like to pull up to unload, but this truck is blocking up the whole curb.” I pointed to my car behind the trailer.
“There’s no rush, sweetheart. It’s called moving day. We have literally the whole day to move in,” the guy said, stepping closer.
I bristled. No one called me sweetheart. I was about to open my mouth when Nat jogged up behind the guy.
“Griff, can you assholes get this monstrosity out of here, or at least pull closer to the curb so we can get by? Being hockey gods does not make you actual gods.” She crossed her arms and scowled up at the guy with the hat.
“You think I’m a god, Nat?” He grinned.
“That is definitely not what I said.” They continued to argue about his status as a potential diety, but the back and forth faded to a muted buzz as someone standing to one side of the guy called Griff caught my attention. He wasn’t facing me—I could only see his profile.
But I’d know that profile anywhere.
I only knew him for a week, but there wasn’t a cell inmy body that could fool itself into thinking I’d be forgetting him any time soon.
“Shepherd?” His name was out of my mouth before I’d consciously decided to speak. And my feet were carrying me toward him. Could it really be him? The guy I’d fallen hard for this summer? The one who’d disappeared into the night? What was he doing here?
The guy turned, and for a split second, my heart exploded in my chest. It was him!
His eyes caught mine and I saw the recognition hit him, watched as his mouth curled up on one side into an almost-smile. And then I saw his expression shift, shutting down and turning to ice. “Sorry, do I know you?”
“Excuse me?” I said, confused. “From this summer? Miranda Lake Resort? Celeste.” I smiled again, thinking this little reminder would bring back the warmth I’d known from him, turn him suddenly back into the guy I’d never intended to fall for, but might be willing to shift my no-distractions rule for if I ever saw again.
He gave me a wry smile and then glanced around, seeming to notice all his friends watching. “Sorry, no. Not ringing a bell. I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
I had a flash of memory—his hand on the side of my face as the sun set over the glittering dark surface of the lake, a whisper of his lips brushing mine as he pushed inside me, sparks flitting through my body. There was no forgetting that. Not for me. And not for him.
“Seriously?” I gaped at him, humiliation threatening to rise up into my chest, my neck, my face. Hurt was chasing close behind it. Was he really going to pretend nothinghappened, that we didn’t know each other? I swallowed it down, cold fury replacing the pain.
He’d ghosted me at the end of the week. Why would I think he would acknowledge me now? And now that I thought of it, I’d told him I was coming to Coldwater that last night. And he’d said… nothing.
“Sorry,” he said, but the word was so far from sincere I wanted to catch it in midair, ball it up, and stuff back into his smug mouth. So what if he was handsome? So what if he’d done things to my body I hadn’t even known were possible?
He’d known we’d see each other this fall the second I’d told him my plans. He hadn’t even bothered to tell me he was in school here. What the fuck? Clearly, he was an asshole, and if he wanted to play this game, I could play too.
“Is that your ridiculous truck?” I pointed at the vehicle in my way.
“It is,” he said, grinning like he thought my next line would be a compliment about his car.
“Compensating for something, I guess,” I said, eliciting a series of cheers and laughs from his friends. Unfortunately, I already knew it wasn’t true.
Shepherd raised an eyebrow at me. It was infuriating. He knew I knew it wasn’t true. My hands balled into fists and I felt like I was about to explode.
“Can you get it the fuck out of the way so other people can move their shit in?”
“Wait, you’re living here?” His bravado fell for a fraction of a second before he remembered he didn’t know me.
