Page 33 of What If I Hate You
CHAPTER TEN
BLAKELY
The rink is cold enough to numb my toes through my wool socks, but the air above the ice is thick with sweat and testosterone. I perch in my usual spot, Marlee and Ella flanking me like a set of overqualified bodyguards while we watch this morning’s skate.
Below us, the Stars spiral through drills—a wall of blue and gold punctuated by the snarl of Griffin’s beard and the occasional shriek of, “Come on, Pickle Pants! You call that a shot?” Mostly, it’s all business, no drama.
That is, until Barrett glides into view, mask off, hair matted and jaw set like he’s prepping for a mugshot. I watch the way he moves, clean and lethal, and try not to let it show that I’ve been tracking every line of his body since he hit the ice.
Marlee leans into me, her voice pitched low and confidential. “You two still not speaking? Because he’s been extra murdery all morning and I’m blaming you.”
I sip my coffee, eyes fixed on the ice below. “It’s not me, it’s his natural charm. Maybe someone switched his Gatorade for antifreeze.”
Ella giggles, twisting a lock of hair. “He does look like someone peed in his cereal.”
Marlee nudges my shoulder. “I’m serious, Rivers. I heard he skipped the team meeting this morning. Said he needed to work through some moves with Darius. Even Ledger couldn’t lure him off the ice. And we all know the guys only do extra workouts when they have something on their minds.”
I shrug, but the words burrow under my ribs. “He’ll get over it. Guys like Cunningham don’t stay wounded for long. They just go build a shed out of their feelings and never let anyone inside.”
“Oh, so you have a thing for emotionally unavailable men now?” Ella deadpans. “That’s healthy.”
I roll my eyes. “Like anyone in this business is emotionally available. The only difference is the press writes it up when a guy like Bear has a bad morning.” Across the glass, Cunningham slams his pads together in irritation after a strike from Bodhi gets past him, then punts the puck clear down the ice like he’s auditioning for the NFL.
Marlee whistles. “You sure you two aren’t sleeping together already? Because that’s some big ‘I only give my girlfriend this much hell’ energy.”
“We aren’t,” I say a little too fast. “I mean, obviously not. He can barely stand to be in the same room with me.” I watch as Bear squares up for Griffin’s next shot, eyes locked on the puck like he’s trying to will it into nonexistence. “I think I might actually be the only thing in Anaheim he hates more than carbs.”
Marlee swallows a sip of the chai she’s holding and then cocks her head, “You know, Ella, I think Blakley’s type is not just emotionally unavailable men but the ones who are also a complete disaster at expressing basic human emotion. Honestly, she should just get it over with and jump his bones.”
Ella snickers. “Yes please. Put the rest of us out of our misery.”
“That’s not how sexual tension works,” I say, but I can hear the brittle edge in my own voice. “There has to be at least a forty-eight-hour refractory period after you disrespect a woman in a public bathroom before you can bang her.”
Ella leans over the rail, eyes bright. “Is that a rule? Or just a guideline?”
"It’s best practice," I say, but the answer is halfhearted. Down on the ice, Barrett is running through lateral shuffles with a vengeance that would make Liam Neeson cry. My cheeks flush, and I blink hard, reminding myself that I am the predator up here, not the prey.
“Ugh,” I groan, “why do all the dumbest, angriest men have to be built like Greek gods? If he was ugly, this would be so much easier.”
Ella leans forward again, gasping like Scooby Doo and his friends just tore the mask off the bad guy to reveal someone they knew. “Oh my God, Blakely, are you admitting he’s hot?”
“I’m admitting he looks like the type of guy who can chop lumber with his bare hands and then use the log as a toothpick.” I roll my eyes. “But he’s also the type to carry a grudge into the afterlife.”
Marlee glances at me conspiratorially. “What did he say to you, anyway? At the bar?”
I feel my face heat up, and for a second I want to say nothing, let it pass, but Marlee is one of my very best friends. She’s seen me through many of my darkest moments. I could never lie to her.
I lower my voice. “He called me a token bitch. In the middle of the women’s bathroom. And not even the fun, reclaim-the-word kind, but the old-school punch-in-the-teeth kind. All because I told him I thought he could do better than the blonde he was with.”
“Wait…” Ella’s brows furrow. “He was with a blonde?”
“Mhmm. Some super-hot blonde barbie type. I walked in on them practically making out.” I stare at the lid to my coffee,wishing I could sink myself inside and swim around in the hot liquid. “I think I may have earned the title, but it still stung.”
Marlee shakes her head in disbelief. “He said that to you? Out loud?”
I nod.
Ella makes a face, somewhere between sympathy and a weathered kind of pride. “That’s low, but also, if we’re being honest? It means you have him rattled.” She bumps my arm. “And that means you win.”
