Page 53 of The Pucker and the Princess
But that sounded like a genuine apology. He’s sorryfor hurting me. Not sorryifhe hurt me. He knows he did, and he’s sorry.
Even so …
“You told Nick and Tina,” I hiss. “God, that was embarrassing to realize. And like that. What’d you tell them? How much you regret kissing me?”
“Yes!” he explodes, throwing his hands up. “Because now look what’s happened! I fucked everything up! Again! Just like I always do. Hockey’s the only thing I can do right, and even that’s been fucked lately. I’ve been sleeping like shit, playing like shit, everything’s been shit since. You won’t eventalkto me anymore. We used to hang out all the time, talk all the time. I looked forward to it. I liked browsing car websites with you while you were looking for parts. I liked hearing about your current project and the ones you’ve worked on and sold. You’re so proud of those cars, and you fuckingshouldbe! It’s amazing! And I know you’ve been fucked over hard by other guys, and the absolute fuckinglastthing I ever wanted to do was add myself to that list.”
My lips part in surprise at that explosion. Never in my whole entire life has a man acted like a fight we were having wasn’tentirely my fault. Did he just … did he just admit responsibility? Thathe’sthe one who messed up?
I snap my mouth closed, not sure how much that really makes it better. “You apologized for kissing me, though. After we kissed, you acted like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
It’s his turn for his mouth to drop open in shock. “Iacted like I wanted to get away? You stood up and practically ran away! You moved faster than guys gunning for the puck! And you weren’t even on skates!”
“You completely shut down! You closed up like a clam.” I mime a clam closing up with my hands, and he jerks his head back.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did!” I counter, scooting closer and pointing at him. “We broke apart, and you immediately went to straightening things up like you didn’t know what to do.”
He throws his hands out. “I didn’t! Ididn’tknow what to do. You’re one of my best friends, and I’d just kissed you, and”—he turns his head, seeming to realize that we’re practically shouting in a bar full of people. He turns back to me, a pleading look in his eyes, and asks in a low voice, “Please, can we go and talk about this without an audience?”
Sighing, I let my shoulders drop, looking around too and noticing more than one person has their phone trained on us. Who knows if they’re taking photos or videos or both. And it dawns on me that this will likely end up in the tabloids. Maybe on sports talk shows. Oh god …
I nod. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Dozer
My mouth pressedin a grim line, I usher Marissa to the bar, where the bartender waves me off. “Your friends covered it,” he calls over the crowd close to him.
I hold my hand up in a wave, grateful Marissa lets me wrap an arm around her to help block her from the view of the people with their phones out recording this. I’ll need to reach out to Molly, the team publicist, as soon as we get out of here so she can get on damage control right away.
Fucking hell. I’ve managed to keep my name out of the tabloids and gossip sites so far this season, and it’s been so nice not to have to worry about it. Here we are with yet another public blowup.
This time, though, I’m far more concerned with how this’ll affect Marissa than how it’ll affect me. Before, I never managed to call Molly in time to keep the story from leaking everywhere. My former girlfriends always made sure of that. They orchestrated the public fights and blowups to get themselves seen.
Marissa’s not like that, though. She doesn’t want that kind of attention. And that’s always been one of my favorite things about her.
I’ve always wanted someone who wants me for me, not for my notoriety or to leverage my career to launch their own as some kind of influencer or something. And I’ve finally found that. And here I am, fucking it up six ways to Sunday.
As we rush out of the bar, my mind’s racing. Once we’re outside, I release her. Not because I don’t want to hold onto her, but because I don’t feel like I have the right. I’d fuckingloveto keep my arm around her, but not if she doesn’t want me to.
But fuck it all, I apparently have no idea what this woman wants. I have no idea how to read her. I figured she was pissed at me for kissing her at all. It turns out she’s mad at me for acting like I rejected her.
Does that mean she welcomed my kiss?
But what about all those times she said she didn’t want a relationship right now?
What about you?The excoriating voice in my head chimes in.You said the same thing at least as many times. Remember?
So maybe she thought I regretted kissing her because she thoughtIdidn’t want a relationship?
I’ve never been so grateful to get to my car in my entire life. I open the passenger door and wait for Marissa to climb in. She hesitates for just a second, standing in front of the open door and meeting my eyes. I’m not sure what she sees in my face, but it apparently convinces her to get inside.
Jogging around to the other side, I climb in as quick as I can, then just take a breath before pulling out my phone and alerting Molly to the likelihood she’ll need to do damage control. Part of me wants to finish the conversation here, in the car. But people might be following us. There might be paparazzi on their way here already.
I start the car and put on my blinker, waiting for traffic to clear so I can pull into the lane. Marissa’s staring out her window, not saying anything, and I’m torn between relief—because navigating through downtown traffic while having an emotionally charged conversation would be difficult—and frustration because she was finallytalkingto me again, and now she’s not.
