Page 24 of Fair Play
I’ve got to get a handle on this crazy attraction between us.
“You’re, uh, twenty-two, right? He must know better?”
She grimaces. “I’ve never been able to bring a guy home. Never introduced him to any of my boyfriends. He’s hardcore.”
Yeah, this is going to go wrong ten ways to Sunday.
And for some reason I’m helpless to say no. It’s like she’s got me by the balls and even though I’m strong enough to break away, I don’t want to.
“Going forward, you guys have to come to some kind of resolution. You’re not a kid anymore.”
“Tell me about it.” She chews her lip thoughtfully. “Believe me, I’ve tried. He just won’t budge. I think at some point I have to find a guy who’s tough enough to stand up to him—in a respectful way. Who isn’t afraid the big, bad hockey player will kick his ass. That’s the only way Bodi’s ever going to back down. But so far, no one I’ve ever dated has been man enough to do that. And I won’t settle until I find him.”
Her gaze lifts to mine and I swear to everything holy, there’s a question in them.
Am I tough enough?
Absolutely.
Am I the guy that’s going to do it?
Probably not.
I’m not in a position to get serious with anyone. Even someone I want as badly as I want her. I probably should set some parameters.
“I’m not afraid of your brother,” I say after a moment. “But I also want to play at least one more season, if at all possible. I can’t start off on the wrong foot here. I don’t know how much you know about me, but I’m not a popular guy around the league.”
She studies my face. “I don’t believe that, but I’m not sure why. I don’t think I’ve seen anything but thoughtfulness and a touch of overprotectiveness in you, too. Not like Bodi, but you stepped in at the bar when no one else did. You tagged alongwith Bodi to come rescue me from my crazy roommates even though you had no idea what you were getting into… that tells me there’s more to you than your hockey persona.”
“It was the right thing to do,” I say simply.
“That tells me who you are on the inside,” she says, continuing to watch my face like she’s taking notes or something. “So why doesn’t that shine through on the ice? Or at least in the locker room.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I think it’s partly because early on, I wasn’t a skilled enough player to be a high scorer, so I had to lean on my ability to get under the other team’s skin, stir things up on the ice.”
“And fight.” She says it softly, but there’s no censure in her voice.
“Right,” I agree. “I like to fight. And like a lot of young men with more testosterone than common sense, I sometimes took it too far. I got a reputation. Even the guys on my own teams started being wary, looking at me like a loose cannon. And I guess I was.”
“Are you still?”
I hesitate.
Because I don’t know the answer.
The short answer is yes, but the long answer is far more nuanced.
I’m a lot more careful these days, both because some of the younger guys coming into the league are tough little shits and I can’t afford to get hurt, but also because I’ve matured enough to know that randomly dropping the gloves for no reason isn’t always the answer. There are other ways to make a point. Ways that won’t put me in the box and leave my teammates scrambling on the penalty kill.
There’s more to it than that, though. It’s just hard to articulate.
“Probably,” I say with an indifferent shrug.
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should. Just because I’ve been nice to you doesn’t mean I’m nice. Ask my sister. She can tell you.”
“She has told me. She thinks you’re a good guy. And so do I.”
