Page 8 of Stick Games
“No.” I refuse to take anything from this man, even though my throat has gone completely dry.
He shrugs. “Fine then.” Thick fingers grip the straw and guide it to his mouth. I try not to look as he takes a long pull and swallows.
“What are you doing here?”
He frowns. “Ah, it’s the All-Star weekend and we came on the same plane.”
“No, I mean why aren’t you out on the catamaran?” I huff out an annoyed breath and drop my book.
“It’s your birthday. I didn’t want you spending the day alone.”
“How did you know it was my birthday?” Stupid question. I’m sure one of the girls announced it, because there’s going to be cake tonight.
His eyes narrow in on me, an almost hurt expression dancing in the depths. “When have I ever forgotten your birthday, Millie?”
Okay, heart, stop dancing. I’m his best friend’s kid sister, and he was always at my house on my birthday. Probably for the cake.
He sits in the lounge chair beside me and pulls it over, his closeness, not to mention his near nakedness doing the worst things to my body.
“I’m trying to read.”
“I was thinking.”
Don’t ask, Emilia. Don’t engage.
“About?”
Damn.
He shrugs. “Remember when we were kids and we played the ‘yes’ game for your birthday?”
My mind goes back to all the fun we used to have. He was always such a good sport, always there for me, until…he wasn’t.
“Yeah, I remember.” I try to sound bored, but honestly I’m curious where this conversation is going.
“I thought maybe we could play it again. It could be fun here on this island. Me, having to do whatever you tell me to do.”
“Like go drown in the ocean?”
He laughs. “I was hoping it could be more fun than that.”
I arch a brow. “Who says that wouldn’t be fun for me?” Ohmigod what is going on here? This flirty banter shouldn’t be this much fun. I hate this man.
“Listen, I know you have a problem with me?—”
“Gabe,” I begin and cut him off. Okay, be honest girl, tell him how you really feel. I take a big breath and years of pent-up tension bubble to the surface. “You’ve been making my life miserable since I arrived in Boston.” Okay, even before that, but I need to focus on the here and now and how working with him on the ice is torturous. He braces his elbows on his knees, and runs an agitated hand through his hair.
“Yeah.”
Yeah? That’s all he has to say about our excruciating ice sessions. I study the pained look moving over his face. What is going on in that brain of his? I don’t know, but what I do know is I’m not going to bring up prom night. I don’t want him to know how much that hurt me. I need to leave the past in the past and figure out a way to move forward here. Other than his lack of cooperation on the ice, the pushing back against all my instruction, I do love my job, and the other guys and management are all great.
Sticking to our jobs, I continue, “On the ice, I can’t say anything to you. You’re always fighting me and pushing back. None of the other guys do it. They take my skating advice, but you…you never want to listen to me.”
“If we play the game, I’ll have to do everything you ask.” Okay so he doesn’t want to talk about that. Why?
“I want you to do everything I ask on the ice, Gabe.”
“How about we start here. For your birthday. We’ll see how that goes first.”
