Page 125 of Zero Pucks Given (Las Vegas Angels 1)

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Gigi

“G, all I’m saying is that it’s all a part of the persona. I have to go out sometimes,” Beau said through the bathroom door.

I wiped my hand on the mirror so I could see through the fog. “Great, then go out. Who’s stopping you?” I said, watching my eyes tear up. If I heard any more of his stupid explanations about how he had to go out with the boys and act stupid—my head would surely explode.

“Ugh, why are you acting like this? It’s not a big deal,” he said, knocking on the door. After steadying my breathing—and my temper—I opened the door.

“Great, it’s not a big deal,” I said as I moved around him.

“You’re acting really immature, Geneviève,” he said. Now that dug in. Deep. Up until now, I hadn’t argued. I hadn’t been particularly nice. But I hadn’t argued.

Being called immature? Yeah, that stung.

“Yep, I’m the immature one. That’s right. What can you expect from a twenty-two year old, though?” I snarked back at him as I stormed off to the kitchen.

“Honestly, G? I expected more,” he said, hands on his hips. His face had a gray tinge to it. That only made the lipstick stains look brighter.

I stuffed my lunch into my bag, holding back my anger. Last night I’d lost it. My voice still felt raw and sore from screaming and crying. This morning, I was bound and determined not to give him the satisfaction. “You know what, Beau? I did, too.”

Then I ignored him while I opened up my laptop and checked on my course work. He stared at me for a couple of minutes. “I’ll shower and we’ll go.”

“Sounds great,” I snapped back without so much as looking his direction. He huffed, took his shirt off and tossed it on the floor as he strode off to the bathroom.

Nothing would make me happier than to burn that damn lipstick stained shirt right now. I had a better idea. After I scribbled a note down for him, I gingerly picked up the shirt and set it on the island.

The note read: Please have one of your mature girlfriends wash this shirt. I’m not sure how to get cheap lipstick stains out of cotton. Feel free to use my makeup remover on your face and neck. Unless you have a better idea.

I grabbed my bag, said a quick goodbye to the dogs and ran out of there.

“Now one thingyou and Gigi need to work on is—”

“Martin!” I heard someone call my name from the other end of the rink, interrupting our coach. She stared at me, unamused.

“Sorry, just ignore him. He’s like a pesky fly. Soon he’ll find other people to go bother,” I said and everyone laughed. Except for the coach.

“Geneviève!” he bellowed again. Oh my gosh, I wanted to pummel his—

“Gigi, would you please go deal with that?” the assistant coach said, scowling in Beau’s direction.

How freaking embarrassing. “Yeah, sorry. Be right back.” I took off, skating quickly to where he was standing with the gate in the boards open. When I got there, I stopped short, giving his legs and shoes a snow shower.

He moved back like he’d been shot. If I wasn’t in such a bad mood, I would have laughed. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not what you think, okay? Those—stains—don’t mean anything,” he said, his hand running through his hair.

“Of course, they do, Moreau. They mean everything.” I began skating backward. “And if you ever interrupt my practice again, I’m speaking to management.”

With that, I raced back to my team.

He hadn’t mentionedanything about supper.

The supper I hadn’t made.

After practice, I’d walked across to the mall by myself. Beau had been messaging and texting me like crazy. I ignored him.

Was that immature?

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