Page 38 of The Playmaker

He sits up straighter, clearly offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Desperate to escape before he does or says something that will cut deeply, I tug the sheet and stand, looking around the room for my clothes, and realizing we discarded my shirt on the kitchen floor when Cole pushed me to my knees.

Oh, my God. I search my mind, trying to remember if I ever wrote something like that in a book. Was he fucking with me? Having fun and wanting to recreate a scene, so he could mock me later? I could never go through that humiliation again.

I hurry to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. No way do I want him barging in. I need a moment to pull myself together and figure if writing a hockey series is worth it. I turn on the shower and climb in. Steam fills the room as I grab Cole’s soap and rinse my body, washing away all traces of him on my skin.

I stay under the spray for a long time, hoping Cole is gone from the bedroom when I emerge. When the water turns cool, I wrap a big fluffy towel around me, and gingerly open the door.

When I do, I find Cole sitting on the bed, a coffee cup in his hand.

I lift my chin an inch, even though I don’t feel an ounce of confidence. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed.”

I make my way to the door, but he holds the coffee cup out to me. “I thought you could use this.”

I eye the coffee, and the need for caffeine overrules common sense, and I graciously accept it from him. He watches me as I blow on it, then take a much-needed sip.

“Thanks.”

“Want to talk?”

“No, we need to get ready or you’re going to miss your appointment.”

“You’re still taking me?”

“I’m not going to just abandon you, Cole.”

He takes my elbow and leads me to the bed. “Sit,” he says.

I lower myself and glance at his nightstand. The books are gone, and I’m grateful that he was considerate enough to remove them.

“I put them in the library.” I nod, wishing he’d tossed them out. “I’m not sure I understand what the big deal is.”

“It just is.” With tears pricking my eyes, I turn from him. “I write under a pseudonym for a reason,” I say. I pinch my eyes shut, hardly able to believe Cole went trough the trouble of finding out my pen name, so he could purchase my books. It had to be so he could tease me, mock me.

“I know you don’t like me much, let alone trust me, but I didn’t buy them for any other reason than to support you, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re an excellent writer. I used to read your skating blog, too.”

“You…did?”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I never even thought to put t

hem away last night. To be honest, I never thought we’d end up in my room.” I nod. He cups my chin and lifts it. “I’m smart enough to understand what you write isn’t who you are, or what you do privately. Crime and horror writers don’t go around killing people.”

Something inside me softens, the knot in my belly uncoiling at his sincerity. “Maybe I overreacted. It just took me by surprise, and I didn’t want you to tease me about it.”

He lets loose a long, slow breath and shakes his head. “Jesus, I was such a prick to you.”

I feel a laugh catch in my throat. “I wasn’t all that nice to you either, Cole. And that’s why we have to keep having sex. I have so much anger to work through. But this…” I glance at his empty nightstand. “It wasn’t all on you,” I admit.

“What do you mean?”

“There was this guy,” I begin, and swallow down the lump gathering in my throat. “He…humiliated me.”

His jaw tightens as he brushes my damp hair from my shoulder. “What did he do?” he asks between clenched teeth.

I don’t look at him. I can’t, and for God’s sake, why the hell am I telling him this?

“I was set up on a date, and he really paid attention to me, you know? Most guys don’t.”

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