Page 44 of The Playmaker

“You didn’t tell him.”

“I will later, but you should tell him hi yourself. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

She frowns. “I don’t know. He’s always so busy and I don’t want to bother him.”

I reach across the seat and put my hand on her legs. She jumps slightly as my skin warms at the touch. “Nina, I can guarantee he’d like to hear from you.”

She crinkles her nose and hesitates for a long moment. “You sure?”

“Yeah, give him a text and you’ll see.”

“Okay, maybe I will.”

“Do you think maybe you don’t like hockey because of Cason?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Just maybe you hate that he’s gone all the time.”

Instead of answering, she casts me a glance and changes the subject. “Do you hear from your sister much?”

I remove my hand and sink back into my seat. “Yeah, we’re pretty tight.”

“Even with her living on the East Coast.”

As a shimmer of anxiety moves through me, I lean forward and pinch the bridge of my nose to chase away the dark images that race around my brain when I think of my sister, and her reason for living on the other side of the country. My goddamn demons are still as vicious and ruthless today as they were all those years ago.

“Shoot, sorry. I didn’t mean to take that corner so fast.”

“It’s okay,” I say, thankful she misinterpreted my reaction. “So, this Paint Nite,” I say redirecting. “You’re really going to make me paint a damn daisy?”

“Yes, and it will be nice to have something personal in your house, don’t you think? Something of yours, your own personal touch.”

Yeah, it would. Problem is, the only personal thing I currently want in my place is Nina—the only thing I want to personally touch—and she’s not mine.

Never will be.

9

Nina

“I can’t believe you’re making me paint a damn daisy,” Cole says as he leans into me, his warm scent and proximity overwhelming me, and making me feel insanely close to him, oddly content. Over the last couple days, we’ve developed an ease with each other. I’m not sure how it is for him, or if he’s ever felt this way with anyone before, but for me, it’s a completely foreign feel, and one I probably shouldn’t like so much.

People all begin to file into the bar, and as drinks are served, the noise level rises. Guys and girls alike make their way to their seats, and many glances are cast our way. Whispers reach my ears as people shuffle by. From their hushed words, it’s clear everyone is trying to figure out if they’re looking at the real Cocky Cole Cannon—The Playmaker—or someone who just happens to looks like him. Although I can’t imagine another man ever coming close to Cole’s kind of good looks.

Cole is either oblivious or ignoring the stares as he shoots off a text and shoves his phone back into his pocket. Me, well, I just smile politely and try to give nothing away. Cole deserves his privacy, and honestly, I kind of like having him all to myself tonight.

“Stop complaining already. It could be worse,” I say when he kicks his legs out and slides down in his chair.

“How?” He picks up his brushes to examine them, looking at them like they’re foreign objects. I can only imagine they are. The only thing I’ve ever seen in his hands is a hockey stick for as far back as I can remember. There were times I’d take the shortcut home and secretly watch Cole practice his shots at the old skateboard park. He’d be there well into the night, unaware of his audience of one. I might have hated him, but I always admired his dedication to the sport.

I cock my head. “You could be sitting at home alone in the dark.”

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. That shit was getting old fast.”

“So you’re going to stop complaining and have some fun then? Or are you going to sit there and sulk like a baby?”

“You and that mouth,” he grumbles under his breath, as his gaze races over my lips like he’s considering all the ways to stop me from talking. “And I don’t sulk.”

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