Page 32 of Play Your Part

“Oh, I don’t know… you could have exercised restraint.”

“What? Like you did?” I skated toward her, slowly easing her back against the boards, her accelerated breathing audible in the silent rink. I reached down, placing one hand on each of her hips as I had that night, and whispered into her ear, “Don’t think I didn’t notice how my hands on you affected your breathing.”

Her lips parted, all brazenness melting off. A shift to the left, and my lips would land on hers. Lips I watched now, considering.

Our agreement included only one kiss. Doing it now, like this, would be a waste.

“My turn now, huh?” I said, pulling back from her, bit by bit, until enough space existed between us, someone could skate through without issue. For the first time in six months, the distance bothered me. I wanted to close it again. With Kennedy, the woman I was fake-dating, who wouldn’t be here if not for the agreement between us. These next three months would be slow torture, an unending punishment. Unless I could keep us at odds and remind myself of the reason I shouldn’t feel any kind of attraction toward her. “How could you stand dating that prick for as long as you did?”

I assumed she would refuse to answer and end the game because it took a turn she didn’t like. Surprisingly, she only hesitated for a few moments before answering.

Her expression turned blank, unreadable. “Justin understood me and my choices. I didn’t have to explain anything to him. He’s the only person I could be myself around. He accepted me as I am. Or at least, I thought he did.”

“You’d get back with him if you could?”

Kennedy hesitated, clearly not expecting the question. “I-I don’t know.”

I shook my head in disgust. I’d suspected her intentions from the start, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. And yet… I expected more from her. Ridiculous, I knew, but I had a hard time reconciling the woman who had no problem calling me out with the woman who would accept shit from Justin Ward. “The guy calls you leftovers, and you’d still take him back?”

The words hit her with the force of a puck slapped against the boards. “That’s enough for tonight. I’m going home.”

Her sharp-edged tone made me wish I could rewind the last five minutes. I did this. I pushed us in this uncomfortable direction, all because she tried to beniceto me. It wasn’t her fault I was someone to pity. That landed onlyon my shoulders.

People had warned me about my temper for as long as I could remember. How if I let it control me, I would never get what I wanted. When my name was called on draft day, I felt vindicated for ignoring them. After signing my first big contract, I laughed when I thought about every single person who wanted to change me. But then my antics caught up with me, and a narrative was built, one that grew a life of its own.

Kennedy knew the narrative of Alexei Volkov—the aggressive hockey player who would take on anyone in his way. Even the heartbroken, closed-off woman who stood before him.

She took off toward the opposite side of the rink.

“Kennedy!” I called, but she didn’t answer.

She held all the cards in our situation. She could find another way to get Ward back. But without her, how the hell would I convince anyone I hadn’t arrived in Palmer City and banged the owner’s daughter to get at my rival?

Needingherlike this was the worst punishment anyone could have designed for me.

Despite my assholery, Kennedy waited for me behind the bench. We still had an audience of one. I met her with a warm smile, painfully clenching my teeth to keep my lips from falling into a grimace. After peeling off our skates, I placed a hand on the small of her back as we left the rink, side by side. Neither of us broke from our act as we walked to our cars, just in case anyone saw us.

I tried to catch her eye before she climbed into her car, but Kennedy slipped on sunglasses and slammed her door closed. I didn’t blame her.

But I didn’t expect it to bother me as much as it did.

14

KENNEDY

Fourdaysafterourdate, I opened the door to a half-asleep Alexei Volkov cradling a box from Gemma’s bakery in his arms.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

Since the disastrous end to our date, I hadn’t heard from Alexei. Not that I’d reached out to him either. I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for me to contact him after I worked through my anger. Or maybe he was ending this little experiment because we couldn’t make it through even one public outing without wanting to tear each other down.

It was also entirely possible we were both just terrible communicators.

“Can we talk?” Alexei propped open the box, revealing an impressive spread of baked goods—chocolate chip cookie sandwiches, brownies with icing, chocolate-covered pretzels, and a cupcake decorated with a Wolf (Gemma called it “a pack cupcake”). “I brought a peace offering.”

I blew out a breath as I snatched a brownie from the box, then took a bite. I covered my mouth with my free hand. “Damn, you might apologize better than you hockey.” I swallowed the remainder of my bite. “Wait… this is an apology, right?”

“Yes, this is an apology,” he replied, but from the way his jaw twitched, I didn’t know how much of it he meant. Armed as he was with the box of baked goods, it was easy to overlook any reluctance I detected.

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