Page 9 of Play Your Part

“Whatever. I’m going to talk to the man who made the decision… give him a piece of my mind.”

Those words jolted me back to the moment. Even if she’d dated my enemy and hated my guts, I wouldn’t let her walk into the party and embarrass herself or my new boss. I stepped into her path. She stumbled, and I bent down to catch her, momentarily leaving our faces only inches apart, her breath commingling with mine.

Too quickly, she pulled back. I grasped her forearms, keeping her upright and on the deck rather than stumbling off it. Her gaze locked on mine, her dark eyes finding their mark. So damn beautiful.

Wishing was pointless—I knew that—but I wanted nothing more but for her to be someone else, someone not off-limits to me.

“That’s a shit idea,” I said.

“I think I know what’s a good idea,” she replied, her voice mockingly distorted.

She wrenched her arms from mine and tucked her hair behind one ear. She remained still, as if she’d given up on storming the party, clearly trying to fake me out. As I expected, she soon tried to scoot past me again. I easily kept her in front of me, and the frustration of being blocked brought a groan to the surface.

“Let. Me. Pass.”

“Excuse me if I don’t exactly trust your judgment,” I told her. “You’re dating Ward.”

She straightened to her full height, which barely reached my shoulders. “As if you have the right to pass judgment on anyone.” She took another swig of her champagne. “He’s not that bad—”

I barked out a laugh. Even Justin Ward’s girlfriend couldn’t find anything good to say about him.

“He’s not,” she insisted.

I tilted my head to the side, giving her a dubious look.

“And I know him better than you. We dated for a year.”

“A year,” I repeated, unable to hide my distaste.

The woman threw her hands in the air. “As if I care whatAlexei Volkovthinks of me.”

She said my name like it was a communicable disease. A curse.

“Don’t think I haven’t heard all about your reputation, the trail of broken hearts you’ve left in your wake as you skated away.”

“You’re oddly poetic when you’re drunk.”

She pointed at me, her finger wildly swaying. “I’m not drunk.”

“Drunkandstubborn. My favorite combination.” I slowly shook my head. “I’m not letting you go back in there like this. So should I get someone?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” She ambled back over to the deck steps where I’d found her.

I remained where I stood, not willing to move closer and spook her after she finally settled down. “It’s nothing against you,” I said, trying to comfort her in the only way I could. When people didn’t like me, I didn’t like them.

But this woman… she looked haunted, sad in a way I recognized. She looked the way I did last spring when I lost hockey and my fiancée in one week. No one needed to be kicked when they were already down.

“Most people need a babysitter when they’re drunk. I’ve been known to get into a fight or two.”

“No surprise there,” she mumbled, and I couldn’t help but smile.

She tipped back the champagne bottle, gulping down the remaining liquid before tossing it into the grass. I made a mental note to get it before going back inside.

“I don’t usually drink. I don’t go to parties. I… don’t do anything. I’m not… this isn’t… things were supposed to be different.”

I didn’t say a word or move a muscle. She didn’t seem to be talking to me any longer. It felt almost intrusive to stand there, listening to her ramble, but I also couldn’t leave her to her own devices. That had almost ended in disaster.

“I still live at home, and I never finished college,” she continued, slurring her words. “I can’t even cook. My mom was supposed to teach me, but I… I never made the time. Why would anyone choosemewhen I can’t even take care of myself? Every day isthe same… I’ve never even dyed my hair.”

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