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She’s talking about my dirty blond hair, green eyes, and summer tan.
Then, it hits me:she has no idea who I am. It’s liberating.
“I live on the beach when I’m not working. No to the Jeep, but that sounds fun. I’ll get one if you want.”
She rolls her eyes at my attempt at flirting, but it’s not an exaggeration. I’ll buy a fleet of Jeeps if it gets her to go on a date with me.
“And I surf a few times a year. I used to surf a lot growing up.”
“What do you do for work?”
I’m tempted to lie, but I want to know her beyond tonight. “I play on the same hockey team as the rookie you came with.”
Pink flushes her cheeks, and she lets out an adorable chuckle. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”
“I’m glad you don’t know me.”
She tilts her head. “Why?”
“Stereotypes.” I grin.
“Ah, yes. You poor thing. Those horrible hockey player stereotypes. At least you have all your teeth.”
Her sarcasm has me laughing again. It’s weird not having that constant agitation in my chest, the one that helps me pop off whenever needed, the wall protecting me from giving a fuck.
Grant and Rookie return, ruining our playful banter. Rookie hands Aurora a glass of champagne, but she politely thanks him and sets the drink aside, her fingers tracing through the condensation.
She doesn’t trust the drink or him, which tells me everything I need to know.
“Aurora,” Grant says, handing me another fruity beer I’m not interested in, “I hear your best friend is dating our goalie, Killian.”
She flashes him a friendly smile. “Emily. Yes.”
“So why are you here with him?” I nod toward the rookie.
She opens her pretty mouth to respond, but he rudely interrupts. “She’s my date.”
I shoot him a glare. “I didn’t ask you.” I turn back to Aurora. “What are you doing here with him?”
“I’m his date,” she mimics with a hint of teasing.
“You’re his date, or you’redating?”
“Is there a difference?” Fuckface asks, far too cocky for someone so recently drafted.
“There’s a clear distinction. Maybe you should’ve gone to college instead of declaring for the draft.”
“Fuck off, O’Reilly.”
I ignore him. “How long have you been together?”
All humor drops from her face, and I fear I’ve embarrassed her or pushed too hard.
Before she can reply, he stands, seizing her arm and tugging. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She gapes at him, her eyes wide with shock, and I see red.
This kid just signed his death warrant.