Page 57

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

carter

I tug my tie off my neck, tossing it across the row of sinks. I slam my hands against the edge of the counter, hang my head between my shoulder blades, and take a deep, sobering breath in.

My whole body is vibrating. That itch stirs within me.

The need to strike out and hit somebody is too intoxicating to deny.

I wanted to hit him. More than I’ve ever wanted to hit anyone, and that’s saying something.

The way he was speaking to her. The way she smiled up at him, those freckles bunching while she blinked those doe eyes in his direction… I almost fucking snapped.

I’m wound so tightly right now that I’m scaring myself.

I swore I was going to cool off. Knocking someone out at my buddy’s engagement party will not be a good look. He’s another groomsman. He means a lot to Lowesy. I can’t just fucking hit him.

I like him, too. Usually. Not tonight.

Fucking blond hair and blue eyes. Dude practically wants to be me .

I shake my head, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself down. I dig back to my anger management sessions and go through the list to calm myself down. Expression, suppression, and calm the fuck down.

I can express this shit without throwing a fist. That’s possible.

I’m pissed because Dalton was flirting with my girlfriend who isn’t my girlfriend.

I’m furious because she was eating it up.

She’s never looked at me like that, all walls down and completely open to the conversation.

He was dishing out compliments, and she was practically begging for seconds.

Yeah, that made me angry. Made my chest ache a bit, too.

Why shouldn’t I be mad? Because she isn’t my girlfriend.

She isn’t my… anything. Just my friend. She’s realistically allowed to flirt with anyone she wants, but…

No, actually. No . That’s another reason why I’m mad.

She’s going to do this at Declan’s engagement party?

Where we are surrounded by my teammates and other important people in the hockey world?

People who expect Arden to be my girlfriend?

We have rules. She’s breaking them.

Calm. I have to calm myself.

But then the door flies open.

I cringe, swearing under my breath. I guess I will end up hitting someone tonight.

When I glance up in the mirror, my heart stops.

Emerald dress, gorgeous, brown eyes, and her back pressed against the door. Her throat bobs, eyes burning into mine through the reflection. Without turning, she reaches behind her and locks the door.

“You’re sweating.”

I bring a hand over my face. “Good eye.”

She cocks a brow. Makes no move toward me. “What’s your problem? ”

“Not now, Red,” I grumble, and her eyes pinch a bit. “Just give me a minute. Alright?”

She watches me carefully, gaze skirting over to my tossed tie and torn open shirt. Inexplicably, she shakes her head.

“No.”

Of course not. Why would she make anything easy? I reach forward and yank the faucet on, rinsing my hands in cold water. When I press them to my burning face, she’s still watching me like a little hawk.

Still not the same way she was looking at Dalton.

“Two minutes.”

“No,” she says again, pushing herself off the door as that dangly little purse slides off her shoulders. She marches toward me, dropping the bag on the wet sink. Scans my face for a second, red brows furrowed in the middle. “What’s wrong?”

I let out a long breath through my nose. That itch of my temper is still there, and I don’t want her to be the one who pokes me. “Nothing. I’m good.”

“No, you’re not good,” she hisses. She grabs my face so fast that I don’t have time to stop her, forcing me to look at her so that she can see every inch of my expression. “I know what you look like before you explode. You're half a second away from it. What is going on?”

I ignore how much her touch grounds me, how my palms stop itching enough to let me take a breath. I still say nothing, just meet her gaze as if she doesn’t intimidate the hell out of me by merely existing.

Those red brows furrow deeper, and there is a flash of disappointment that I hate. “God, Carter. When are you going to trust me? When are you going to be honest with me?”

When it’s not about you.

I can’t tell you this. You’ll lose your fucking mind and call this off before I’m ready to. Fake or not, you’re the best company I’ve had in a long time, and I’m not ready to give you up. I’m not ready for any situation where there is even the slightest risk of losing you.

“When it’s your business.”

She drops her hands, letting out a scoff. She shakes her head a bit before she tears her purse off the sink. “It’s not my business?”

I don’t like that look on her face.

“No.”

She runs a hand through her hair, eyes burning a hole straight through my bullshit. “So, you’re not in here ready to blow a gasket because EJ was flirting with me out there?”

I blink. Nearly fucking sputter like a fish right there.

Women. So fucking perceptive.

“No,” I say weakly.

I didn’t even buy that.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest and takes a step forward. “You don’t want to hit him right now because he told me I looked beautiful? Because he suggested taking me out while he’s in town?”

That rage surges up in me again. My palms are back to itching. Badly. I ball my fists by my sides and she doesn’t even look down to check if I’m about to snap. She knows.

“So, what are you so angry at, Carter?” she asks, tilting her head. The fucking attitude is a perplexing thing. I’m pissed that she can read me so easily, but her putting me in my place is affecting my dick. “Please, tell me.”

I wet my lips with my tongue. Resist the urge to look at her mouth, because it’s pouty and scowly and exactly how I love it. I don’t shy away from her, I stay close and in her face, right where she put me.

Then I say the stupidest thing known to man. “Not everything is about you. ”

She blinks a bit. Like that hurt her. She steps back, putting distance between us, and I hate myself more than I did five minutes ago. I can’t smell that cinnamon perfume or that cherry lip gloss when she gets too far. I just screwed up. Again .

“Great.”

I clear my throat, not knowing what else to say. Great.

She nods, over and over, backing away with each one. “That’s fine, Carter.”

When she spins on her heel, a blast of panic rocks through me. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to ask EJ to dance!” she announces, spinning around. She throws her hands up, a tired look on that perfect face. “Then, I’m going to ask him to take me home.”

My heart sinks. My dinner churns in my stomach. No. No, that’s the last thing I want her to do.

“Arden.”

She unlocks the door and throws it open. When she whirls around, that fiery hair falls in her face. “Don’t talk to me unless you’re ready to find your balls and be honest.”

She slams that door so hard that my tie slides off the counter. It lands someplace beside my heart and my ego, lying cracked and racing on the bathroom floor.