Page 17 of Never Dance with the Devils (Never Say Never #6)

He’s trying to sound chivalrous and evolved, but what he really means is obvious to me—he’s too scared to risk it all again.

He did that once and it blew up in his face, so he’s understandably reluctant to put himself out there again.

Hell, that’s how we ended up doing what we do.

I was all too happy to be a crutch for him while he got his head right.

I never thought it’d turn out like this, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.

Especially if it eventually ends up with Kayla between us.

“Of course, just a kind gesture to smooth things over. That’s all, nothing more, nothing less,” I assure him, lying through my teeth.

Delivery complete.

The notification on my phone sends a thrill through me. The puck is in play. The game is on.

Riggs is pacing around the media room, completely ignoring the replay of the 1980 Miracle on Ice Olympic semifinal between the US and the Soviets that we’ve seen dozens of times, since every hockey player is brought up on the classics.

But he’s not distracted. No matter which way he’s striding across the room, his single-minded focus has been on my phone’s screen, so he sees the notification light it up and instantly barks, “What’s it say? ”

I hold up my phone, showing him. “And now, we wait.”

He resumes his trek from one wall to the other. It’s never seemed like a small room, considering we’ve got seats for fifteen butts in here, but he’s making me dizzy with the back-and-forth motion.

“I thought you were all ‘no pressure’ and ‘respect her boundaries’.” Taunting him when he’s in a mood like this is dangerous, especially when I’m in a bad mood too.

I’m better at hiding it, but that doesn’t mean I make good choices when I’ve got a thorn in my ass about something.

Especially a thorn as sharp and deeply implanted as Kayla.

“I am!” he snaps. “But I still want to make sure she gets that message and doesn’t think we’re ignoring what she said.”

“Aren’t we, though?”

He whirls, glowering at me. “What? You said it would be a kind gesture.”

“And you believed me?” I ask, incredulous. “What do I know? I’ve never even dated seriously. And you’re no better. The one serious relationship you had, she ended up being an evil bitch.”

I shouldn’t call Eliza that. It’s mean to female dogs to be grouped in with her after the way she acted. Thankfully, before Riggs can read me the riot act for it, my phone dings.

I can buy myself flowers. But thank you. They’re gorgeous.

“Is it her?” Riggs demands, reaching for my phone.

Jerking it out of his grasp, I growl, “Hands off, asshole. She texted me.” But I flash him a shit-eating grin, intentionally poking the bear. Or well… the Riggs, but kinda the same difference.

“Because you’re the one who gave her your number.”

“Exactly,” I agree, “which means I get to talk to her and you don’t.” Risking my life and limb, I make a hip-thrusting, arm-pumping motion, implying I don’t mean just talking at all. But not wanting to push too far, I relent and read her text aloud to him. “Now what?”

He flops to the couch beside me. “She has a point. Flowers were lame.”

“They were better than any idea you had, which was nothing, and they did get her to text us. We’re basically back in, baby.” I hold my hand up for a celebratory high-five. Riggs shakes his head, leaving me hanging, so I high-five myself.

He lays his head back on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes. “What are we going to say back? Sorry for not leaving you alone… again?”

I roll my eyes. This motherfucker is all-apologies thanks to Eliza.

I swear, he’s not still hung up on her in the slightest. In fact, I think he’d rather cut his dick off than ever see her again.

Okay, maybe not his dick, but a toe or a pinkie finger for sure.

You can play hockey without those. I know a guy who proves that point.

But since he hasn’t really dated after she gutted him, the damage she did is coming to the surface like bubbles of pain past, and if there’s one thing Eliza always wanted, it was an apology for some imagined slight, usually in the form of retail therapy.

“I’ve got this,” I inform him, already typing away. “ Aaaand send.” I click the little arrow before showing the message to Riggs because I already know he’ll want to change it or veto it outright.

“What’d you say?” he demands, his eyes suddenly real fucking clear and laser locked on me.

I smirk and he grabs for my phone. I let him snatch it away this time because I’m not saying what I said to Kayla to him, even if it’s just reading it. I watch his face as he takes in my masterpiece.

But we can pin you to the wall and make sure you can’t walk straight tomorrow. Can you do that yourself?

And if so, can we watch?

“Are you fucking kidding me with this, Maddox?” he roars, rising to his full height to loom over me, shoving my phone in my face to show me the messages as if I don’t already know exactly what they say.

When I don’t give him the target he’s looking for, he resumes pacing again, this time with a purpose, though I think the purpose might be to keep from killing me.

I shrug. “I saw it on a meme and thought it was some good shit. Besides, it’s true.

” He throws my phone to the couch beside me.

Having some mercy—and knowing that I still have to live with the asshole—I explain, “When what we were proposing was a sexy menage opportunity, she was in, whole-heartedly and hole-heartedly.” He takes a deep breath, done with my bullshit.

“And once she realized we weren’t there to fuck up her life, she was semi on-board with a repeat performance until one of us—and I’m not saying who—went and mentioned doing it two, three, a hundred times. ”

“That was you,” he interjects, pointing at me like it’s a case-breaking accusation when I’m the one who brought it up in the first place.

“One of us,” I repeat. “It’s not important who.

But that’s what set off her freak-out function instead of her freak-a-leak mode.

So, we need to dial it back. Sex is on the table, more is not.

” I stare at him, letting him catch up to the genius I’ve already puzzle-pieced together, making good use of the time he spent grunting and grumping around, feeling sorry for himself.

“We said we should only reach out to her if it was about more than sex,” he reminds me, as if I wasn’t there for that conversation too.

“For us,” I correct. “You only wanted to pursue her if we wanted more than sex. But what if that’s all she wants?

You’re all ‘respect her boundaries’, but what if sex is her boundary?

You can’t honestly say that you don’t want another taste of her, don’t want to feel her coming on your dick, don’t want to hear her groan your name?

” I stare at him pointedly, knowing I’m right even before he grunts in acceptance.

“Exactly. So if that’s all we get of her, it’s all we get.

And maybe, just maybe, over time, we can get her addicted to us the way someone—again, not saying who—said he became an instant addict to her. ”

“Fuck.” He shoves his hands into his hair, pulling on the strands. “Fuck.” He squats down, staring at the floor. I can see him thinking it through, sitting amid the broken glass of his heart as he tries to decide whether he can withstand a relationship that might crush those shards to dust.

Is it stupid to go after her hoping that she’ll eventually want the same thing we want? Absolutely. But if a little of Kayla is all we get, I’ll take it.