Page 23 of On Merit Alone

“I tend to ignore stalkers who use my number without my permission,” I retorted.

“You were answering just fine until I asked about that interview,” he pointed out, getting right down to it.

Swallowing, I looked away. What was there to say? I didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with him. So I tried to pretend he wasn’t there. Tough when I was sitting in the guy’s lap, I know, but I was nothing if not stubborn.

“Merit,” he said patiently.

I didn’t respond.

“Mer.”

I didn’t even look at him.

“C’mon, Six?” he said with a sigh that held frustration for the first time since I met him. “Tell me what's up.”

And it may have been the fact that he was the only one to ever call me Six like it was my name, or maybe the feeling of his cool fingertips as they grazed just underneath my chin, asking me to look at him but not demanding, that finally got me.

Swallowing hard, I took the plunge and looked into his deep grayish-brown eyes, hoping to find an answer that would ready me for the sting I knew I was going to feel at the real outcome.

As I suspected, nothing could shield me from the pain of being hurt, and it was my own fault for opening myself up for it to begin with.

It was time to face the consequences of letting someone get close enough to affect me and take responsibility for the inevitable feelings I knew would always follow such a mistake.

Ira stared right back at me, unafraid of facing me head-on, even when I wasn’t agreeable. It made my heart pull in a painful sort of squeeze. The longing sort, and I had no idea what that meant.

Grunting, Ira said, “You’re frowning at me.”

“Do you guys say stuff about us in the locker room?” I asked.

I watched closely as his face changed, his eyes tracking over me as he contemplated his answer. “Did somebody say something to you?”

I shook my head quietly, and his eyes changed, getting darker as he bore them into me. Angrier.

“Merit.”

“I’m just curious, Ira,” I said.

He frowned, shifting. I could feel his fingers tighten along my thigh to keep me in place as he moved. God . “I mean, the guys talk a lot in the locker room, yeah. I haven’t heard anything unacceptable, though.”

I swallowed, nodding, but I kept my gaze locked on his—determined to be strong. I was always strong. I could do this. “Do you ever hear them call me an Ice Queen?”

He didn’t have to answer. It was written all over his face as the nickname seemed to register and he winced in obvious discomfort. “Merit?— ”

“Ira, stop.” I looked down. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I get it.”

“No, you don’t. So what if they call you some stupid name?” he said, ducking his head to try to find my eyes. “That’s all it is, right?”

“Sure.” If he felt that way, then who was I to stop him?

He obviously didn't like that non-answer, continuing in an attempt to win me over. “I’m sure they mean it like you have ice in your veins or something.”

“No.” I shut that down right away. I’ll be damned if he played dumb with me. “They mean it like I’m a bitch. Because it’s not enough to just be competitive or about my business. I have to be likable too, which I’m not.”

“That’s not?—”

I shook my head. “No. It’s true. I am an ice queen—or let’s call it what it is—a bitch.

I don’t smile for everyone. I'm not courteous to the cameras, and damn sure will never give a single inch on the court for the sake of being cordial or agreeable or nice. So yeah, I’m an ice queen.

That’s nothing I didn’t already know. I just—I wanted to know if it was true, if that’s what people were saying. ”

“True?” he asked under his breath. Realization coated his features as he zeroed in on me. “Who said that to you?”

“No one.” I tried to get up again. I didn’t even budge. His strong hands wouldn’t let me.

“Merit, tell me.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not a big deal, Ira.”

“It is a big deal if it has you frowning at me,” he grumbled.

“I always look like this. Didn’t you hear?” I said, eyebrows raised.

He nearly growled. “Don’t fucking do that, Mer. You’re not some kind of bitch just because you don’t smile at everyone. And you’re not someone who lets what other people say get to them like this. ”

I felt my throat go dry. This conversation was making me uncharacteristically emotional, but I refused to show it.

Speaking evenly, I said, “Ira, let me up, okay?”

“Mer—”

“Please?” I asked, my voice betraying me by breaking on a whisper.

Ira gave one last sweep of my face before finally letting me go. Peeling myself off of him, I ignored the helpful hands on my waist that stayed there long enough to steady me on my feet and even longer as Ira rose behind me.

I had no idea what was going on with him. Why was he being so touchy, and why did the hovering presence of his body near my back feel so right? Like comfort and home?—

I cut that thought off where it stood. I had no business even entertaining it.

Whatever this feeling was, I needed to get it nipped in the bud.

Tossing a quick look over my shoulder, I barely managed to mumble out, “Gotta get to practice.”

I wasn’t surprised when he kept his hands planted on me as he asked, “Do you wanna play?”

Stepping down a bleacher and breaking our contact for the first time since I’d fallen on him, I tried to ignore the fact that I was missing the heat of him already and instead focused on my retreat. “Sorry. I’m shooting with the team today.”

Not a lie, but I knew he could sniff the bullshit on me. I’d purposely coordinated a shooting practice with girls on the team so I would have an excuse not to shoot with Ira today, lest he show up in this very same situation.

He didn’t comment any further on my lame excuses or our earlier conversation. He just hummed in a grumbly sort of way as his eyes tracked my retreat. Just before I reached the door of the court, I heard the call of his voice.

“You’re not an ice queen, Merit,” he said .

And only because it seemed like he wouldn’t get it until he knew, I finally told him, “Look up what I said to C. Cherry a few weeks ago, then see if you change your mind.”

I didn’t look back to see what his reaction would be. I had done the right thing. He was going to find out sooner or later that our personalities didn’t match. That he was a golden boy and I was an icy deserted terrain. That we shouldn’t associate. Be friends.

I did the right thing.

So why did this sudden aching feeling in the center of my chest feel so wrong?