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“That’s because you’re prickly, not because you’re a woman. You’re my little cactus.”
If she’s the sunshine, I’m the storm cloud. One of us is the people-pleaser and the other is the people-avoider. Two total opposites who found a friendship that works.
Athletic women are my goddamn kryptonite, and this one clearly knows her way around a gym.
“It’s a shame it’s only going to be ninety-nine percent effective now. The only thing I want to do with you, pretty boy, is kick your ass on the ice,” she whispers. I swallow and try to get my bearings. She’s so close, and I fucking love it. “You think I’m pretty?” “You would only hear that part, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted you’re hitting on me.” “Flattered,” I blurt. “Definitely flattered.”
Hartwell’s hockey skills are on a different planet, and I think I might be a little bit in love with her. I’ve never seen anyone play like that, and I have no fucking clue how she’s not already on an NHL roster.
“You do remind me of a dog,” Maven says. “You look like one too,” June adds, and I blow a raspberry on her cheek. “Pretty sure I wanted to bark when I saw her for the first time,” I say.
A smile—the tiniest, faintest smile I’ve ever seen—pulls at her lips, and I’m the proudest motherfucker in the world. I want to set off a confetti cannon. Hang a banner from the rafters of the Civic Center that says I MADE EMERSON HARTWELL SMILE. Put it on a T-shirt and wear it around town.
That earns me another half smile from her, and I want to collect them all. Shove them in my pocket and keep them for myself.
“You’ve got a lot of bark behind your bite, Hartwell. I can’t wait to see you take it out on the puck.” “Says the guy who follows people around like a lost dog.” “I’m just looking for an owner I guess.” “Maybe someone should take you back to the pound.”
“I need to send you a fruit basket and offer my condolences.” “I’m allergic to strawberries.”
“Nicest thing you’ve said to me all day. Hey. What are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask, dropping my voice. “Not you.”
“I swear to god if I get replaced, I’ll raise hell,” Grady says. “He might be taller than me, but I could take him.”
“Who would you pick, Emmy? Hottest guy on the team?” “I’d like to be exempt from this question. I’ve seen these dudes when they have bloody noses and smell like roadkill.”
night. Want to come back to my place?” “Sorry,” I tell the blonde with a grin. “I’m kind of in the middle of something with my baby’s mother right now. The kid is half alien, half potato, and we’re trying to figure out where they got these genes from.”
“You’re not Maverick Miller, are you?” “No way. That guy is way better at hockey than me. All I bring to the table are alien children.” “Don’t forget the potato part,” Emerson adds, and I almost lose it.
Simon Buttecker is going to be pissed, and that makes me giddy.
“Was that a laugh, Red?” “No. It was a chortle.” “The fuck is a chortle? Is that a Pokémon?”
“You might be right.” “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? I didn’t quite hear you.” “You might be right,” I repeat, louder this time. “Hartwell thinks I’m right,” Maverick announces to the mostly empty diner. “I’m on top of the world!”
“Hartwell might be coming tonight.” “Sweet. Did she say she would be here?” “No. I reminded her ten times at morning skate that her invitation still stands, but I doubt she’ll show up. She’d rather throw a shoe at my head. I wish she would, though.” “You wish she’d throw a shoe at you?” “No. I wish she’d show up.”
“My room is the one on the right.” “Is there some sort of curse on it? If I go inside, will all my clothes come off?”
“Avoid the charcuterie boards—there are strawberries on them. I’ll make sure there aren’t any next time.” Emerson hesitates. “What are you talking about?” “Strawberries?” I repeat. “The fruit? You’re allergic, right? The
“Open your legs nice and wide. Death by your pussy is the only way I want to go, and I’m not going to stop until you come on my tongue.”
“I’m hungry.” “For what, exactly?” I narrow my eyes and take the bag from his hold. “French fries.” “Weird synonym for my dick, but okay,” he jokes.
“Do you think we should—” “Do it again?” Maverick finishes for me. “It could be considered research.” “You’re into science now?” “When it comes to your pussy, Red, I’m Bill-fucking-Nye.”
“But I imagine you’re what heaven feels like, so I’m a converted man.”
The boys were happy to hear you’re okay too.” “They were worried about me?” I ask. “Yeah. Well, to be fair, they thought you were hacked up into a million pieces by a serial killer while getting shoved onto the Metro tracks, so to hear it was food poisoning was a huge relief,” Maverick says. “You all are weird.”
“I love the nicknames you have for me, but I’m partial to god. Particularly when you’re on top of me.”
I want to shout at them all that she’s mine. Mine, mine, mine and to back the fuck off. Fuckers.
She really is a redheaded assassin.
“Wanna head to the coat closet? I’ve done enough socializing. If I don’t sink inside you soon, I will die.” “You’re not dramatic at all.”
I write the word mine with her freckles again. Mine, mine, mine. All mine, for as long as she’ll have me. I hope it’s forever.
