Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(51)
“Tink doesn’t happen to be short for Tinker Bell, does it?”
Holy shit, did I call her Tink when Dallas was in the kitchen?
“No.”
He points at me with the spatula. “She’s the one you were texting with at our hotel when you were acting all goofy awhile ago, isn’t she?”
This keeps getting worse and worse.
I have no idea how to respond to that, so I drink my coffee instead.
“Dude.” He throws his head back and stares up at the ceiling like he’s pleading with the heavens, muttering a string of pleas and expletives beneath his breath. When he looks at me again, his expression is a combination of desperation and reproach.
“For the love of hockey and all that is holy.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Tell me you’re not fucking Carter’s sister.”
For the briefest second, I almost wish I could tell him the truth. Wish I could admit to someone, anyone, that I’m in over my head. That I can’t think straight when she’s around—and that she’s all I think about when she’s not.
“What do you want me to say here, Ward?” There’s a friendship hierarchy within the house, and Dallas is closer to Chase than he is to me. They’ve been friends for longer. I know that. He knows that. And we both know how Chase would take this.
Dallas groans and tugs at his dark hair. When he withdraws his hand, it stands straight on end. “For both of our sakes, this conversation never happened.”
After he eats, he clears out of the kitchen with a promise never to throw away coffee again and his grudging blessing to eat the leftover bacon. I cut up fruit, scramble eggs, and make toast while I wait for Seraphina. I’d make extra for Chase, but he’ll probably be asleep for a few more hours. On brand as ever, he pulled an all-nighter writing a paper at the last possible minute.
Seraphina appears in the doorway changed into a fuzzy white sweater and jeans, her hair still damp from the shower. It’s a darker shade of pink when it’s wet, a stark contrast against her fair skin. She looks beautiful. There’s something I like about getting to see her in these everyday moments. It feels special, somehow. Like a part of her most other people don’t get access to.
“Guess what I found?” She dangles the key fob from her fingers with a guilty look. “They were sitting on the bathroom counter downstairs. I feel so ridiculous.”
There’s a pang in my gut at her last words.
“Don’t, Ser. I’ve done the same thing before.”
She shrugs off my remark and averts her gaze. When she notices the food sitting on the counter, her eyes brighten. “Thank you for breakfast. I’ll return the favor sometime.”
“Careful or I might take you up on that.”
The energy in the room shifts from comfortable to almost unbearably tense. Her eyelids hood as she steps closer, coming to stand almost toe to toe with me. The sweet scent of her freshly applied perfume drifts over to me, mingled with her tropical-scented shampoo, and my cock perks up in anticipation.
“You could, you know.”
I fight a grin. “That would be a bad idea right now.” The reminder is for me as much as her. If I had my way, I’d be eating her for breakfast instead.
“Sometimes those are the best kind.”
We manage to pull apart before anything more inappropriate happens. My dick is more than a little angry with me at the lack of follow-through. I’ll be taking matters into my own hands the minute she leaves for class—and when I do, the scenario that just transpired is going to play out differently in my mind.
Channeling what little restraint I have left, I turn my thoughts to hockey and begin to mentally recount my stats from this season. Save percentage, goals against average, shutouts… I wait until Sera has plated her food before fixing my own, then join her at the table.
“I can’t believe I got that upset over coffee.” She scrunches up her mouth, pushing her scrambled eggs around with her fork. “How embarrassing. It’s just—you know when you’re really, really looking forward to something and then you don’t get it?”
Part of me knows.
“That’s okay, Ser. I understand, and you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Everyone has those mornings once in a while.”
Her hand wraps around her mug. “My morning cup of coffee is one of my favorite things, and if that goes off the rails, so does the rest of the day.”
“Are you sure this isn’t about something else?” I ask gently.
Seraphina huffs and picks up her toast, looking away. “It probably is. Take your pick. Switching schools, dead father, sick mother, brother dealing with his own issues, undeclared major and zero direction in life...” her voice wobbles as she trails off, and my stomach sinks.
Without thinking, I cover her hand with my palm. “Tink.”
“It’s fine. Probably just PMS. Maybe I need to go stuff my face with chocolate and cry in my room.”
Hard for me to argue with that. I know precisely zero about female hormones.
“Not to dismiss that hypothesis but you do have a lot on your plate. I get being stressed, and those feelings are totally valid. Please don’t be hard on yourself, though. You don’t have zero direction in life.”
Even though I don’t want to, I remove my hand from hers. My entire body protests at the loss of contact. Instead, I grab my coffee to stop myself from reaching for her again and take a sip.