The color drained from her then, and I knew I had her.
“Coach McCabe filleted my ass today.”
“Okay, well…” She stammered, then stood tall again. “Well, you let the kids take pictures, which I’m sure they posted. So what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that in those photos, I wasn’t skating on the fucking rink, Maven!” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. But there is a difference between me just hanging out with some kids playing hockey, as opposed to playing along with them. And Coach is pissed.”
Maven had the decency to shrink a bit at that, but then she squared her shoulders. “Yeah, well, I guess we’re even then.”
“How the hell do you figure that?”
“The picture? You kissing my hair? My girl?”
A smile curled on my lips, that anger I had before ebbing a bit. “What, not ready to admit that yet? Because let’s face it. It’s true.”
She shoved me, hard. Her hands found my chest and pressed until my back hit the wall. I let her think she had that power, that she could move my six-foot-one brick of a body with her slight one.
“This is my career,” she seethed.
“And this is mine,” I argued. “So, you’re right. I guess we are even.”
“It’s not the same. You got a slap on the wrist and some damn good PR. Do you realize how unprofessional that photo looked for me?”
“Are your bosses mad?”
Her mouth was still open, ready to fire her next argument, but it snapped close at my question.
I laughed, shaking my head, and then I pushed off the wall.
“You,” I said, moving slowly, step by step toward her as she matched my pace walking backward the other way. When her back hit the wall, I enveloped her, reveling in the little gasp she elicited when my hand found her throat. “Are such a little brat.”
I waited for her to slap me.
But she just swallowed, the movement vibrating under my palm, her eyes locked on mine.
“You’re so used to getting everything you want.” I tilted my head. “Well, almost everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I dragged the tip of my nose along the bridge of hers, smiling. “You want me.”
Her next breath shuddered out of her, her eyelids fluttering.
“You are seriously deranged.”
The words were a breathless lie, the warmth from them sweet like vanilla on my nose. I squeezed her throat a little tighter, her eyes dilating as my free hand slid over her hip. I trailed it up, the back of my knuckles slowly skating over her waist, her ribs, along the swell of her breast. I brushed against where her nipple was pulled tight before flattening my hand and pressing it against her chest.
“Your heart is about to pound out of your chest,” I said, voice low and taunting. I swore I felt her heart stutter under my palm. “Why do you fight it?”
She swallowed, her eyes flicking to my lips.
Then, she pushed me back with whatever semblance of control she was still holding fast to, peeling my hands off her and storming down the hall.
“There’s nothing to fight,” she said over her shoulder.
I stood there in the hallway until she ripped my front door open.
“I’m not your girl, Vince Tanev.” She turned to pin me with her gaze, more determination than ever before etched into her features. “Allow me to prove that to you.”
Backfire
Maven
“This is hotter than the Skinemax movies my Aunt Rosie used to watch,” Livia said, fanning herself as she leaned back in her chair. “I mean, usually I’m more into being the domineering one,” she added, tilting her head side to side. “But to each their own.”
“It’s not hot. It’s maddening,” I told her, taking an angry sip from my cocktail. We had escaped the chaos of our Tuesday for a long overdue bestie lunch at a spot near the stadium. Vince was in a film meeting with the team for at least another hour, which meant there was nothing to post about.
“You are a shit liar.”
“He posted a photo of us,” I barked at her. “And called me his girl.”
“Oh, no!” Livia gasped, sitting up straighter and pressing her hand to her chest like she was appalled. “What a jerk, liking you so much he wants to claim you. And to be hot and rich, too? With a nice cock? God, I don’t know how you’re surviving.”
She sat back with a roll of her eyes as I flicked her off, looking around to make sure none of the other diners were shocked by my best friend’s casual use of the word cock.
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t be just as upset.”
“Yeah, well, that’s different. I don’t date hockey players.”
“Because you’re too busy making them writhe in pain on your table?”
“Exactly,” she said, pointing at me before she sipped her martini. “And because they’re never the right candidates for what I like in the bedroom.”
I smirked at that. “Kinky bitch.”
“You’re just mad I’m not your dom.”
“A girl can dream.”
Livia smiled, shaking her head. “Stop trying to flatter me and get back to the point at hand. Why, exactly, are you so upset? You think he’s hot, right?”
“Well, I’m human, so yes.”
“And he’s cool, he’s fun, you like to be around him.”
“I guess, but—”
“So what is the problem?”
“He’s a hockey player!” I said, exasperated, my hands jutting toward her. “Just like you said. He’s a player. Period. I’ve literally seen him sandwiched between two women in a crowd of people. If I wasn’t there, he would have taken them both home.”
“But you were there,” Livia said.
And that was it.
That was her whole argument.
I had been there, and so Vince had left those girls dancing by themselves in the bar — all to chase after me.
I sighed, shaking my head as I sat back and drained my cocktail. I didn’t care that it was lunch and I had more work to do. I ordered another one. My heart was thumping in my ears, a panic attack rising.
“Are Reya and Camilla mad?”
“No,” I said on a laugh. “They’re tickled pink. But that doesn’t make it any less professional. I mean, let’s be honest, Livia — how many people are going to think I only got this gig because Vince Tanev wants to fuck me now? How many people are going to say that I was lucky, that I got plucked from the crowd of females desperate for his attention?” I paused, my voice softer when I added, “You should see the comments already. They’re awful.”
“Who gives a fuck what anyone on the Internet thinks or says?”
“It’s my career,” I said. “I just… I don’t want this to be what I’m remembered for. And besides, even if I did entertain whatever it is he’s offering. Which I’m not,” I added pointedly. “He’s a playboy, Liv. He can have whoever and do whatever he wants. What do I honestly expect?”
Livia’s eyes softened in understanding. “This is about James.”