The second Brooke heard the shrill whistle, she knew it was for her. The ref called out her number and offense, sending her to the penalty box with a jerk of his thumb. She skated off the rink and took a seat, swearing under her breath.
“What the hell’s gotten into you, Femme?” Tracy glared at her from the bench.
She knew exactly what the hell had gotten into her, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to own it. It was one thing to let the opposing team get under her skin. A member of her own? Humiliating. And that’s exactly what was going on. Riley and her smug confidence. Riley and her new ideas and playing fast and loose with the rules. Riley and her gorgeous mouth that tasted even better than it looked. Riley and—
“Femme.”
And now she’d been so busy sulking, she looked like a space cadet. Great. “What?”
“That’s six penalties. One more and you’re out.”
She knew that was six. She wasn’t an idiot. She glowered at Tracy, throwing in an eye roll for good measure.
“I’m not pulling you out, but we’ve got close to ten minutes left. Get it together, will you?”
The official signaled the end of her time in the penalty box. She launched herself from the bench and rejoined the jam, jockeying for position and trying to make up for the precious seconds lost. She shouldered her way through the pack, then picked up speed, looping the rink to start the process again. She’d just strategized her next move—one that wouldn’t require close proximity to Riley—when Riley spun around to hip check a blocker from the opposing team.
The move created the perfect opening. She couldn’t not take it. She leaned in and darted forward before the pack shifted, and the space closed. Just as she slipped through, she could make out Riley’s voice behind her. “You’re welcome.”
She careened into the opposing team’s jammer, needing somewhere to channel the flare of agitation. The sound of the whistle once more made her stomach sink. She didn’t bother keeping the swearing under her breath as she moved off the field of play. Since she was officially ejected from the match, she didn’t even bother with the penalty box, skating instead to her own bench. She yanked the panty off her helmet and handed it to Tracy but refused to make eye contact.
The rest of the bout passed in a blur of her own self-loathing. Although tempted to skip the after-party altogether, it was a line of bitchiness she wasn’t willing to cross. Or maybe cowardice. Either way, she didn’t want her teammates to think she’d sunk so low.
On the short drive to the bar, she alternated between giving herself a pep talk—it wasn’t as if she was the first of the Bruisers to get ejected on penalties—and a stern directive to get a grip. Riley showed no signs of going anywhere, and unless she wanted to remove herself from the equation, she was going to have to find a way to get along. Ill-advised kiss notwithstanding.
The question was, could she do it?
She could. She’d been nice to bigger jerks at work. Even a couple of former teammates had been more obnoxious than Riley, and she’d always managed to keep her cool. There was no logical reason for Riley to continue getting under her skin the way she did. Even though Brooke couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her, and Riley, by her observation, couldn’t care less.
Brooke got out of her car and squared her shoulders. She could do this. She walked into the bar. Even if the sting of such a stupid loss was still fresh. Even if she still hated herself for getting ejected for the first time in her derby career. Even if she had this low-grade urge to hip check Riley into the middle of next week.
Inside, conversations were going, and no one seemed bothered by the loss the Bruisers had just endured. That was good, she supposed.
Hits came over and slung her arm around Brooke’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Brooke shook her head. “Nope.”
“Let me buy you a drink. Beer or something stronger?”
She considered for only a second. “Crown and Sprite.”
“That bad, huh?”
She let out a sigh laced with a trace of growl. “That bad.”
Hits headed to the bar and returned a minute later with a pair of matching drinks. She handed one to Brooke. “Cheers.”
Brooke shook her head. “What could we possibly be toasting?”
“Come on. It wasn’t that terrible.”
Brooke downed half her drink before raising a brow. “We lost to a team we’ve obliterated the last three years running.”
Hits shrugged. “Yeah, but no one got hurt. It’s our first loss of the season. And we’re here drinking cocktails. Life’s still pretty good in my book.”
For as tough a blocker as Hits was, she had a surprisingly easygoing approach to derby. Not entirely unlike Riley, but in a much less annoying way. “You have a point, I suppose.”
“We all have shit nights, Femme. No one is holding this against you but you.”
Rationally, she knew that. And if she’d been distracted by work or a family thing or, God, anything but Riley, she might be able to let it go. The fact that it wasn’t anything like that, or anything remotely important in the grand scheme of things, was what got her. She’d let Riley’s presence completely derail her and ruin one of her absolute favorite things. That was what she resented, far more than the humiliating defeat or Riley’s instant popularity with people she’d taken months to become easy with.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
She let out a full growl this time. “I’m sure.”
Tracy joined them and started talking about a job interview she had coming up. It proved the perfect distraction. And giving Tracy a pep talk meant Hits was no longer trying to give her one. She actually started to forget about what a shit night she’d been having and even took Hits up on her offer of a second drink. It was all going well until she turned and found herself face-to-face with Riley.
Brooke looked around in search of an escape, but there was none to be had. At least none that didn’t involve completely abandoning her resolution to make nice. Great.
“Hey.” Riley smiled. She’d been wanting to get Brooke alone all night. Well, not alone. Even if she had the occasional fantasy of getting Brooke alone in a very different way, she knew she’d be barking up the wrong tree. That ship had sailed, and she was more determined than ever to be friends. It was their best chance for making it through in one piece.
“Hey.” Brooke’s surliness came through, but it was laced with something akin to sadness that made Riley want to hug her.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Riley raised a brow. “You’re not a very good liar, are you?”
Brooke closed her eyes for a second, and Riley couldn’t decide if she was on the verge of tears or trying not to throat punch her. “Fine. I’m not great, but I really don’t want to talk about it.”
At least she could empathize on that front. “We all have shitty bouts. It happens.”
Brooke glowered. “I don’t.”
She could have taken the statement as ego. It might have been easier if she had. It would keep Brooke in a tidy box of all-around bitch. But her conversation with Hits echoed in her mind, and Riley could tell it wasn’t actually ego at all. Brooke seemed, what? Defeated. “You might expect perfection of yourself, but no one else does.”
“Look, I get that you’re trying to be nice, but I’m not interested in a pep talk.”
Riley couldn’t help but chuckle. This conversation felt oddly similar to one she’d had with Grace only a few nights before. She knew better than to say so, but it might not hurt to apply some of the same principles. “Would you feel better if you hit me?”
“What?” Brooke looked at her with apparent confusion, although Riley got the sense part of her wanted very much to coldcock her.
“It’s obvious that I’m what’s bugging you so much. I’ll be honest, it feels like a whole lot more than the fact that I shoulder checked you in a bout almost a year ago. But I’ll be damned if I know what it is.”
Brooke opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t speak.
Riley considered her options. The most reasonable would be to walk away. Brooke had rejected all of her attempts to make nice. Even offering herself up as a punching bag hadn’t cracked her. It wasn’t as if they needed to like each other to play on the same team. She could step back and leave Brooke’s friends to commiserate with her or cheer her up or whatever they did to pull her out of a funk.
The problem was, she didn’t want to do that.
For whatever reason, she liked Brooke, and she wanted Brooke to like her. Part of it was her own ego. Everyone liked her. Brooke was like this puzzle she needed to solve or, perhaps more accurately, a dare she couldn’t seem to resist. There was also the matter of Brooke being off her game. If the Bruisers had any hope of finishing a winning season, Brooke needed to be in top form. None of their other jammers came close to her in terms of stamina or finesse.
But even as she told herself these things, she knew it was a whole lot more than that. For some inexplicable reason, she had feelings for Brooke. Sexual attraction laced with something romantic and protective and completely out of her comfort zone. She’d spent a month denying it and another trying to distract, divert, or otherwise talk herself out of it. And all she’d managed to do was make it stronger.
Brooke Landry had gotten into her system and showed no signs of going anywhere.
“The way I see it, there’s this weird tension between us. Ignoring it is only making it stronger, so I think we need to blow it wide open.”
Brooke angled her head and seemed to consider the offer. “And you think me decking you will do the trick.”
She decided to take a chance. “Well, it’s either that or we go to bed together, and I’m guessing you’re far more inclined to punch me than sleep with me.”
She didn’t know what she expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t for Brooke to bust out laughing. But that’s exactly what happened. Not just a laugh, either. She leaned forward, braced a hand on one of her knees, and really laughed.
Riley waited her out. It took a while. During that time, she tried not to take it personally that the idea of sex with her proved so hilarious. When Brooke finally stopped, there were tears in her eyes. “Oh my God.”
“I mean, I figured you wouldn’t want to; that’s why I led with the hitting.”
Brooke pressed her lips together and wiped her eyes. “I don’t want to hit you.”
Riley raised a brow. “Does that mean you do want to go to bed with me?” She was seriously pressing her luck at this point, but whatever.
“I do not.”
That was a shame. Not that she expected Brooke to say yes, but it stung to be dismissed so readily. In general but even more so by Brooke. And after what had been, in her book, a pretty spectacular kiss.
Brooke smiled and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m going to go home now.”
If she didn’t know better, she could close one eye and think they were flirting. “Was it something I said?”
Whatever moment they’d shared passed. Brooke’s eyes cooled, and she glanced toward the door. “It’s been a long day, and clearly, I’m not fit for conversation.”
“I think you’re doing okay.” Riley couldn’t put her finger on it, but it felt like maybe Brooke’s shell might be starting to crack, and she didn’t want to let her leave. Like letting her go would put them back to being enemies.
“You don’t need to lie.” Brooke sighed. She looked exhausted all of a sudden. “Besides, I have an open house tomorrow, and I need to be ready for it.”
And just like that, the cracks closed. The flash of anger was gone but so was the humor. Riley was left with cool, aloof Brooke. She shouldn’t but she’d almost prefer the flash of defiance to this detached disinterest. She let out a sigh of her own. “All right. I hope it goes well tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Brooke turned to leave but paused. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
Riley opened her mouth to ask what earlier Brooke was referring to, but she didn’t have the chance. Brooke made a beeline to the door, pausing for only a second to say something to Hits. And then she was gone.
Riley stared at the exit for a moment as though she might will her to come back. She didn’t, of course. Riley shook her head and turned her attention to her other teammates. She talked and laughed, made plans to catch up with a couple of people for lunch on Sunday. But a part of her mind remained on Brooke. The unexpected laughter, which turned her on more than she’d care to admit, and the cryptic apology.
If she was smart, she’d wash her hands of Brooke Landry and not look back. Because even if they found some sort of peace, everything about Brooke screamed prickly, mercurial, and impossible to please. Chasing after her could only lead to disaster.
And yet. And yet, chasing after her was exactly what Riley wanted to do.