“Forget hockey. You should have gone into acting,” Chloe mutters, her green eyes slamming into mine, hijacking my thoughts.
Because a second ago, I was cursing myself out for being so reckless. For spinning a lie that has the potential to get out and spread, grow into a rumor. I was wondering if I pushed too hard and if Chloe was frustrated with me for insinuating that we always had a thing between us.
But now, right now, with her eyes shimmering with gratitude and the apples of her cheeks coated in the softest pink, I can only think about what a douchebag Steve is.
“I’m happy you didn’t marry him,” I say instead, meaning it.
“Thank you for that. You were…you didn’t have to do that.”
“He never deserved you,” I say instead.
Chloe wrinkles her nose and nudges one of the shot glasses she ordered closer to me.
I pick it up and hold it toward her. “What are we drinking to, Chlo?”
“To saying yes.”
I clink my glass against hers and toss back the chilled vodka. “Lemon drop?”
She shrugs. “It’s a good starter.”
“Starter? How many shots are we taking tonight?”
Chloe shrugs again, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Night’s young, Aus. We haven’t even started the evening itinerary.”
I snicker. “You’re a troublemaker, Chloe Crawford.”
Her mouth drops open in protest. “Me? I create crossword puzzles, Austin. I’m a rule follower. You’re the one icing perfectly pleasant players and—”
“Perfectly pleasant?”
She smirks. “The Charles Crows.”
This time, my mouth falls open. “Are you kidding me?” I snort, amazed she remembered who our high school played in the finals my freshman year. And impressed. More impressed than I want to be. “How do you even remember that?”
“You practically took out their center!” she accuses, gesturing toward me. “How could I forget it?”
There’s laughter in her tone but at the reminder of how damn reckless I used to be, I still. She’s right, of course. I did almost take out their center. Why? Over some cheap shot and smack talk? Another memory, one with a hell of a lot worse consequences, rolls over me and I shudder.
“Hey.” Chloe’s laughter dies and she reaches out, touching my forearm. “I’m just messing with you, Austin.” She frowns, her brows pulling together in a line I want to smooth out. Because she shouldn’t feel bad about bringing up all my past stupid mistakes.
Is it better to be with someone who already knows all your fuckups but also the challenges you overcame? Or is it better to start fresh, to have a clean slate to keep pristine or fuck up whatever way you see fit?
I shake the thoughts away. Who the hell even cares? This thing, this summer, between Chloe and me, is just that. A fun summer to keep our scheming mothers at bay while having a few laughs at our social obligations.
“Austin?”
I force a grin. “I know.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head.
“Nope what?”
“You’re not getting off that easy. There’s no way in hell you would react like, like that”—she gestures at me—“over some high school hockey game when you were a freshman.”
I gesture to the bartender that we’ll take another round.
“That bad, huh?” Chloe comments, pursing her lips.
“What are you talking about?” I chuckle, shifting my weight toward the bar.
She shakes her head again, her touch on my arm morphing into a grasp.
I glance down at where she’s holding me. Her fingernails are manicured, short, neat, and polished a neutral beige. She squeezes my arm and I meet her gaze again.
“What happened?” she murmurs, her voice softer this time. There’s empathy in her eyes that lures me closer.
Because it’s genuine.
A lot of women have looked at me with bedroom eyes. Irises colored with hope, edged out with just a glint of ruthlessness. It’s the glint that’s always held me back. The knowledge that deep down, they want me for the status, for the title, for what I am more than who I am.
Most women would sell my secret to the highest bidder for a payday. Not that my secret is a secret. The game that landed Sammy Snell in the hospital is public knowledge. Worse, it wasn’t by my hands but by my goddamn stupidity.
Chloe angles her head, waiting for me to respond. Her gaze is patient, caring. Not urgent and curious.
“It’s not worth getting into right now. Honest,” I say, dipping my head. I don’t want to talk about that night, about college, about letting so many people down. Not when my thoughts are already twisted up about this season. Not when I’m sitting next to Chloe, enjoying being with her. “Besides, we’re on our trial run.”
“Trial run?”
I nod. “Gotta practice for all our social events. Especially if we’re to be the talk of the season.”
Chloe snickers. “Talk of the season? You watched Bridgerton, didn’t you?”
I groan, hating that she already called me out. “I have two sisters and a cousin who might as well be my third.”
“You live alone!”
I snort and hold my hands up in surrender. “Fine. I watched Bridgerton. But so did Easton and Noah.”
Chloe laughs harder, shaking her head at me. “That’s even worse. You’re not supposed to give your friends up like that.”
“Hey! I thought I can trust you.”
She nods, her cheeks ruddy. “You can,” she swears, crossing her heart like the nine-year-old girl with pigtails and gap teeth I still remember.
I grasp her finger and tug her flush against my chest. She comes easily, falling into my arms like it’s something she does every day. Any lingering doubts or awkwardness between us has dissipated. Chloe and I have fallen into old habits effortlessly, like no time has passed at all.
And I like it. I like being with her, laughing and joking.
I like how easily she pulls me into the now, keeps me rooted in the present, when I have a habit of getting hung up on the past or worrying about the future.
I notice the glances in our direction. I spot the narrowed eyes on our embrace, the whispers behind cupped hands. The attention we’re garnering speaks to the white lie I created.
I should shut it down. Right now, I should back away, create some distance between Chloe and me. Let people suspect things between us without really knowing. But I don’t want to. For the first time in years, I don’t do the right thing. The noble thing.
Instead, I tip my head in the direction of the nosy, desperate-for-gossip bar patrons. “Want to make this real?”
She shakes her head, confused. “Make what real?”
“Our blossoming relationship, of course.”
Her eyes widen and she gasps.
I drop my head the tiniest bit, lifting my hand to cup her cheek. The couple on the other side of Chloe abruptly end their conversation. Necks swing in our directions, eyes wide and waiting.
Chloe blushes furiously, her tongue darting out, swiping across her lower lip. And Christ if I don’t want to lean down and pull it in between my teeth, nip once before kissing the sting away.
“What do you have in mind?” she whispers, her voice throaty.
Sexy.
So different than the Chloe I know and yet, so fitting.
My other hand settles on her hip, resting there. I like the feel of her curves under my palm. I like the heat of her skin. I especially like the uptick in her breathing. I affect Chloe Crawford which is somewhat of a relief considering she sure as hell affects me. Not that it will ever come to anything but right now, I cling to the trust in Chloe’s eyes, knowing mine mirror the sentiment. Yeah, we can do this for a summer. We’re already doing it.
“Take a walk on the beach with me, Sunshine?”
She blinks once, a little dazed. Slowly, she nods and I grin. I pull out my wallet to toss down some bills. Chloe threads her fingers with mine as I lead her toward the side entrance, where the salty air and whispering waves beckon.
I feel eyes in between my shoulder blades, attention prickling the back of my neck. I squeeze Chloe’s hand and she smiles up at me, sweet and knowing and beautiful.
We push outside and her smile turns into uninhibited laughter.
“Oh my God, Austin Merrick.” She twirls toward me, dropping my hand and walking backwards toward the stretch of sea. “You are a natural.”
“A natural?” I repeat, trying to hold back my grin. Why the hell am I smiling so much anyway?
She nods. “You sold that better than I could have hoped.” She gestures toward the hotel.
“You did pretty good yourself, Ms. Crawford.”
She grins, her dimple flashing. “What do you want to do? We have…” She pauses to check her watch. “About an hour before dinner starts.”
I shrug, toeing off my shoes. The cool sand rises between my toes. I breathe in the heavy air and slowly exhale. “I can’t remember the last time I was at the beach.”
“Seriously?”
“Not like this. I may have driven past beaches during away games but not just on my own. Not when it’s been quiet and dark and just…”
“A place for reflection?” Chloe guesses, reading my mind.
I nod.
She steps closer, her fingers threading with mine again. “You got a lot going on up there, Austin.”
“Thought I was just some dumb jock?” I tease.
She snorts. “Please. I’ve always known you’ve been more than just hockey.”
“What do you mean?” I’m curious to know what she thinks about me. Especially now. After all these years. How have I changed? For the better? Worse?
“You’ve always cared so much about your team, way beyond how team dynamics affect a game or a season. You’ve always cared about them like they’re your brothers. Right now, it seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind. Like you’re working through things.”
I sigh, glancing over her head at the rolling waves. “Feels that way too,” I admit.
She squeezes my hand. “Want to talk about it? You know I’ll listen.”
I stare at her for a beat, knowing she really will listen. She’ll probably even understand. I shake my head. “It was a long time ago, Chlo. A teammate got injured and it was on me, but I don’t want to get into all the details tonight. Tonight, I just want to enjoy the moment.”
She tips her head in understanding, a blaze of compassion crossing her face. “If you change your mind and want to talk…”
I nod at her offer.
“Well, I have something that will cheer you up.”
“Really?” I waggle my eyebrows. “How far are we taking things between us, Crawford?”
She rolls her eyes. “Get your head out of the gutter. Besides, Maebelle’s ice cream is better than sexy times.”
“Not if you’re doing it right,” I mutter.
Chloe gasps and I grin, enjoying her reactions to silly things I say. Just like she did when we were kids. Oh, how I used to drive her nuts with my creepy crawlers and pretend snakes. She fell for my tricks every damn time, too.
She wrinkles her nose. “You’re probably right.”
Hold up.
I slow my gait, my gaze sharpening on her. “What?”
She sighs, glancing away. But I catch the blush on her cheeks in the shifting light of dusk. “Steve used to say, jeez, this is embarrassing. Clearly, I drink too much around you and forget myself. It’s nothing.”
“Tell me,” I demand.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Like you’ve been so forthcoming with all of your secrets?”
I shake my head. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It didn’t involve dipshit Steve. Or sex.”
“It’s the vodka talking.” She backpedals. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I narrow my eyes at her, waiting her out. Chloe always cracks under the silence.
After three seconds she heaves out a sigh and I bite back my grin.
“Steve used to say if I was thinner, you know, sexier, that he’d want to, that we’d have done, Jesus.” She blushes furiously and even though she’s embarrassed, I wait for her to finish her sentence.
Because anger is swirling dangerously in my bloodstream. It burns through me like a wildfire and I have to work not to crush Chloe’s fingers in mine. “You’d what?”
“Have better sex. More…sex. That it would have been…better.”
“He’s a fucking liar.” I stop walking.
Chloe freezes beside me. I grasp her shoulders and turn her so I can stare directly into her eyes.
“He’s a fucking liar, Chloe. If you believe anything I say, trust this. It was good for Steve. Fucking great for Steve. But men like Steve suck in bed. Let me guess, he never got you off?”
She lowers her gaze, her cheeks painfully red.
Fuck. I hook my finger under her chin and lift her face to mine again. “Did he?” I whisper, burning from the inside out with curiosity. I don’t know what the hell I even want her to say. If she says yes, I’ll be pissed. And if she says no, I’ll also be pissed because what the fuck has he been doing with her for five goddamn years?
“No.” It’s a whisper on the ocean breeze and yet, it bangs in my head like a firecracker.
“Because he sucks,” I explain. “And he has to make excuses for himself. In order to make him feel more like a man, he has to tear you down. But he’s so fucking wrong, Chlo. Being with you, intimately, would be hitting the goddamn lottery for any man.” My voice practically trembles with anger and…and what? I can’t even name the emotions rocking through me but they’re there. Intense, powerful, and very present. “But especially for a piece of shit like him.”
She works a swallow, her eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them. Her mouth parts and she’s so trusting, so goddamn vulnerable, that a part of me wants to dip my head, capture her lips, and kiss her hard. Hard enough to prove that she’s worthy of a relationship a million times better than what she had with Steve, and hard enough to erase any lingering thoughts of him from her mind entirely.
Instead, I curl my fingers into my palms and step back, adding space between us so I can get my head on straight before it rolls all the way off.
Shit. I drag in a deep breath.
“There’s no ice cream on the planet better than sex with the right person,” I mutter, shaking my head. “But right now, I could fucking use it. So, lead us to Maebelle’s.”
She nods and begins walking, her back straight.
After a few paces, I reach back out and grab her hand.
And when she lets me, I know she’s not angry with me. But maybe with Steve. Or maybe with herself.
And I know firsthand, that that’s the worst kind of anger there is. Because it festers, like an open wound, infecting all your good thoughts, all your warm feelings.
Sunshine’s always been all good, all warmth, all soul. Always.