Page 22 of A Little Too Forward

My confusion turns to understanding. A smile slowly begins to spread across my face until I’m wide-eyed and probably looking deranged. Sabrina’s having trouble not staring at me. My arms specifically, I notice.

“Sabrina Sutton. Are you ogling me?” I tease.

“In your dreams, Maximillian.” If it were possible, my smile would have grown at her use of her childhood nickname for me. We both knew Max wasn’t short for anything, but she loved finding new long, elaborate names to call me.

There’s a smartass reply on my tongue, but I think better of it. I don’t want to tease and piss her off across a line I can’t come back from today. Becoming Sabrina’s friend again is going to be a lot like a lion tamer gaining the trust of his new lion—tricky, dangerous, and needing to be handled with finesse. And treats, lots of treats.

“It’s a tank top, for your information. I have a new sponsorship deal with Battlements Inc., and they sent this over. Feel how soft this material is.”

“No, thank you. I’ll take your word for it.” She eyes me again. When she realizes I’ve caught her in the act, she stomps to the other end of the room. “Did they send a sweater in that amazing fabric that you could put on?”

Apparently, my arms and the suggestion of male nipple are her kryptonite. I wish I could say it was me, but I know better.

“Yeah, they did. I’ll be back. Help yourself to a cup of tea. The water should still be hot, and the blue box at the end of the counter is full of bags.” I notice from the corner of my eye that Sabrina jolts at my offering. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but she’s moving into the kitchen before I can open my mouth. Maybe I was just seeing things.

In my room, I shift through the box of apparel that I was sent and locate the soft Toronto Nighthawks sweater. It is as soft as the tank top, but the colors are brilliant on this piece. The dark, vivid blue, the signature colour of the Nighthawks, with the black detailing, is epic. I have no doubt that when this launches in a couple of weeks, the fans will go nuts.

Giving myself a quick look in the mirror, I brush through my hair with my fingers, trying to get the curly strands out of my face. When I’m somewhat satisfied with the style, I head back out to find Sabrina curled up on my couch, holding a steaming mug between two hands.

I make a quick detour into the kitchen, grabbing a protein shake from the fridge. Late in the afternoon, I can’t have any caffeine. Even if the label says decaf, I always find I have trouble sleeping.

Sabrina’s head turns as I enter the room. Her expression lights up when she sees me. Finally. Progress.

I should have known better.

“Whoa! Is that part of your sponsorship collection?” she asks excitedly, putting her tea down and rising up on her knees. I pause beside her as she reaches out to feel the material. “Oh my God, when does this drop? The colors are just—” Her hand flies back to her side as if she’s been burned. Casting her eyes away, she settles back on the sofa. “Sorry, got carried away there. I love a good sweater.”

“No worries,” I reply with a bit of hesitation in my voice. The sudden change in her demeanour throws me off. “And yeah, it’s part of the collection. From what they tell me, it’s supposed to be released soon. Just in time for Black Friday,” I end with a chuckle, adjusting myself as I sit on the other end of the sofa.

She nods, hearing my words, but I can tell she’s lost in her head. The silence stretches for a couple of minutes until I can’t take it anymore.

“Are you trying to kill me with the silent treatment? If so, I’d have to say it’s working.”

Her attention comes back to me. The corners of her lips twist up the smallest bit, hinting at a smile.

“My murderous intentions have simmered down to only wanting to seriously maim you. But I could be swayed back, don’t test me.”

I raise my hands up in the air, playing along. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“I came here to talk. There are a few things we need to get straight before I take the job with SNN.”

“Wait. You haven’t taken the job yet?”

“I haven’tsignedanything. I may have verbally accepted. But that’s not the point, Max. We need to sort our shit before anything is official.”

“What shit do we need to sort, Bean?” I ask with frustration in my tone. “Cuz where I’m sitting, we’re good. It’s you who needs to get over the past.”

“Me? You’re saying I’m the problem here?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying you have a problem, with me specifically, that you need to get over. I’m not sorry that I signed with Montreal. I know you see it as a betrayal, but they gave me a start that no other team came close to. I would have been a fool not to take it. Rivalry or not.”

“Fine. Yes, I was angry that you signed with Montreal…because it’s fucking Montreal! We were both raised cursing that team, and the fact you could even consider going to Toronto’s rival was rage inducing. But I got over that. What still boils my blood is the fact you never came home. Never saw your family.”

Her words shock me. That’s what she’s been mad about for the last decade? Not a betrayal to her but to my family.

Putting my bottle on the side coffee table, I turn fully to Sabrina.

“First of all, you’re a sports reporter. Aren’t you supposed to be neutral on all teams?”

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