Page 17 of The Triple Play

I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up my throat, couldn’t hold it back for the life of me. I wasn’t exactly the biggest of the guys on the team in the muscle department, but I was certainly stronger and more rigid than a standard man. I’d taken far worse blows than a throw from a shortstack like her. “Annie,baby,” I chuckled, my grin far too wide. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

A flicker of something akin todeterminationtwinked in her eyes, her brows coming together just slightly, her eyes narrowing. “You say that like it’s a challenge.”

I waggled my brows at her and took a deep breath in, my lower abdomen pushing out just a little more. “Annie?—”

So quickly that I almost didn’t catch it, she clenched her fist and drew back before striking me just below my belly button. The punch landed with about as much force as a moth throwing itself against a window in search of light. I barely felt a thing, and I exhaled a breath through my nose, holding back a laugh at the way her whole body tensed, her fist lingering there like she was waiting for more of a reaction.

I quirked an eyebrow at her. “That’s all you’ve got? Come on. I know he made you angrier than that little punch felt,” I said, glancing between her stupidly sexy blue eyes and the knuckles resting against my stomach. “Come on. Throw areal one.”

A cute little scowl formed on her face, but she squared her shoulders as she reared back again, her fist clenched, inhaling deeply?—

Ouch.

The second punch hit me significantly harder, her aim a little off and almost colliding with my hip bone, but it was actually decent for someone of her size. It wasn’t nearly enough to damage me at all, but the dull little ache showed me she meant business this time.

“That’s more like it,” I chuckled lightly, readjusting my stance just a tad. “You’ve been… wait, what’s your last name?”

“Brent,” she huffed.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Brent.”

She let out another small, barely noticeable chuckle, but she bounced slightly on her feet, retracting her fist and keeping her eyes locked on my stomach. “Can I?—”

“You want to test those waters, Annie?” I drawled, cutting her off. I didn’t move, though — didn’t give her any reason to believe she couldn’t. Nothing except my words. “Go ahead. See what happens.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, still a little damp and shining with the reflection of Dad’s bar sign down the alleyway. I could see it, then, the little flicker of adrenaline and minor amusement in her stare. It was another challenge, and I was learning very quickly that Annie seemed to like those.

She hesitated for half a second before throwing another punch.

I caught her wrist before it could land.

Her breath hitched instantly, the proximity we’d had moments ago when I was holding her face in my hands and telling her to breathe and calm down falling completely to the wayside.Thissomehow felt more intimate, felt more charged. Her fingers twitched in my grip, and for a minute, a long and stretched-out breath of time, we just…stood there.

I swallowed and sank my rear back against the brick wall, abandoning the position I’d held primed for punching, and held her gaze, my hand tightening just slightly around her wrist. Something different appeared on her face then — an upset, ananger, but as her gaze drifted lower and went unfocused, I could tell it wasn’t directed at me.

“He was wrong, you know,” I said, my voice even. “Everything he said. The way he said it. The shit he spewed from his mouth. He was wrong.”

Her arm moved, pulling back slightly, and I let her go. She took a half-step back, her throat working like she was trying to find words to say but coming up short. I let her take her time. “You don’t know that. You barely know me.”

I shrugged. “Maybe,” I admitted. “But I know that look. Know it like the back of my fuckin’ hand. Sported it for years.”

Her eyes flicked back to mine, her hand cradling her wrist as if I’d somehow damaged it. Or maybe she was chasing the ghost of the sensation of my fingers wrapped around it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I exhaled a little dramatically, crossing my arms over my chest, welcoming the bit of warmth I gave myself. “My birth parents didn’t believe in me, either. Thought my obsession with being on the frozen-over lake behind our shitty house was a waste of time, thought I was dumb for begging to sign up to a local children’s league. They thought that my dream to play was something that was never going to happen, and they made damn sure I knew it. Pretty sure that was one of the reasons they stopped wanting to be my parents at all.”

Her eyes dropped to the ground.

“I got lucky, though,” I went on, taking a breath to keep my voice even. “Your boss,mydad, ended up becoming my foster dad. And you know him, Ans. Still living in his glory days of playing with the Calgary Caribou. He made me feel like I wasn’t fucking insane for wanting something grand for myself. So, yeah, I know that look. And I know that Elliot doesn’t get to decide what you are. You’re not just a bartender. You’re not a failure?—”

“My dad’s the same as Elliot.”

Shit.Her words cut through like a knife. I sucked in air through my teeth, my anger for her only starting to mount. “Fuck him, then. Fuck them both.”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, her head shaking just a little. “It’s not thateasy. Elliot’s my boyfriend, I can’t just walk away after a blip.”

“You absolutely can.”

She let out a shuddering breath, bringing her hands up to her face, pressing her palms against her eyes before wiping the sudden tears away. Mascara smudged across her face, and I made a mental note to fix that before she went anywhere. “I just… heknowshow much this matters to me. He does. And he’s usually good about it, but—” She cut herself off, her voice wobbling, and shook her head. Her shoulders curled inward, like she was bracing for impact or a rebuttal even though Elliot was long gone.

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