Page 12 of My Last Dance

Swallowing the last of my pride, I rattled off my location in the airport before hanging up.

Feeling practically naked with no purse or bags, I took my time shuffling out to the pick-up zone. There was nothing else I could do tonight—about anything. My life was officially a disaster. It was ironic, really. I thought losing Patrick was hard enough, now I just lost everything else to my name.

I sat miserably on the cold, hard airport bench as I waited for my archnemesis to come take more pity on me.

4. TROUBLE, TRUCES, AND TERESA

Richard Charles Kappers the Third pulled up to the curb in his overly huge, flashy black truck. I watched him hop out and round the front, dressed in hodgepodge mix of athletic and street clothes—joggers, unlaced boots, a white hoodie, a black peacoat, and an old baseball hat, making his dark, longish hair splay out in that typical way all hockey guys wore their hair.

As soon as his eyes landed on me, he grinned at me with his stupidly perfect smile, making a jolt of heat hit me right in the chest, and I hated it. I hated that he still affected me.

“Hey.” Sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth, he searched around me. “So, where’re your bags?”

Annoyance sparked to life inside of me. “Ha fucking ha,” I sulked, crossing my arms over my chest. “Real funny.”

His face cracked in confusion. “Come again?”

Glaring up at him, I realized he was actually genuinely confused. “Thought you were making fun of me,” I grumbled, pulling my hat lower.

He rubbed his jaw to hide a chuckle. “Not this time. I’m kinda clueless right now.”

Just right now?The quip was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down. He was the only one here to help me, after all.

His eyebrows tugged together. Before I could react, he reached forward and lifted the brim of my hat. “Is this Piper Wyndell-Hamilton?”

Rolling my eyes, I batted his hand away.

“I just gave you the perfect opportunity to insult my intelligence and you didn’t take it. I’m confused,” he said with an amused grin.

I just shrugged. This was definitely the part I was supposed to thank him for coming to get me, but something in me just wouldnotlet me say it. “My bags are probably somewhere in Chicago by now,” I muttered instead.

His dark eyebrows flew up. “Oh shit.” One hand went to his jaw, the other to his hip—his thinking stance. “Okay, we’ll have JP pick ‘em up. C’mere.”

“Huh?”

Before I could grasp what was happening, he pulled me into a big bear hug, smushing my cheek against his scratchy peacoat material. His usual bonfire plus clean laundry scent enveloped me, and bittersweetness tugged at my heart. I clung to the familiarity of him and his warmth for a minute, but I couldn’t let myself enjoy it for long. Because it wasn’t agenuinehug. It was apityhug.

“Get off me,” I muttered against his chest, but he held me so close that my voice was muffled.

“Huh?” His low voice rumbled.

“G’ off. Me.” I pushed at him.

“Why—”

I jabbed him in the gut the way I’d learned at my weekly jiu jitsu classes.

He immediately doubled over with a groan. “Why, Piper? I was trying to be nice.”

The sight of him keeled over, holding his stomach, made me crack a grin for the first time all day. “That made me feel better. Thank you.” I lightly patted his big shoulder. “I did say to get off, you didn’t listen. What’s a girl to do?”

“I’m sorry?” He shook his head. “How does this always happen? You hurt me and then I’m apologizing. How do you do it?”

“I guess I’m just evil,” I dropped before dashing outside into the cold rain to his truck. Maybe it was true, maybe I really was evil. People in the figure skating world dubbed me “the ice queen” long ago. I always thought it was a joke, but maybe there was some truth to it.

Kappy calmly folded his large frame into his truck and immediately started it up and blasted the heat. “No, you’re not.”

It took me a second to realize he was responding to what I said. “You call me Piper the Viper,” I deadpanned.

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