Page 51 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
I shrug, "You’re the one out here trying to look impressive. Just saying since your form isn’t okay, it’s not working."
"Excuse you? I wasn’t trying to impress anyone."
I smirk, skating a slow circle around her. "Sure, you weren’t."
Scoffing, she pushed off and skated past me.
"Your edges are sloppy," I call after her.
She groans, spinning around to face me, hands on her hips. "Do you always give unsolicited advice, or am I just lucky?"
"Only when it’s this painful to watch," I reply, crossing my arms.
“What do I need to do for you to stay away from me, huh? Do I need to get a “Keep off, Liam” sign?”
“Seriously, do I need to have a “Do not approach me, Liam” sign wherever I go?”
"Depends.” I skate up beside her, matching her pace as she starts moving again. "Tell me something," I say. "Can you still play hockey?”
Her expression darkens, and for a second, I think I have hit a nerve. "I could play circles around you," she says sharply.
"Is that right?" I raise an eyebrow. "Care to prove it?"
She does not answer immediately, her jaw tightening again. I can tell she is debating whether or not to take the bait.
"You don’t want to embarrass yourself," I add casually, giving her one last nudge.
That does it. She narrows her eyes at me, her voice low and steady. "Fine. Game on."
“To make it interesting, let’s make a bet,” I say before I can rethink it.
She raises an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in her gaze. “A bet?”
I nod, letting the grin tug at my lips. “First one to get the puck through that makeshift goalpost three times wins. Loser does whatever the winner says..., four times.”
She crosses her arms, a playful smile creeping onto her face. “Whatever?”
“Whatever,” I confirm.
Hazel raises a brow, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Four times? That is oddly specific.”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “Adds stakes. One request might be a fluke, but four? That is commitment.”
“Four’s a lot…, two requests,” she says.
“Three. No more, no less.”
“Three it is.” Her eyebrow raises as she tilts her head. “And what kind of things are we talking about here? Like, ‘go fetch me coffee’ or ‘stand outside in the cold for ten minutes?”
“Could be,” I say, tilting my head, “could also be something worse.”
She narrows her eyes at me, suspicious. “Define worse.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I reply, skating backward, letting the puck rest under my stick.
“That’s not reassuring,” she says.
“Back out if you’re scared,” I teased, smirking.
