Page 20 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
Please note the sarcasm.
My brother’s vibrating with so much excitement that I expect him to rocket around the room like a deflating helium balloon. “Really???”
“That’s right, kiddo. Coach Gage is at your service.”
This is the happiest I’ve seen Teague in a long time. There’s a lively spark glistening in his eyes—one that has been dimmed as a result of my unintentional neglect, and one that I was afraid I’d never see again. And Gage was the last person I ever expected to unearth it.
Teague bulldozes into Gage, wrapping his short arms around Gage’s tree-trunk torso. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” he chants, squeezing the air out of his new instructor as he simultaneously jumps up and down.
Wary of his hip, Gage returns my brother’s embrace with equal enthusiasm, nearly swallowing his small frame.
I’m surprised at how…natural…Gage looks with my brother. Seeing as he isn’t good with adults, I didn’t think he’d be good with kids. But I was wrong.
A—dear God—compliment sits on my tongue, waiting to stroke Gage’s already inflated ego, but I’m thankfully cut off when one of his teammates glides over to us, helmet gone and black hair curling down to his nape. He has a scruffy lumberjack look to him, with an impressively full beard for someone who I’m guessing is still in his early twenties.
“Gage, Coach says to get your ass back on the bench,” he relays, leaning his chin on the butt of his hockey stick. He’s got thickset shoulders just like Gage, and I’m beginning to thinkthat Hulk-like muscle mass is a requirement for all hockey players.
“Yeah, yeah. Tell him I’m coming,” Gage gripes.
And then, Mountain Man’s dark eyes coast over me. “Shit. I’m sorry. How rude of me. I’m D,” he drawls, slipping his glove off to extend his giant bear paw of a hand.
Oh my God. He’s tall, dark, and handsome. He’s like a tortured, chiseled model pulled from the cover of some dark romance. And his name? I’ve never been one for mystery, but fuck, I think this guy’s about to change my mind. He’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen, and my arm moves of its own accord when I go to shake his hand.
He brings my knuckles to his pillow-soft lips—the whiskers of his facial hair tickling my skin—and plants a kiss on the back of my hand. Lust prickles low in my belly at the way his mouth brands me, and I go brain-dead for a few seconds, trying to digest the fact that a man as perfect as him would be flirting with someone who’s wearing two mismatched shoes and currently sweating through her deodorant.
“Calista,” I reply, starry-eyed.
“Un nom magnifique pour une fille aussi magnifique que le paradis lui-même,” he says in the most delicious French accent, calloused fingers still in acquaintance with my trembling hand.
HE’S FRENCH? Pinch me. I mean, I have no idea what he just said, but he could’ve called me a disgusting pig and I still would’ve swooned.
His dreamy eyes, the color of coffee grounds under the fluorescents, flick down to the jersey I forgot I was wearing. “Are you and Gage…?”
I look down in an effort to understand what he’s insinuating, and I feel my cheeks boil with embarrassment. “No! No. God, no. We’re—he’s…just friends,” I hurl out, instantly yanking my arm back so I can free myself from Gage’s jersey. My arms flap about asthey wiggle out of the sleeves, and my ears get caught on the neckline for a humiliating second, but I eventually pop my head out and throw it in Gage’s general direction.
Remember when I said I had priorities? Consider those priorities tabled for the time being. Hadley was right. I deserve to let loose and have fun, and if that means getting this handsome Sam Hartman lookalike’s number, then so be it.
I’m pretty sure Gage mumbles something from behind the wad in his face, but my focus abandoned him a long time ago. In fact, I forgot he was even here.
“In that case, I hope I’m not overstepping if I ask you out to dinner tonight,” D proposes, flashing me a smile with teeth so straight and white that they belong on a poster in a dentist’s office.
Every inch of me suddenly grows unbearably hot, and my heart’s roaring so loudly that I’m afraid he can hear it. “Overstepping? No, of course not. That sounds amazing. I’d love to,” I ramble.
“Hey, hey, now,” Gage interjects, inserting his stupid body into the one conversation thatdoesn’tconcern him. “Unfortunately, Dilbert,Calistahere already has plans with me tonight.”
I snap my head at him, growling under my breath, “No, I don’t.”
“Of course we do, Spitfire. First date, remember?”
I’m going to kill Gage. I’m going to buy four horses, have him drawn and quartered like back in the medieval days, then bury his dismembered limbs where nobody will ever find them.
Dilbert blinks owlishly, same with Teague, confusion marring both of their faces.
“Nope, definitely never agreed to that.”
“Sure, you did. You must’ve forgotten.” Gage does the wise thing and puts his jersey back on, but then he does the unwise thing and hangs his arm over my shoulder again like we’re…we’re…dating. “Sorry, Dil, but my girl is off the market. We just haven’t gone public with it yet. You understand, don’t you? Don’t want the news taking away from the season.”
“Uh, right…” Dilbert trails, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know she was your girl.”
