Page 3 of Stick Games
Emilia is so formal, and Millie? Well, I just like it better. “Because it’s cute.”
Her body stiffens and she focuses on the corsage. Jeez, was it something I said? Don’t girls like to be told they’re cute? Not that I consider her cute. She’s breathtaking, but I probably shouldn’t be saying that out loud.
She smells the flowers. “Thanks, this is really pretty.”
We make our way to the car. I open her door for her and she climbs in, looking much more relaxed than she did earlier. Her eyes are on me as I circle the front and I wave to her parents and Ryder as they stand on the doorstep.
I shift in my tight suit as I climb in and start the car. After backing out of the driveway, I glance at Millie. “It’s his loss, you know.” She shrugs and a measure of concern tightens in my gut. “Did you think he was the one?”
“No, but to dump me on prom day.” She picks at an imaginary piece of lint. “Not very nice.”
“Yeah. Ryder said I wasn’t allowed to give him a black eye.” That brings a smile to her face. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t show him what he lost out on.”
Easy, dude.
“What do you mean?”
I wink at her. “You’ll see.”
2
Emilia
Prom:
* * *
You’ll see…
What the heck does he mean by that? I don’t know, but something tells me I’m going to like it. Honestly, I can’t believe he’s doing this for me. We barely speak anymore and when we share ice time, he seems to go out of his way to avoid me. Things were so different when we were younger, before I hit puberty and started lusting after him. Maybe that’s what caused the tension between us—and believe me, I feel his tension.
The second I walked into my living room and saw him in his suit, looking like every woman’s dream—which naturally he is—I could feel him pull back. Which is why I wanted to call this whole thing off. The truth is, he doesn’t like me the way I like him, which makes being around him hard.
When he called me Millie, it was a reminder that he’d always see me as his best friend’s kid sister. He started calling me that one day when I was young, and I’d come home from skating practice in pig tails. That’s how he thinks of me, and always will.
Yet here I am, lusting after my brother’s best friend. God, could I be more of a cliché?
But my brother convinced me to go to prom, otherwise I might regret it for the rest of my life, and the icing on the cake was to walk in there with an NHL superstar on my arm. Maybe that was the selling point, or maybe I’m simply a masochist. How else can you describe a person who’s willing to spend time with a man they’re crazy about, a man who will never reciprocate those feelings?
I sink back into my seat and glance out the window. I am looking forward to seeing my friends, and dancing. I spend so much time at the rink practicing that I don’t have a lot of spare time, so at the end of the day I guess I am glad Ryder talked me into this.
I give a sigh and catching me by surprise, Gabe reaches across the seat and takes my hand in his. “It’s going to be okay.”
The warmth of his palm burns through my veins and settles deep between my legs. God, what would it be like to have this man’s hands on other parts of my body? It’s not the first time that thought has jumped into my brain, and it certainly won’t be the last.
“Yeah,” is all I can manage to push out as my throat grows tight.
He lets go of my hand and we fall silent as he drives to the museum. Cars fill the lot and many of my classmates are hanging out, not to mention sneaking drinks before heading inside. Gabe eases his car into a spot, and I unbuckle.
“Stay put,” he orders in a voice that does the craziest things to the needy juncture between my legs.
All eyes turn to him, and a hush falls over the crowd as he gets out, circles the car, and opens the door for me. Jeez, is he putting on a show for my friends, or is he a gentleman with all his dates? Not that this is a real date.
He holds his hand out and I take it, allowing him to pull me from the car. He closes the door behind me, and slides a strong arm around my waist, tugging me tight against his rock-hard body.
“You good?”
I eye him and work to find my voice as his fingers press into my hip. “I’m good.”
