Page 50 of Rookie Season
“Being stabbed?”
Touché.
What if this doesn’t stop bleeding?
I pull out my phone. No reception. Dammit.
He shuffles his feet. “So, you can use a phone, just not to contact me.”
“What?”
I shove the phone back in my pocket in frustration. When I look up, he’s watching, amusement blurring with something else in his dark eyes.
“After we hooked up, I figured I’d get a call. A text. Hell, a single phrase in one of the dozen conversations we’ve had since.” His expression is surprisingly earnest and has me biting back whatever flippant comment is on the tip of my tongue.
“We had sex, Ryan. It was a one-night thing.” My voice is low, but it carries in the cabin. The darkness wraps around us, the soft light from over the sink casting a warm glow over his skin. “If I hook up with a Kodiak, it can only be one time. Nothing more.”
“Do you do that a lot?” There’s a wary edge to his voice. Still, he doesn’t seem insecure or judgmental, just as though he’s trying to understand.
His honesty is why I answer the same way.
“Not really.” I sigh. “Besides, I see you twice a week. I figured you would’ve said something.”
“I wanted to. But at Mile High, you always have a lot of guys hitting on you, and I didn’t want to come into your space and make you uncomfortable.”
His thoughtfulness sets me back. Not many people think of my wants first. It has me feeling grateful and strangely self-conscious.
“I’m sorry. It was good. Really good. But…” I set the washcloth on the counter and fold my arms. “I wasn’t looking to start something, and you definitely weren’t.”
He tilts his head. “How do you figure?”
The bleeding’s slowed. I focus on that as I turn away and shake the liquid bandage. I spray it on his skin, my other hand on his shoulder to steady him—or me.
“You’re a big deal. World champion. Everyone knows your face. You were in the middle of the season. You had some shit going on as a team.”
“I know what was going on for me, bartender. I meant you.”
I turn away and recap the liquid bandage. “The bar is everything to my dad, and the Kodiaks are everything to the bar. Getting into any kind of relationship with a player makes it messier.
“Once, I don’t regret it. Twice…” I lift a shoulder. “It could mess with the dynamics of the bar.”
“That’s what you’re worried about? The bar?”
“What else would I worry about?” Defensiveness creeps in.
“That someone could catch feelings and get hurt. That maybe it’d be you.”
He says it kindly, but I scoff anyway. “Unlikely.”
I go back to my work.
“It wouldn’t have been twice,” he offers after a minute.
“What?”
“With us.” He pauses. “It would’ve been a hell of a lot more than twice.”
My heart kicks.
