Doesn’t she know that subtlety goes a hell of a long way?
I laugh a few notes. “I’m interested in a lot of things. Going to my hotel right now is one of them.” I pull my hand from her grasp. Her fury can be heard in the stomp of her foot.
“I could give you a lift.”
“I’m more than capable of getting there. Thanks though.” I give her a smile and take a step back.
“You’re the first guy to say no, you know.”
I turn back to look at her. “That line in itself is the reason I’m walking away.”
She mutters something I can’t hear and don’t fucking care because the sudden movement tells me I’m still buzzed enough. I laugh as I push the door open and breathe in the frigid air.
That’s a slap to sobriety right there.
It’s when I step a few more feet under the covered entrance that I see Dekker near the carpark. She’s standing with her arms crossed over her midsection, shivering from the cold, as she looks from her phone to the car that’s pulling up and back again in what I can only assume is checking the Uber drivers.
The shit feeling I had inside about what I said returns at the sight of her.
But so does my resolve to want to lose myself to her—in her. Please don’t say no to me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
DEKKER
“DEKKER.”
His voice is the last thing I want to hear right now. I’m tired, have had enough alcohol, and more than enough of his bullshit, so I pretend I don’t hear him. Besides, I’ve already decided I’m done with this. Done with him. Turning my back to the entrance of the bar, I check the ETA of my rideshare again.
It’s almost one o’clock in the morning. How in the hell is the only driver checking in to pick me up over five minutes away?
“Dekk!” Snow crunches beneath his boots at my back and my hands fist in response. “Look. I’m sorry.” His words slur and I hate the sound of it. Hate that in the fifteen minutes max that I left him at the bar, he’s drunk more to shut out whatever the hell is going on with him. And even worse, I hate that I care. “You know how I get. You know—”
“No,” I shout as I whirl to face him. “I don’t know how you get and I don’t care how you get. Even if I did, that doesn’t give you the right to—”
“Come on,” he says and tries to put his hands on both of my arms.
I shrug out of his grasp and step back. “Let’s get one thing straight. You are not allowed to talk to me like that. Ever. It’s bullshit and demeaning and nowhere near close to the man I used to lov—know.”
His head startles as my words hit him. “Maybe you didn’t know me at all, then.”
There is no thought to my next action other than anger and hurt and frustration. The three mingle and meld in the second I reach back into the planter filled with snow at our side, scoop up the biggest heap of snow I can find, and throw it at him.
He mutters a curse as the handful hits him squarely in the face. It falls like powder to his chest and pieces stick to his eyelashes as he blinks it away—but there’s no expression on his face, no rebuke on his lips, just eyes staring at me with an intensity that makes me question what his reaction will be.
“Mature, Kincade,” he finally says as a car pulls into the drive at his back.
“That’s my car.”
“You’re not going anywhere until we get a few things straight,” he says with a stream of white from the cold highlighting his breath.
“Like you have any right to tell me what to do.”
He grabs my arm as I walk past him and I get lucky, because when I swipe the planter again, I come up with another handful of snow. We stand there with his hand on my arm and my other arm cocked back, ready to fire.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he taunts, his smile finally returning, even if it’s just a trace of one.
“You don’t know me very well, then,” I say, seconds before I launch the snow at him.
When it’s midair, he lunges for me, but I don’t see how much hits him because I’m off running down the sidewalk like a ten-year-old kid without a care about slipping on black ice or wet clothes or waking anybody up.
“Paybacks are a bitch, Kincade.” He laughs as his footsteps thump behind me.
“You’ve got to catch me first.” My screech fills the air as I jump over the small hedge that borders what looks like a park area under the blanket of snow. It’s desolate at this time of night—morning—whatever it is—and I’m just grateful that Hunter is drunk. Otherwise, he could have easily caught me by now.
“It’s an all-out war,” he shouts as the first ball of snow hits my shoulder. Another yelp escapes as I swoop down to make a snowball of my own while trying to hide behind a piece of the play equipment.
“I’ll win.” I peek my head up and duck just in time to avoid being hit by a massive snowball. It lands with a thud behind me and pieces of it hit against the leg of my pants.
“Like hell you will.”
I toss two in a row to where he’s hiding behind a bench and shout in excitement when one lands on his back.
“Son of a bitch!” He laughs as I prepare more ammo. “That one’s going to cost you,” he says as he runs in my direction.
“No,” I shriek as I run to the opposite side of my hiding place that now is his and throw two more blindly at him.
“Missed me. Missed me!”
Now you have to kiss me.
The childhood taunt repeats on my mind as I run to where I think he is . . . only to find him gone.
“Hunter,” I call in a singsong voice as I look behind a shrub where I swear he is. Crap. “Hunter?” I follow footprints in the snow but am not sure if they’re mine or his. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
I turn around when I hear a sound to be met with a snowball in the middle of the chest. “Argh!” I laugh as I brush it off my jacket only to look up and see him walking toward me, grin lighting up his face, and another monster-sized snowball between his hands where he’s toying with it. “Do you really want to throw that?”
He nods and takes a step closer. “Do you surrender?”
“Never.”
He takes a bite of the snowball in his hand and there’s something about him right now—the soft yellow of the park’s lights overhead, the boyish grin on his lips, and the careless snowball fight—that momentarily lessens the insult and injury of the crap he said earlier and reminds me why I find him so damn irresistible. “I’m still furious at you.”
“And you’re even prettier with all that snow in your hair.”
Shit. Don’t do that, Hunter. Don’t . . . break down my defenses that are weak enough already.
“You owe me an apology.” I make a stand with my hands on my hips and my feet firmly planted, more than sure there’s no way he’s going to throw that at me.
“That’s what you want to say right now when you’re at my mercy?”
I’ve been at your mercy since I first laid eyes on you at Tank’s.
Another laugh falls from my lips—nerves mixed with an anticipation I can all but feel—as I take a step in retreat. “One hundred ninety-two goals in this season alone. Twenty-three shy of Gretzky’s single season record. One hundred twenty-four assists. That’s fourth all-time in a season and you still have over ten games left to play. Too bad you weren’t a baseball player, because all of those pretty stats don’t do shit to bolster my confidence that you’re going to actually hit me when you throw it,” I tease, his arm pulling back faltering slightly.