I pull one out, pop the top and take a long pull. Jesus.
I almost kissed Kate.
I collapse onto her gray couch and fall back into the many cushions that line the back. Part of the couch extends into a lounge chair, and I lift my legs onto the couch too, stretching them out.
I admit that since I left Cancun, and Bayard, my life has been full of hockey. I had something to prove and I was determined to do it. I thought about Kate, sure. But she was in Chicago going to law school and living her own life. I missed her, but it was just the way things were.
Seeing her again, though, brought back all those memories. She was kind of a bossy know it all when it came to hockey, but then I got to know her better and I saw that she really did know it all. That makes me smile. Also, she cared a lot about people. Her bossiness was actually leadership on the team and her teammates respected her for that. And so did I. I remember being so attracted to her, but she was always with another guy and nothing ever came of it. Until that night.
I can do hockey. I can’t do relationships. I’m so fucked up, no one will ever love me. I learned that a long time ago. Plus, now she’s my agent, basically working for me. Although it’s not the kind of business relationship where there can be a conflict; it’ll just make things awkward. Maybe.
Then again, Kate already knows how messed up I am. That’s exactly why I wanted her for my agent. Except…she’s probably going to want to know why I was running away from her in the park earlier. What the hell am I going to tell her? She’s smart enough to know that I wasn’t running away from Orson because he’s the mascot of another team. My mind churns, but I come up with no bullshit. Maybe she won’t ask. Maybe I should have dropped her off and left her here and never seen her again. Yeah. No. As if that would work, now she’s my agent.
Fuck.
She steps out of the bathroom along with a small cloud of steam. A scent drifts over that reminds me of a field of flowers in the sun. But what truly gets my attention is the towel that’s wrapped around Kate’s perfect body.
Her long, toned legs are on display, along with bare arms and shoulders. The guy downstairs takes note of the curves and hint of cleavage where the towel is tucked in. I swallow a noise that rises in my throat.
“Just have to get dressed!” she calls as she zips in bare feet from bathroom to bedroom.
I make a quick adjustment in my jeans and tip the beer bottle to my lips for a big gulp. Christ.
She returns a few minutes later dressed in a pair of cropped leggings and a short, loose sweatshirt. Her hair’s still damp and her face is bare and clean. Today she’s not that sophisticated New York businesswoman I’ve seen since we met up again. She’s college Kate—casual, athletic, and so fucking hot it’s a wonder my pants aren’t on fire all over again.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Sorry I touched you like that.” I shake my head. “No excuses.”
Her lips lift into a soft smile. “Okay.”
“Are you all right after that fall?”
“Oh. Yeah. My right shoulder feels a little sore.” She rolls her shoulders back, which sticks out her tits. “But I think I’m okay.”
Jesus. It’s hot in here.
“How are you doing?” She looks over at me. “Need another drink?”
Oh hell yeah. “Beer me up.”
She laughs. “I could use one too.” She pads to the fridge, still barefoot, and pulls out two more bottles.
Sitting forward to set my empty on the small round coffee table, I try not to stare as she walks back toward me. “Thanks.” I take the one she offers, and she drops onto the couch a short distance away from me. She stretches her legs out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. Her toenails are polished a shimmery rosy color. She has pretty feet.
“That was a wild afternoon,” she says with a sigh. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “You’re welcome. I can’t believe you did that.”
“It was for a good cause. I’m a sucker for getting a smile from kids.”
“You like kids?”
“Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.”
She arches an eyebrow. “You don’t like kids?”
“I do. But some people don’t. I always get a kick out of the little fans. I was having fun—” I stop short.
She doesn’t say anything, watching me as she takes a sip of her beer.
“It was fun,” I say lamely.
“What was going on with you? Why were you trying to get away from me? I mean, from Orson.”
I take another swig of lager. “I wasn’t.” I try the lie again.
“Bullshit.” Her gaze is steady.
12
Hunter
Aw fuck. She’s always the one I spill my guts to. She’s one of the few people who knows how messed up I was after the accident. She comes across as cool and serious. But when I told her about my PTSD, she didn’t get all weird. She didn’t judge me. And she’s kept her word to not tell anyone else.
I don’t tell people about it because I think they’ll see me differently. Weak. Damaged. Pathetic. And I’ve never told anyone else about my stupid fears for the same reason.
The truth is, I am damaged. I know it. I just don’t want others to know it.
Except Kate already does. And she’s still here…I mean, I’m still here…ugh. Might as well tell her every damn thing.
“I have this sort of strange phobia,” I finally say.
She cocks her head. “A phobia?”
“Yeah. A fear of mascots. It’s called masklophobia.”
Her faces scrunches up into a “Whut?” look. She blinks. And blinks again. Then she says, “Oh.”
She’s not laughing.
“I’ve never heard of that,” she continues slowly, pulling her legs up onto the couch and tucking them under her. “I guess it’s like a fear of clowns? I’ve heard of people who are terrified of clowns.”
“Yeah, I don’t like clowns much either.” I rub my chin. “But mostly mascots.”
She nods. “Do you know why? Did something happen that was traumatic?” Her eyebrows pinch together. “This isn’t because of your PTSD from the accident, is it?”
“No, it’s been since I was a kid. The first time I saw a someone in a costume like that, it was the Easter Bunny. I barely remember it, but I do remember how fucking creepy he looked and it scared the hell out of me, because he was talking but his mouth wasn’t moving. My mom says I tried to run away, but everyone laughed and chased me, and that scared me even more.”
“Aw.” Her eyes shine with sympathy. “How old were you?”
“I think five. Mostly, I just avoid them. It’s not like mascots are a big part of my life.”
“Except hockey mascots.”
“Yeah.” I make a face. “I had no idea when Hakim asked me to come with him that there’d be a bunch of them at that picnic. Or that one of them would chase me.”
She laughs softly. “I’m sorry.”
I grin. “It is kind of funny.”