The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,9
and then he got drafted…” she trails off, shrugging. Even though I haven’t seen her in years, even though I don’t know her that well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize he hurt her. And that whatever led to the demise of their relationship is a hell of a lot deeper than just him getting drafted.
I shuffle forward half a step, so close now that I can feel the heat of her body. My fingers run up the length of her arm and she tips her head back, meeting my gaze head-on. We’re both a little tipsy now but I won’t use that as an excuse. The truth is, my fingers itch to brush across her skin. I want to provide her even the smallest semblance of comfort, anything to make that look of dejection slide off her face.
“Who is he?” I growl, wondering if it’s a guy I know. Is it someone I consider a friend? Or a player I can’t fucking stand? The fact that I don’t know irritates me.
She shakes her head. “It was a long time ago. We were kids.”
I definitely know him. I wrack my brain, trying to guess, but come up blank. “What’s his name?”
She rolls her lips together, pinning them between her teeth. Her green eyes are bright, shimmering with flecks of gold. “Jace Edwards.”
I blanch, recalling the douchebag with perfect clarity. “From the Vancouver Eagles?”
She nods, her fingers twisting together in front of her waist, her empty drink placed back on the bar.
“He doesn’t fucking deserve you,” I bite out, not caring that I probably sound deranged. But Jace fucking Edwards? That dude cheats on every single woman I’ve ever seen him with. He’s a shit boyfriend and an even shittier player. He didn’t even start last season.
She winces. “You don’t even know what happened.”
I snort. I could guess what happened. He dipped his dick in another girl, or several girls, and one of them made sure Indy found out about it. Stupid guy is still playing the same dumb games with women, looking for some type of notoriety among his peers since he sure as hell can’t get it on the ice. “You want to tell me?”
She shakes her head, her lips pressing together in a thin line.
My hand curves around her elbow. “I know Jace.”
“I figured.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Sorted that one out too.”
“Your dad was right, Indy. Don’t date hockey players.”
She lifts her eyebrows, surprised. “Because you’re all the same?”
“No.” I shake my head. I haven’t been a saint these past six months but I’ve never stepped out on any woman I was seeing exclusively. Not once. “We’re not all the same. But you’re too good for all of us. Maybe even for all the men on the planet.”
She tips her head back and laughs, some of the sadness fading from her eyes. I can tell she thinks I’m messing with her but I’m dead serious. I don’t know a guy worthy of Indiana Merrick with her sweet expressions and quirky habits. The women who would rather read Harry Potter at the Stanley Cup Finals and study when her girl cousins were curling their hair for a night out. She’s in a league all her own, one far, far removed from the NHL.
“Shots!” My teammate Torsten knocks into me from behind, pushing me into Indy’s space.
My hands wrap around her waist to keep her from falling and I roll my back against the ledge of the bar, tucking her against my chest to keep her upright. She stumbles in her heels, a mixture of my knocking her off balance and the alcohol buzzing through both of our veins, causing us to falter. Once I find my footing, I hang onto Indy. I know I should drop my hands but she fits against my chest perfectly and it’s nice, to hold on to a woman I genuinely like.
“You guys are in.” Torsten snaps his fingers at us counting out how many shots to order.
“Oh no,” Indy protests, taking a step forward. “I don’t need one.”
My hands slide to my sides as I watch her try to convince Torsten that she’s not going to take a shot.
“You’re Indiana Merrick, aren’t you?” Torsten asks her, his gaze cutting from her to me and back again.
She nods, her brow furrowed as if wondering what that has to do with anything.