A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(77)

Not surprisingly, Abby stands timidly behind Matthew Wakefield’s opposing form, using him as a shield and eluding my gaze.

Alrighty, then.

I clasp Cecelia’s fingers, pumping them up and down once before she releases my hand. She looks me in the eyes, unblinking, when I introduce myself. “Caleb.”

I’m expecting her to respond with a snarky quip like, Yeah, I know all about who you are, or Oh, Caleb the Liar? Or even something catty like, Trust me, she’s told me all about you, as I imagine most best friends of a slighted girl would. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she shocks the shit out of me by smiling, her bright white teeth bending into a sincere curve. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“How you been, man?” Wakefield asks. “Your stats are ri-motherf*cking-diculous. Any teams trying to get you into bed yet?”

I look down into my beer cup at the white foam drifting on its surface, then glance up, shrugging. “A few, but…”

Wakefield cocks his head. “But what? What’s the hesitation?”

The hesitation is the decision I’ve never voiced out loud to any of them: that I have no plans to enter the NHL draft after graduation. That ultimately, I intend to get my law degree and become Chief Council for a mergers and acquisitions firm. A lofty position defending small companies that won’t have me standing in a courtroom.

That’s the plan, anyway.

Clearing my throat uncomfortably, I look around at the curious, watchful stares of my teammates. Everyone seems riveted, waiting for my response, and I reach my hand up to readjust my ball cap self-consciously. “I, uh…”

As if sensing my distress, Cecelia removes her intuitive gaze slowly from mine and gives her boyfriend’s meaty bicep a squeeze, leaning in to whisper in his ear. His eyes widen and shoot to mine, and he gives her a stiff, jerky nod. “Okay, okay, I’ll change the subject. Sorry,” he mumbles, both of them pasting on fake smiles.

Wakefield surges on. “So, what else is going on? How’s everyone behaving in that hockey house of yours?”

I glance behind them to catch a glimpse of Abby, her teeth biting down on the plastic rim of her cup as she tries to fade into the background and become unnoticeable and avoiding my stare. The hopes I’d been harvesting for the past few days that she and I would get the opportunity to talk tonight begin to rapidly fade before bursting into flames.

I pry my eyes away. “I’m sorry?”

Matthew Wakefield raises his eyebrow and repeats the question, glaring at me impatiently like I’m dumb as a box of rocks. “I asked how everyone is behaving at the hockey house.”

“Good.”

His dark eyebrows go higher into his hairline as he waits for me to elaborate.

I don’t.

Curling his lip, he addresses Cecelia, who is still sidled up next to him. “Wow,” he adds flatly. “I can see what the appeal here is for Abby. What a deep conversationalist.”

Heat rises from my neck, and I can feel my cheeks warming considerably. Shit, just what I need—I’m f*cking blushing.

“Babe, would you do me a favor and grab me a water from the bar?” Cecelia cuts in, stroking his triceps with lazy fingers. He looks down at her hand then up into her face, the scowl on his face replaced by a relaxed, easy grin.

He leans in and kisses her on the nose. “Sure. Want lemon, too?”

“Um, sure. And take Abby with you.” Cecelia gives me a wink.

“One water with lemon coming right up,” Wakefield says, grabbing Abby by the elbow and dragging her through the crowd to the bar. I track their movement as the crowd parts to let them through.

Cecelia is on me like flies on shit.

“Okay, we only have a few minutes, so listen up.” She gets in my personal space, rises to her tiptoes, and talks close to my ear, comparatively. “What’s your plan?”

“Uh…”

She throws her arms up in frustration, and I can hear her exasperated groan over the blaring music. “Ugh! This is the problem with you two. You’re both so awkward.”

Words fail me, but I manage to respond with, “Uh, yeah.”

Cecelia glances over her shoulder. “Shit, they’re already being served. Look, I know you didn’t keep the ring on purpose. Abby knows you didn’t keep the ring on purpose. And all this crap with your friends being rude isn’t anything I didn’t experience myself. I mean, Matthew’s friends are—ugh! Awful.”

She’s babbling, but I’m hanging on her every word.

“So the way I see it, you’re just going to have to suck it up and take one for the team. She obviously blew this whole thing out of proportion—and don’t you dare tell her I said that or I’ll kill you—but there’s no way she’s going to admit it. She’s way, way too embarrassed to approach you. So, you have to be the one to make things right. I see no other way around it.”

Abby’s best friend grips both my shoulders, bears down, and gives them a firm shake. “Are you listening to what I’m saying? Blink once if you’re getting this.”

I blink once, afraid she’ll whack me, and add a curt nod for good measure.

Cecelia smacks my right arm anyway, then releases me, smoothing down the rumbled sleeve of my long-sleeve tee shirt. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.” And just when I think she’s done with me, Abby’s best friend levels a finger in my face, her pointed fingernail hovering dangerously close to the tip of my nose. “You better not disappoint me, Caleb Lockhart. I know where you live.”