Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(17)

“I don’t need your twisted version of nice, Panty Stealer.”

“Whatever,” I mutter. “If you want to call for your own car, knock yourself out, honey.”

Walking backward toward the door, she points at me and warns, “Quit calling me honey.”

As she turns, hand in the air, ready to dismiss me all haughty-like, she clumsily trips over what appears to be her discarded pumps.

Chuckling, I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “Watch your step, honey.”

“Go f*ck yourself, whatever-your-name-is.”

Oh my God, she really doesn’t know who I am. This is classic.

“Whatever you say, tough girl,” I reply.

“Ugh!” She’s spitting mad now, and spouting off the weirdest things, like, “I hope you get hit in the head with a fly ball. I hope a wild pitch takes out your junk.”

“Huh?”

Does she think I play professional baseball? Wherever would she get an idea like that?

Suddenly, I start laughing at the utter absurdity of this entire morning. Of course, she thinks my amusement is directed at her.

“Stop laughing at me,” she snaps.

That just makes me laugh harder. I’m not laughing at her, though. I swear I’m not. I just find this whole ridiculous encounter wildly entertaining. How often does a bona fide psycho, one who thinks you play baseball, end up in your bed?

“Wow,” I mutter, “what a whacko.”

Psycho Girl reaches the door and spins around. Stabbing a finger my way, she says, “You’re an * and a prick. God, I am so stupid. To think last night I thought you were ho… Uh, never mind.”

“Whoa, wait, you thought I was what? Hot?”

“Shut up!” she shrieks. And then, in a softer tone, she says, “Just please stop talking now.”

Shit, she looks like she’s about to cry. But that doesn’t mean she’s done cussing me out. “I hope I never again lay eyes on you. And I mean never, ever, ever… Like for the rest of my life. Even that might be too soon.”

Good God.

“Fine,” I say, defeated. I’m too tired and hungover for this shit. My amusement is waning, along with the semi I was sporting.

I close my eyes and listen as the door slams.

Thank Christ, she’s gone.

Still, despite her obvious need for a mental health assessment, I can’t erase her from my mind. There’s something about her. Crazy or not, her calling me out—even if she was wrong about the panties, and way off on the weird baseball thing—felt sort of refreshing.

It certainly made me feel more alive than I have in a long time.

Women never challenge me the way Psycho Girl did. They’re usually too busy trying to get to my cock…or to my wallet. Not Psycho, though. Of course, it helped that she didn’t know who I am.

Still, the girl was real with me.

And I need more real.

Maybe if I had more real in my life I wouldn’t be so damn determined to f*ck things up like I’ve been doing lately. I test the f*cking boundaries simply because I can.

Too bad a girl like her can’t be around every day—to challenge me, to keep me on my toes. I could use someone like her in my life.

But alas, she’s gone, forever out of my life.





Looks Like I’m Gonna Need That Uber, After All





Who cares if he’s scorching hot? He’s an epic jerk…and a panty-stealer.

“Yeah, what a freak,” I mutter as I scamper from the jerky baseball player’s room, the pumps that nearly tripped me dangling from my hand.

Forget about his washboard abs. He probably paints them on.

I bend in the hallway to slip on the heels. “For sure, that’s what that callous, arrogant ass does.”

Forget about his chiseled good looks. They’ll fade with age.

Faltering, I murmur, “Yeah, but aging for him is a long way off.”

Hey, pay attention here. You’re wavering.

“Good point. You’re right.”

Let’s not forget he messed up your awesome descriptive simile from last night. His eyes aren’t even sunflower-brown. They’re more of a whiskey shade.

“Another good point!”

Wait a minute. Enough is enough. I’m supposed to erase him from my mind. Plus, I need to pee. My bladder’s screaming that we better find a bathroom or the floodgates will burst.

Stumbling down the stairs, I luckily come upon a powder room. I do what I need to do, and then I’m on my way, out of this stupid lakeside house for good.

Digging my phone from my purse, I sigh. “God, I pray I never step foot anywhere near this place again.”

My head is pounding, and I’m furious with the arrogant ballplayer. I’m never watching baseball again. Not that I ever do. But this assures I’ll never start.

I glance around. I’m out in the middle of bumf*ck-nowhere.

Tapping at my phone, and praying for reception, I muse, “Looks like I’m gonna need that Uber, after all.”

A ride can’t get here soon enough.

I shake my head, boggled by my own stupidity as I order the Uber. I can’t believe I thought that pompous ass was one of the most gorgeous guys I’d ever laid eyes on.

You were drunk last night, remember?