Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(19)

“What about you?”

“No knack.” She shrugged. “No bond. I appreciate skating as a sport. I do. But not going to lie, I suck monkeys at it. I’m good at reading. It’s kind of my thing. Sports? Nope. But enough about me and my boring sibling rivalry. Big sister good at everything. Little sister can’t keep up. Blah. Blah. Zzzz.”

That’s when she sensed it. A tenseness. A fidgety unease.

Zzzz was right. This was supposed to be sexy times. She was boring him batty with tales from her sad-sack childhood.

Of course he wanted to go. Could she be any more of a boner killer?

At least she’d get to have bragging rights for the rest of her life. Fodder for a sassy PG-13 story to be regaled over future family dinners.

Hey, Mom, wanna hear about the time Jed West chose me for an hour of not-so-innocent tonsil hockey. Not Neve. Me!

Yeah. Or maybe she could just keep this little chestnut to herself.

If she sucked the face of a hockey god and no one ever found out, did it actually happen?

She didn’t have to consult the Magic 8 Ball perched on the coffee table to know the verdict. Signs point to yes.

Someday in the distant future, when she forgot everything, including her own name, she’d still remember the hot press of Jed West’s mouth branding over hers. Wow. He could kiss. Those lips deserved one hell of a Yelp review.

But apparently, the satisfaction wasn’t mutual. Her stomach cooled at the hooded look in his eyes as his roving glance fixated on the door. The inner fire that had shown on his face was doused.

She’d done something wrong.

Or maybe what he really wanted was someone like Neve or Margot. Someone smaller. More dainty. Who could wear a tank top with no bra and look adorable. She on the other hand was too much. Too big. Too boobalicious. Too bootylicious.

She opened her mouth, but he beat her to the punch. “Listen, I hate to do this . . .”

“You remembered you had to be somewhere?” She glanced at the ceiling. The storm was quieter now. Less of a rage and more of a mournful trickle. What had she done? Just babbled about being the younger sister, unable to keep up?

He released her and stood, took his time gathering his things. At least he was good at this. Leaving and not looking like an asshole.

She rose herself. Clothes were straightened. Hair smoothed.

“So I gotta . . . There’s this thing . . .” He trailed off floundering before jerking that perfect chin to the door, letting that perfectly carved jaw finish the sentence with a curt gesture. “It’s important.” He nodded twice as if to convince himself, his cheeks flushed.

“Yeah. Totally. Seems like it.” It was official. Not just random insecurities floating around her head. He wanted to go. She’d blown it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The cuckoo clock on her wall, a housewarming gift from Granny Dee, pounded into her skull. What? What? What?

Had she slobbered? Had her belly been too soft? Her ass too big.

Insecurity was an ugly thing. It gnawed at the corners. Could consume her alive if she allowed it to fester.

“What are those?” He pointed at one of her four bookshelves on his way to the door.

It took her a second to figure out what he was asking. “Oh. My Funko Pop collection?” Her cheeks grew hot. “It’s a silly hobby. I collect characters from some of my favorite books. That’s Katniss Everdeen. And that’s Jamie Fraser. And that’s Harry Potter. Oh, and Voldemort.”

“The one next to Harry, doesn’t his best friend have red hair?”

“I don’t have a Ron. Oh . . .” She trailed off. “That one’s Edward. From Twilight.”

She imagined seeing her fun, harmless little addiction through his eyes. Did it make her look like a crazy cat lady, minus the cats?

“You really do love books.” He didn’t make it sound like a bad thing, but she still bristled.

Because this was who she was. What she loved. “I adore chocolate. I require books. They are like oxygen or water, vital to my existence.”

“I see. Anyway, this was nice.” He spoke formally, making the abrupt observation as if commenting on the weather, as if they hadn’t just spent an hour bodychecking each other all over the living room. “This was fun.” He ducked in for a formal peck but she had already averted her face. His lips landed in her hair.

Hopefully he got a mouthful. Not that she deserved to be miffed. After all he was Jed West, hockey captain extraordinaire and who was she? Just an ordinary girl who should be damn grateful for this one extraordinary moment.

The worst part was . . . he still didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he lingered by the bookshelf. Studied a few titles. Poked her Peeta Funko with something that looked a lot like regret. Good lord, and to think she beat herself up for making things awkward. He gave her a serious run for her money in that department.

More evidence that they were well matched.

It could almost be funny if she wasn’t so close to crying.

Then, after heaving a final frustrated sigh, he left, not turning around as he closed the door behind him. She grabbed a throw pillow and balled it to her chest. What was wrong? After all, shouldn’t she be giddy for the experience? Grateful for getting a taste of her dream? Not sagging faster than a deflated helium balloon.

All she knew was she was worn-out. Exhausted really.

Bone tired of never feeling good enough.