Hockey With Benefits(76)

God. She sounded happy.

“Hey.”

“Hold on. I can’t hear you. Let me find somewhere–one second.” She was at some party. Then, it went quiet and her voice came back louder. “Hey. Hi. Sorry. My roommates had people over to watch your game tonight. Please tell me you’re going to beat the shit out of that guy from their team? I wanted to knee him in the balls. Taz has been offering to call in favors from people she knows. Don’t ever ask her about those people. She’ll go on and on about them for hours.”

“You know–”

What was I doing here? Christ.

“Hey, what is it? You never call like this. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. For real. I’m–How are you?”

She didn’t answer right away. “I’m good, but are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing. Do you want to study on Sunday?”

“Sure.” She said it slowly. “We can do that.”

“Awesome. Talk to you then.”

I hung up before I said anything more. Mara wasn’t my girlfriend. I’d been about to treat her like she was. She had her own stuff, and I’d been about to lay even more on her.

Damn.





36





MARA





I had no clue what that phone call was about from Cruz, but the rest of the weekend was surreal.

In a good way.

Taz and Race hung out at my house Friday and Saturday night. Taz was chummy with Skylar and Zoe while Race was becoming buddy-buddy with Darren. Wade surprised everyone when he brought a girl over Friday. She was the same girl I recognized from hanging out with the hockey team. Angela. Seeing her and Wade together, I was wondering if maybe I’d been too hasty in my judgment call. She seemed nice, sweet. She was tiny, with long luscious black hair. Her and Zoe also knew each other from an art class, but she stuck with Wade the whole time.

They were super cute, holding hands. She blushed a lot.

Miles was the one most flabbergasted by her, or the image of Wade with her. He kept staring at them the whole weekend until Wade finally said something. The two had a private conversation, and Miles was all forced smiles when they came back.

Angela looked ready to die from mortification, but Taz decided to take her under her wing. Big shock there.

Now it was Sunday.

Cruz was supposed to come over to study. They won their Saturday game, but it’d been just as close as the first one. Everyone had watched at the house, though so many were distracted, but I noticed that Cruz played harder than he had the first night. When they won, words were exchanged between a couple of the opposing teams’ guys and Cruz. They went at him first, and his teammates backed him up. No fists were thrown, just words. The refs got involved right away, but it looked intense. I wanted to ask him about it, but I was also a mess at just him coming over.

I was nervous and confused, and I had no idea what was going to happen today.

Knock, knock.

It was soft, but I recognized Cruz. Maybe it was the air. It settled over me before I went, opened the door.

He was there, a slight crooked grin on his face, his backpack over one shoulder. Jeans and a Grant West hockey T-shirt. His ballcap was pulled low over his face, and damn, I was always such a sucker for that look on him. His prominent jawline so square and rough-shaven.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

I stepped back, feeling the room shrink in size as he came in behind me, his hand grazing mine as he went to set his bag on the couch.

My stomach fluttered.

He was glancing around, a restlessness to him, as he stretched.

I frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He barely skimmed a look at me before going to the bathroom. “One sec.”

My frown just deepened.

Cruz was being weird. I’d never gotten this vibe from him. Like he was distracted, and on edge. I didn’t know what that was about, but hearing the toilet flush, my sink run, he came out a beat later. Still, barely a look at me.

He gestured to the kitchen area. “Mind if I make a drink?”

I held my hand out, giving him the go-ahead. “Help yourself.” But he was already going for it, opening the fridge, grabbing one of my juices, putting it on the counter. He took a glass, poured himself a healthy dose of pineapple juice, then filled the rest with my vodka.

My eyes almost popped out. It was nearly half and half.

“Cruz.” I took the vodka from him, and put the cap on it. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” He took his glass, going back to the living room and sinking down. “Let’s study.”

Oh no, no, no.

I went over, took his glass, and put it on the stand by the couch. Then I pushed him back. A part of me wanted to sink down, straddle him. The old me would’ve, but this was a new me. The real me, or the one I was trying to let out. And because I didn’t want to go back to my old ways, I forced myself to perch on the side of the couch.

“Does this have to do with your game yesterday?”

“What?” Understanding dawned. “No. That’s just hockey.”

“Then what’s going on?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Nothing.” Hunching forward, his arms moved ahead, his shirt tightening over his broad shoulders and back.