Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Social conduct for hate-free inter-colleague teamwork
For short: SCHIT
Physical contact is not prohibited, but it is strongly discouraged.
What the hell was she doing?
Hazel shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, the heels of her shoes sinking deeper into the sand. She knew better than to accept every stupid challenge just out of spite! But Gareth had said no…and everything inside her had rebelled against the idea of him getting his way.
That might not have been particularly mature or adult, but it was the truth.
Gareth was acting strangely. Sure, he always seemed a little stiff, like Pinocchio in the freezer, but for the last ten minutes, he’d been a complete tin man. He hadn’t opened his mouth and had categorically avoided all of her glances. And what the hell was with that lame excuse?
The whole world might say Gareth Clark was a cold-blooded businessman, but around her, he’d always acted rather…hot-tempered. No. Irascible! That was the word she’d been searching for. He was irascible when she…
Oh, it didn’t matter.
She stepped aside so none of his…heat would rub off on her before she glanced at the newlyweds, who were already swaying on the dance floor to Ed Sheeran’s vocals, and noticed that Maddie was no longer wearing shoes.
Yeah, that wasn’t a bad idea.
“Hold my glass for a minute?” she murmured, handing Gareth her champagne.
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Yep, she knew Gareth. “So I can take off my shoes. High heels and sand don’t mix.”
“Mm hm,” he said, tilting his head. “Holding your glass would be quite a favor by our standards.”
She rolled her eyes. Why did he always have to make things difficult for her? And why did it almost make her feel relieved that he wasn’t being friendly anymore? “Just hold my damn glass, Clark. Then…I’ll owe you a favor just as big.”
She forced her champagne into his dangling hand and bent down to loosen her shoe straps. Then she stepped out of the stilettos and straightened up.
She’d repressed the reason why she always wore heels when she was around Gareth. She wasn’t short, but shit, he was tall.
Slowly, she looked up at him, and her stomach lurched.
She’d forgotten how much space he took up, not just with his words, his ego, and his overall presence, but with his shoulders and his sheer size.
Whenever they met, she wore high heels to boost her confidence.
But now, he towered over her by a head and a half, staring down at her with a far too intense gaze.
It was as if he were trying to analyze her.
“What?” she asked tensely.
“Why the hell did you say yes to dancing?”
“Why did you say yes?”
“I had no choice, but you…”
“You had no choice?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Why did you have no choice?”
Gareth sighed, her champagne glass squeaking between his fingers. “My sister isn’t happy about what I said to you on the phone yesterday,” he informed her in a low tone. “Any idea how she even knows we spoke yesterday?”
“Not a clue,” she replied, unperturbed. “Maybe from her fortune teller.”
“I didn’t realize you had a side-hustle as a fortune teller. The sports agent business isn't going well?”
“Oh, it would be selfish to use my superhuman abilities just for myself.”
He snorted. “Ratting me out to Penny was a low blow, even for you, Hazel.”
She shrugged. In war, anything was fair game. “You were an ass, Gareth.”
“Unlike you, whose shit doesn't smell?”
“Thanks. That’s a lovely compliment. Personally, I consider myself a rose.”
“You’re just the thorny stem, Hazel.”
“Better than a dead cactus someone accidentally put in the freezer.”
Gareth ground his teeth, and he opened his mouth…when his gaze shifted to the pier and he seemed to change his mind. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get it over with, smile, and then never talk about it again.”
“Is that what your girlfriend says to you when you’re in bed together?”
Gareth whipped his head around, and Hazel suppressed a satisfied smile. There it was — that heat in his eyes that drove away any chill and made her skin prickle with familiarity.
“Stop provoking me, Hazel.”
“But my life coach said I should focus on my strengths, so…”
He leaned toward her slowly. “I mean it, Hazel,” he whispered warningly. “Not today.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t reply, just straightened up and stared stubbornly ahead. She eyed him suspiciously while Lucy invited the other couples to join Maddie and Matt on the dance floor.
“Can we win the game now?” Gareth asked, barely audibly.
“Oh yes. We will.” Hazel hated losing. She snatched the champagne glass from his hand, downed the liquid, and set it in the sand. Gareth reached for her hand…and warmth flooded her stomach.
The champagne. It had to be the champagne.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t have to touch me,” Hazel said tensely, trying to pull her hand away…
“And don’t forget, guys!” Lucy shouted. “This is a couple’s dance challenge. I want to see beautiful waltz choreography, body contact, and lots of soft, cuddly, sweet couples!”
Shit.
“God, Cian’s right,” Gareth muttered, his grip on her fingers tightening, as if he wanted to make it clear that nothing about their dance would be gentle, cuddly, or sweet. “Damn two-class hierarchy.”
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re supposed to dance.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine.” She took a deep breath and intertwined her fingers with his, making certain their palms didn’t touch as she placed her other hand on his bicep, and… “Wow. You’re rather tense. Dancing is supposed to be a relaxed affair, you know?”
“I have the wrong partner for that,” he replied tersely, pushing his leg forward, forcing hers back, and placing his hand on her back, firmly pulling her toward him, and repeating the process…
Oh my God. He really was waltzing — and leading.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” she exclaimed. She'd thought she knew pretty much everything there was to know about him.
“Men born with a silver spoon in their mouths enjoy dance classes as part of their rich bastard education. The right to take whatever they want is just one subject among many.”
He could see her suppress a smile, but she didn’t let it win. “You don’t seriously have to waltz with me, we…”
“Hazel?” he whispered urgently, leaning closer so his breath fanned over her ear. “I do things right or not at all. Remember?”
Her mouth went dry, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She didn’t want to, but…yes, she did.
Fine, if he wanted to waltz, he should waltz, even if it was hard for her to let him lead. Nevertheless, his leg, which bumped hers every time she had to take a step back, was so determined, his movements ridiculously elegant and aristocratic…if she resisted, she’d end up lying in the sand.
The music abruptly stopped, and the dancing couples immediately came to a halt. Anyone who moved now would lose the freeze dance challenge.
She was glad she wasn’t looking at Gareth at that moment. Prolonged eye contact would have been a bad idea. It was enough that she could feel his hand on the bare skin of her back, his rough fingertips fanning out across it. His thumb rested on hers, as if he needed to prove who had the upper hand.
She remembered: The last time they’d been this close, they’d been naked. The last time Gareth’s hand had been on her bare back, he’d used it to pull her down harder onto his cock while he…
The music continued, and Hazel flinched.
Fuck. What the hell was wrong with her?
Heat rushed to her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. She took a hasty step back while Gareth continued to force her to dance.
Why the hell didn’t they play a faster song? Why was Ed Sheeran still crooning about how everything was perfect?
Hazel gritted her teeth and ignored the unwelcome images that had forced their way into her mind.
She suddenly felt as if thousands of eyes were on her, but she knew most of them were women staring at Gareth.
She’d been observing this for the past few hours.
There were almost 100 ice hockey players on the beach, and yet, during the ceremony, curious women repeatedly glanced at Gareth.
He wasn’t a player, had never been one, but plenty of women had come on to him. Hazel had always wondered why he didn’t take advantage of that — but never why women wanted him.
His aura was to blame. His cool aura, the ice you wanted to break. If anything, Gareth’s charisma had become even more extreme. He was the epitome of the controlled man every woman wanted to see lose control. And she knew from experience that it was worth it.
“Who’s stiff now?” Gareth murmured.
Hazel gritted her teeth. She hadn’t realized that her entire body had stiffened at the memory. She tried to loosen her muscles and relax the next time the music stopped. What had she resolved to do barely two hours ago?
She wanted to eliminate stress. And Gareth was at the top of her list of triggers to do away with.
Maybe this was her chance to create some normalcy. Fox and Devreaux were right. She had to stop being angry at Gareth, or at least, pretend to be over it. It was damaging her image when players refused to sign with her simply because they were with the Hawks or wanted to be with the Hawks.
So, she took a deep breath, looked up, and asked, “How’s Connor doing? He’s here too, right?”
Gareth frowned. “Are you seriously trying to make small talk?”
“Yes,” she replied curtly because the subject of Connor and Cian was the first she'd thought of that wouldn't make her angrier.
“Connor’s fine. He’s found a woman he likes more than divorces.”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “A real woman?”
“As far as I can tell, but I'm a snowman.”
A short, cheeky laugh made its way out of her throat. “Good for him.”
“He’s pretty happy, yeah.” His gaze slid over her shoulder to the pier, and when it returned to Hazel’s face, he smiled briefly. It wasn’t a completely genuine smile, but it wasn’t as forced as it could have been.