Chapter 10 #3
“Back where it belongs, and I’m making coffee, obviously.”
“That’s…” He came around the island, closing in on me in three strides, crowding me as he tore the bag from my hands. “You can’t use this. I had those beans imported from—”
“I know, from a small coffee roastery in Vancouver. I saw the label, Evan, but all the other coffee is gone. I will buy you more.”
He rolled his eyes, taking a step back. “It’s not about…there is a system. The water temperature has to be exact, and the grounds need to be measured, not just dumped in.”
“Noted. You didn’t seem to be this controlling about coffee before.”
“I’m not controlling with coffee. I’m particular.”
“No, you are impossible,” I said, poking my finger into the center of his bare chest.
The coffeemaker beeped as we stared at one another, neither one of us backing down.
“You are in my space.”
“Here we go again,” I said under my breath. “Your entire apartment is your space. Should I just not exist?” I said, getting into his face.
“That would be a start…” Evan muttered as he stepped back and gazed at me with a defeated expression. “Just…ask me next time.”
“It’s just coffee, Evan.”
He looked at me, his eyes skimming my body. “Yep, it’s just coffee,” he said, walking away, then stopping. “Oh, and about the outfit…”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know. It’s not appropriate, although the same can be said about yourself. Put on a shirt next time,” I called over my shoulder.
The war between us raged on into Thursday night when I came out of my bedroom wrapped in my comforter.
I’d been freezing most of the day at the rink, which wasn’t abnormal, but a cold front had come through, and no matter what I’d done, I couldn’t get warm.
Now I felt as if I were coming down with a cold, which with our upcoming schedule I really couldn’t afford.
I made my way into the living room and tapped the thermostat, waiting for the display to light up.
“What are you doing?” Evan barked from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder to see him sitting in the chair.
“It’s fifty degrees in here!” I yelled, nodding toward the thermostat. “It’s like being in the rink. I thought I could see my breath.”
Evan went back to his tablet, no doubt going over plays, and shrugged. “Get used to it. I run hot.”
“You run psychotic. It’s winter. I’m changing it to seventy,” I said, jabbing at the buttons.
“Bianca, touch that thermostat and we are going to have a real problem.”
I spun around and looked at Evan, who sat in the chair in a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, watching me.
“I think we already have a problem. I’m freezing and it’s not even the heart of winter yet.”
“Don’t worry, once it gets really cold, I raise it a couple of degrees. I guess you’re going to have to wear more clothes.”
“I am wearing all of my warm clothes. Some of us don’t have internal furnaces fueled by stubbornness.”
I turned back to the thermostat, ready to punch more buttons, when I felt Evan standing beside me. When I glanced at him, he placed his hand under my chin, lifting my head so I could look him in the eyes.
“My condo. My thermostat. My rules.”
“Okay then, fine. When you find my frozen corpse tomorrow morning, please tell my father I loved him, and that his decision led to losing his daughter.”
He let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Give me a minute and I will get you another blanket.” Evan glared, making his way down the hall to his room.
“Great!” I called out. “I will strangle you with it then turn up the heat.”
Evan returned to the living room with a smirk on his face as he stepped closer to me, inhaled, and then reached over my shoulder and turned up the temperature as he stared into my eyes.
“Compromise. I have turned it up to sixty. Good night, Bianca.”
Friday Night
I sat in the restaurant across from Tate, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face.
This entire week had been hell, so when Tate approached me earlier today and asked me again to join him for dinner tonight, I agreed to go.
Now, as I sat here across from him, I was still trying to figure out why I’d said yes.
A part of me wondered if it wasn’t just to piss off Evan more than he already was.
Regardless, we were thirty minutes into our date, and I was already regretting saying yes because of the question he’d asked me right after we’d placed our order.
He wanted to know about my father’s draft strategy.
The moment he’d asked, disappointment had flooded me, mostly because I didn’t want Evan’s accusations to be right.
While he had appeared to be joking at first, as more time passed, the questions continued, moving into a territory I wasn’t comfortable with.
He’d asked me questions about the team’s playoff chances, casually mentioned an upcoming trade deadline, and by the time our entrees arrived, he had pivoted, asking me which prospects my father was eyeing and whether he had mentioned any roster changes for next week’s upcoming games.
I’d learned my lesson after Tyler, and I had vowed to myself to keep men like this out of my life. Yet, here I sat once again, trapped in a meal with a man who’d have rather gone out with my father than with me.
“Tate, I don’t talk about my father’s work,” I said, my voice tight and controlled.
Tate laughed, leaning across the table and taking hold of my hand. “It’s not like I’m asking for state secrets, Bianca. I was just looking for a little insider perspective, which I am sure you have. After all, you guys must discuss these things.”
Almost instantly, my appetite was gone, and the steak, potatoes, and mushrooms that sat in front of me were making my stomach turn.
Tate had asked me out, but not because he was interested in me.
He was interested in access, just like Evan had said.
I yanked my hand out of his and stared at him across the table, angry that I’d thought otherwise.
“Tate, I won’t tell you again. I don’t discuss these sorts of things,” I warned.
“Oh, come on, Bianca.” He laughed as if I were overreacting. “Look, I bought dinner. The least you could do is tell me if the team’s looking for new goalies, and what new prospects they might look for.”
I stood up abruptly and ripped my coat and purse from the back of my chair. “I think we’re done here.”
I didn’t wait for a reaction. I just walked out of the restaurant determined to get a cab to take me home. Halfway to the door, I noticed Tate had followed me, and just as I turned to head to the parking lot, he reached for me. I was just about to the front of his car when I felt his hand on me.
“Bianca, you’re being ridiculous. I was just making conversation,” He said, finally grabbing my arm and spinning me around so I could face him.
“No, Tate. You are using me for an opportunity to get inside information that you can use for whatever you see fit.”
He took a step closer, causing me to take a step back. Evan had been right. I was right, and now that I’d called him on it, the look in his eyes made me feel threatened.
“Look here. I just spent three hundred bucks on dinner tonight that you didn’t even take a bite of. I think you owe me something. A conversation, a meeting with your father, or maybe a roll in the sheets. Something.”
My heart hammered against my chest as Tate kept approaching me until I was firmly pressed against his car, leaving me with nowhere to go.
“I owe you nothing,” I spat, meeting his eyes.
“Bianca, don’t be a bitch about this…”
A voice rang out in the darkness that cut right through the night like a blade.
“Get your hands off her.”
We both whipped our heads around, and that was when I saw him.
Evan, standing at the edge of the lot, his shoulders broad, chest rising and falling as if he’d run the entire way here.
I didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were dark, menacing, and furious, a look that would make anyone take a second thought at what they were doing.
“This doesn’t concern you, Callahan,” Tate called out.
Evan didn’t take the warning. He stepped forward, his motion slow, controlled, and dangerous.
“It concerns me because she said no and you didn’t listen, which means you’re the type of man who takes what he wants when he wants without permission.” Then his voice dropped lower, rougher. “I know men like you, men who think they’re owed something just because they showed up.”
Tate was about to speak, no doubt to argue, but he took one look at Evan’s expression and shut up. Instead, he muttered something under his breath and took off back into the restaurant, leaving the two of us alone.
I exhaled shakily and looked down at my hands to see they were shaking. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, or trying to, and then looked up to see Evan still standing there. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just looked at me, the intensity in his gaze making my knees weak.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, but my voice wavered. “How did you even know I was here?”
“I tried calling, but you didn’t answer your phone.”
I frowned. “So, you were checking up on me?”
“Couldn’t help it.”
“Why would you do that? You’ve been mad at me since—”
“I overheard him having a conversation about your date in the locker room last night. I didn’t like what I heard.
So, instead of saying something to you, I figured I’d call you tonight and make something up, but when you didn’t answer, I got worried.
The thought of someone hurting you made me crazy. ”
His admission hung in the air, heavy and intimate. I took a step toward him, my legs still shaking from earlier. I’d have handled Tate Parker. I didn’t need rescuing.
“So you came all the way here?”
“I came because there wasn’t a way I could talk myself out of it. I couldn’t stop myself, and I’m not mad at you. I was hurt that you felt you couldn’t just come to me and ask me what you wanted to know.”
His admission changed everything.
“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling slightly confused.
“He shouldn’t have touched you. Shouldn’t have…” Only he cut himself off before he continued, his hands still curled into fists at his side.
“I told him no,” I whispered.
“I know, I heard.”
“You were listening?”
Evan stepped in closer to me, enveloping me in the warmth that radiated off his body, calming me at the same time tension built in the space between us.
“I was making sure you were safe.”
“Evan…” I breathed.
He slowly reached out, probably hoping I’d pull away from him, only I didn’t.
I needed to feel his touch to know I was safe.
His fingers danced over my cheek, and I closed my eyes, noticing that his hand was actually trembling against my skin, as if touching me took every ounce of courage he had inside of him.
“You shouldn’t go out with guys like him,” he murmured.
Keeping my eyes closed, I focused on his touch, the only thing bringing me peace right now.
“Who should I go out with then?” I whispered.
When his hand stilled, I opened my eyes and looked at him.
I actually thought he was going to say it.
That he might finally admit what had been simmering between us for weeks.
I watched as his lips parted and saw the word forming on his lips…
but he dropped his hand and stepped back as if I’d burned him.
“Let’s go home,” he mumbled, slipping his hand into mine, leading me to his truck.
The drive back was silent, the air between us thick with everything that had been left unsaid. I sat there, my hands folded in my lap, pulse still racing and my skin still tingling where he’d touched me. He’d come. He’d known where I’d be, and he’d come because he actually cared.