Chapter 9
PATTERSON
ONE WEEK LATER
I’m seven minutes late on purpose.
Coach can force me to show up for these sessions, but he can’t force me to be on time.
Seven minutes is enough to send a message without being egregious.
It will have Kendall wondering if I’m coming at all.
Right now, she deserves to feel that flicker of doubt, to sit uncomfortably in that conference room, watching the door, waiting for me to arrive.
She deserves to wonder if she has as much control as she thinks she has.
After practice, I showered and took my time getting dressed. I checked my phone and answered texts that could’ve waited until later tonight. After what she had pulled, Kendall needs to sweat a little.
When I approach the hallway outside the conference room, the entire facility is empty.
I pause with my hand on the door to collect myself.
I’ve been dreading this all fucking week, which isn’t typical.
I tend to face things head-on and dominate.
But the thought of being alone with Kendall for an hour while she tries to crack me causes unease.
I’ve avoided her since our confrontation in the hallway last week.
If I saw her coming, I turned around and went the long way round.
Other times, I’d pretend to be absorbed in my phone.
When she showed up at our games last week, I looked straight past her like she didn’t exist. It’s supposed to get easier.
But I can’t stop thinking about the taste of her tongue in my mouth or her hands fisted in my shirt.
I push open the door.
Afternoon sun streams through the windows that overlook the practice rink. She’s set up in the corner, where the light is best, with a leather chair angled to catch the warmth. Supplies are spread across the table.
“You’re late,” she says, keeping her voice even, but I catch irritation in her eyes.
Good.
“Got caught up with something.” I drop into the leather chair without waiting for direction, sprawling back with my arms crossed.
“You expect me to believe that bullshit?” she asks with her brow popped.
She turns and grabs her camera. My eyes slide down her body. She’s wearing a silk shirt that fits her perfectly and jeans that accentuate her ass. Her expression is carefully neutral, even though there’s tension in her shoulders.
“I need to take some reference photos first. Look natural,” she says, leaning against the table, keeping plenty of space between us.
She raises the camera, and the shutter clicks, but I give her nothing.
“Can you smile and pretend like you’re having a good time?”
“I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”
“Patterson.”
“Use your overactive imagination and paint one on me. I don’t smile on command.”
I can tell she’s resisting the urge to throw the camera at my head, which gives me a petty surge of satisfaction. She wants three sessions, and I won’t make them easy.
“Can you at least uncross your arms?”
“Can you use your manners?” I ask.
She huffs. “Please?”
I uncross them, but grip the armrests instead, bracing myself for impact.
“Great. You look like you’re being held hostage. That’s exactly what I’m going for.”
The corner of my mouth quirks up, and I think she notices, but I hold back a smile and keep making her life hard.
Five minutes pass, and I don’t change my stance. I almost disassociate completely.
She closes the distance between us, and then she kneels in front of me. Her brown eyes meet mine, and the proximity has me shifting in my seat.
“What are you doing?”
“Look. You’re acting like a little baby bitch. Now, I really, really need you to cooperate so we can get this over with.”
I give her the dirtiest look I can manage. “You’re antagonizing me.”
“Returning the favor.” She stands and loops the camera strap over her shoulder.
“What did I do to you?”
“Exist,” she quickly says. “That’s enough.”
“Oh, the feeling is more than mutual.”
“Finally, we can agree on something,” she says, taking two steps away from me.
It’s still not far enough, but it’s a start.
She holds my gaze with a challenge burning in her eyes.
Then she raises the camera and takes a few shots, but her expression tells me she’s not getting what she needs.
She lowers the camera with a sigh and sets it on the table before walking toward me.
My body tenses with every step she takes, and when she stops in front of my chair, she’s close enough that I can smell the vanilla perfume that I’ve been craving since Diamond.
She reaches down and grabs my shoulders, yanking me forward so my back leaves the chair. The force catches me off guard, and my hands shoot up instinctively, landing on her hips to steady myself.
We both freeze.
Her fingers are digging into my shoulders through my henley, and my palms are pressed against the curve of her waist. She’s bent over me with her face inches from mine, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her brown eyes and the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat.
“You’re being difficult.” Her voice comes out breathless.
My fingers flex against her hips instead of releasing because my body stopped listening to reason the moment she touched me. The heat of her seeps through the silk of her shirt, and I’m suddenly very aware of how easy it would be to pull her into my lap and finish what we started at Diamond.
She places her hand under my chin and tilts it before taking a step away from me.
“Don’t you dare move.” Her voice is steady, but I don’t know how she’s keeping control.
I stay exactly how she wants. The shutter clicks, and I stare at the lens while my body burns.
“Slightly angle your body toward the window.”
I’ll do whatever I need to keep her across the room. The afternoon light warms my face while she moves around the room, capturing me from different angles. The silence between us is suffocating. It’s full of everything we’re not saying, and I focus on the empty rink below instead of tracking her.
“Look at me,” she says.
This is the part I’ve been dreading because meeting her eyes is dangerous. The truth always lies in her gaze.
I turn my head and stare at the lens, pretending she’s not on the other side, staring right back at me.
She lowers the camera with her lips parted and brows furrowed. “Why do you have that look on your face?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re looking at me—” She cuts herself off and shakes her head. “Never mind.”
She’s tense, and part of me knows I should let it go, but I want to know what rattled her to the bone.
“Tell me.”
“No,” she says. She puts her professional mask back on. “I think I’ve got what I needed. We’re done.”
Her phone buzzes on the table, and she moves to it. When she glances at the screen, I watch her expression shift. Something ugly twists in my gut … it’s jealousy.
“Oh, look who it is,” she says, showing me the screen.
I see my brother’s face.
“Wow. That’s interesting. Didn’t realize you two were talking.” I shrug even though my jaw is locked tight. “Couldn’t have the real thing, so you ran back to him.”
The laughter that releases from me is harsh. I stand, stretching.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I take several steps toward her, crossing my arms over my chest. “Doesn’t fucking matter, does it? Go on.”
“Are you seriously jealous right now? After you kissed me—”
“Oh, I didn’t kiss you, sweetheart. Don’t get that shit twisted. You mauled me,” I snap at her.
“I’m aware. But you kissed me back. Why?” she asks. “And who the fuck did you go home with?”
She’s breathing hard, and I know she saw the photos. I should feel victorious that my little misdirection worked, but instead, it does nothing. Not when my brother’s calling her.
“You should answer that,” I say, blinking at her.
She laughs, and it sounds brittle. “This attitude you give me isn’t cute, Pattycakes. For once in your miserable life, you should say what you mean instead of hiding behind a bad attitude and subpar insults.”
I take a step forward, and we’re close now—too close. I can feel the heat radiating off her body. Her eyes are blazing, and her chest is heaving. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want her at this moment, which is exactly why I can’t give her what she’s asking for.
“You want the truth?” My voice drops low.
“Yes.”
“I think you’re using this project to torture me because you can’t stand that I’m not falling at your feet and worshipping you like everyone else in your life, Ken Doll. You scheduled three sessions because you get off on having power over me. And—”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing it’s Jameson.
I give her a sarcastic smile. “I’ve got to take this,” I say, moving toward the door.
“Running away from this conversation,” she mutters.
“Yeah, kinda like what you did when you went to Europe,” I tell her.
She gives me the dirtiest look.
I open the door and slam it closed as I walk into the hallway without glancing back.
“Hello?” I answer with my blood pumping through my body.
“Wow, someone’s in a mood.” Jameson’s laugh is easy in a way mine never is. “Bad time?”
“It’s perfect timing. I’m leaving the facility,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Thinking about coming down for the Angels versus the Cobras game in a few weeks. We should grab dinner, catch up; you can fill me in on your life because the tabloids aren’t doing you any favors.” He pauses.
“That sounds good. You plan on wearing my jersey again?” I ask, knowing he nearly caused a riot because everyone thought he was me.
“Always,” he tells me. “How’s the portrait painting going with Kendall? Addison said you two weren’t playing nice.”
I scoff. “Addison needs to shut her big mouth.”
There’s a long pause.
“Ah, well, I was thinking if I come into town, I want to ask her out. Just wanted to let you know,” he says.
“Why would I care?” I ask.
“Well, I mean, if there are sparks and we get back together, it would be nice if you two could get along, you know?” he says, pouring salt in a wound.
“You’d take her back?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Kendall is a good person. We had some incredible times together. Not sure I realized how great we had it.”
I close my eyes and press my forehead against the cool wall.
“Shit, I gotta go,” Jameson tells me. “I’ll call you back later.”
“Talk soon, Jamie,” I say, using his nickname.
I stand in the empty hallway while guilt nearly strangles me.
If Jameson thinks there might be something between them, I need to be fine with that, even though I’m fucking spiraling at the thought. After Jameson was injured and could no longer play hockey, it changed him. Maybe they could work now.
I shove off the wall and head outside, wanting to forget it all. Kissing Kendall is still burning in my head.
I can’t be around her like this again, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?
Wednesday, I’ll sit in that chair again and give her nothing. Then I’ll watch my brother waltz into town and try to win her over. I’ll keep my mouth shut and swallow my jealousy down, per usual.
It’s what I’m good at. I’m pro-level at this point.