Chapter 6 #2
I freeze, my hand on the strap of my bag. “What?”
He opens his arms wide. “I’ve finished practice, and I have no game tonight, so I’m all yours. Use me however you want to.”
I take him in, the implication of his words chanting in my head.
Hoagie dick, hoagie dick, hoagie dick.
Stop thinking about his damn hoagie dick, Laura.
I nearly choke at my own thoughts but clear my throat instead to hide it.
“Use you as I please?” I repeat with a sarcastic edge. “Oh, I have plenty of things I’ve been thinking about doing to you since we met.”
He dips his chin just as he drops his arms, and those deep blue eyes have nearly turned dark, making my toes curl.
“Oh yeah?” His voice drops lower. “Like what?”
The air between us feels thick. My mouth opens but nothing comes out because suddenly all I can think about is—
“I mean, obviously murder,” he says, breaking into a grin. “You’ve been planning my demise since the fountain incident. I know the look.”
I exhale, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. “Obviously murder. What else would I mean?”
“Nothing else. Definitely nothing else.” But his eyes are still doing that thing, and I need to get out of this concession area before I do or say something stupid. “Look, you don’t need to worry about me. I can take the bus.”
“And be late?” He raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Princess. You just spent the last hour arguing that external forces control everything. Don't let them win now.”
I want to roll my eyes at the callback, but there's something genuine in his expression that makes me pause. He actually listened. He actually engaged with what I was saying, and now he's throwing it back at me.
“Fine,” I say, pointing my finger at him. “But if you tell anyone about this, you're dead.”
His lips quirk into a smile as he raises his hands in surrender. “It’ll be our little secret.” Then he gestures to the exit. “My car’s in the lot. Lead the way, Princess.”
I pack my bag, and just as I finish, Scotty plucks it out of my hand and hauls it over his shoulder.
“Hey. You don’t need to do that,” I say, trying to take my bag back, but he doesn’t let me. “You’ve already got to carry your hockey stuff.”
“It’s okay.” He pats his own bag. “It balances me out.”
I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth and look to the floor. “Thanks,” I mumble quietly, too embarrassed to really say anything else.
Scotty takes the lead when we head out to the parking lot, and I slow when I see the cars parked.
Typical.
The first one parked is a red Lamborghini. Obviously, that’s his. Am I surprised? No, but honestly, I hoped he was more than a walking cliché, but yet again, I was proven wrong. I wonder if his dad bought him the flashy car with all the money from the reality show.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says.
“Am I that obvious?” I say emotionlessly, wondering how on earth I’m going to change in that car. It’s only got two front seats.
“I know, it’s a little run down, but I love it, and I worked my ass off to pay for it.”
My brows cross, and I study him with confusion. “You’re joking, right? If that’s your definition of run down, you should see my hunk of metal.”
“You’re being too kind. I know it’s not great, but it’s hugely sentimental to me. It’s the first thing I bought with the money I saved from my teaching job.”
“You bought that with a teaching gig? How rich are these kids?” I choke out. None of my acting teaching would ever amount to being able to afford a car like that.
“Huh?”
“Your car.” I point to the bright red car in front of me. “I’m not much of a car person, but isn’t that worth like half a million?”
He follows my gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ha. Nice try. That is a pretty red car, but it’s not mine. Mine’s just behind it.” He shrugs, easy and confident. “Though, for the record? My car’s worth more than any fancy Italian sports car—at least to me.”
As we walk a little closer, a red pickup truck comes into view, and my stomach sinks a little.
“Oh.” The word comes out flat and disappointed, but not in the truck. I’m disappointed in myself for assuming, and being exactly the kind of person I hate.
Why am I so obnoxious around him? Why do I immediately assume the worst?
I immediately judged him for being some rich playboy, and here I am, getting proven wrong, yet again.
“Sorry if it's not fancy enough for you,” Scotty says, his voice tight, and I get it. At this point, it’s deserved. I can admit I’ve probably been a little harsh on the guy.
“That's not it.” I purse my lips, not knowing what else to say. Admitting I'm wrong is hard. Always has been, and I guess it's partly to do with how dismissive my parents were about my dream of becoming an actor when they pushed my sister enough to become an Olympian.
He doesn't press me further. Instead, he throws his gym bag onto the truck bed and opens the door for me. Offering me his hand, I glance down at it before grabbing the sides of the truck. “I'm good. I can get in on my own.”
Scotty chuckles as I brush past him, only for me to slip on the first step. His hand is immediately on my back, balancing me, and the heat from it radiates through my spine.
“You're really finding it tough to accept any help from me, aren't you?”
I don't answer.
“I know you probably can get up on your own, but as you've just learned, the steps are a little slippery, and we’ve already had one fountain incident. Let’s not add ‘fell out of my truck’ to your list of Scotty-related disasters.”
He offers me his other hand, and I reluctantly take it.
When our hands connect, the same warmth radiating up my spine starts to build in my chest, and for some godforsaken reason, I smile.
Scotty's watching me, so I know he sees it, but I quickly mask it with a frown before stepping up to the well-worn brown leather seats.
When I’m seated, I show him my palm as an invitation to get my bag back.
“Here you go, Princess.” He plops the bag on my lap and shuts the door.
As he rounds the truck, I take in a deep breath, feeling his presence all around me. It smells woody with a tiny hint of spice, just like his cologne.
“You ready?”
“Yup,” I say as I show him my phone with the address on it. “This is where we’re going.”
He leans over to look at the screen before he takes it out of my hand to bring it closer.
“This is the address?” he asks slowly, his fingers flexing against my phone. “Yeah? Is there a problem?”
“Nope.” He hands the phone back to me and starts the engine. “It’s all good.”
It certainly doesn’t sound ‘all good.’
“Scotty, if you don’t want to take me, I can still—”
“I’m taking you,” he says firmly, and I have enough sense not to question it.
We pull out of the parking lot, and I notice he keeps glancing at me with this weird expression. Not the usual flirty smirk or even the annoyed look he gets when I insult him. This is different. Concerned? Protective?
“What?” I finally ask.
“Nothing.”
“You're being weird.”
“I'm not being weird.”
“You're gripping the steering wheel like you're trying to strangle it.”
He forces his hands to relax. “I'm fine. Just... focusing on driving.”
I narrow my eyes at him but let it go, pulling out my bag to go through what I need for the party. The silence stretches between us, but it's not comfortable.
After a few minutes, he clears his throat. “So, uh, how long have you been working at this... venue?”
“Since I got here, so a few weeks, but I used to do something similar back home. Why?”
His jaw flexes. “Just curious. And you... like it?”
“I mean, it pays really well.” I glance at him, confused by the weird interrogation.
“Mhm.”
I don't have time to dwell on his weird behavior. I have a party to prepare for, and whatever's going on in Scotty Hendricks' head is his problem, not mine.