Chapter 2 #2
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "Contaminating? I'm five-foot-three and I weigh a hundred and ten pounds. I take up less space than your ego."
He paused. Slowly, he set the bowl down. He turned to face me fully, leaning his hips against the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms shifting under the ink.
"You have a mouth on you, Princess."
"It comes with the tax bracket," I retorted, pouring coffee. It was black sludge. I looked around for cream or sugar. Nothing. Just protein powder and sadness. "Do you have anything edible in this house that isn't designed to build mass? Sugar? Stevia? A splash of almond milk?"
"We have milk," he said, nodding toward the fridge. "Whole. From a cow."
I made a face. "Barbaric."
"Drink it black or don't drink it."
I took a sip of the black coffee. It was bitter and strong. I suppressed a shudder. "Delightful. Notes of asphalt and rage."
Ben stared at me. He wasn't blinking. It was unnerving. "Why are you really here, Ivy? Ty said your dad is loaded. Why are you squatting in a storage closet instead of staying at the Ritz?"
My hand tightened on the mug. The porcelain bit into my palm.
Why.
Because if I tell you the truth—that I’ve been discarded, that I have zero dollars to my name, that I’m terrified—you’ll smell the blood in the water. Men like Ben Sterling didn't pity weakness; they exploited it.
"Daddy cut the cards," I lied, keeping my voice light. "Trying to teach me a lesson about 'fiscal responsibility' or whatever. It’s temporary. A little timeout for the princess."
I took another sip, watching him over the rim. "Why do you care? Worried I can't pay rent?"
"I'm worried you're going to be a distraction."
"A distraction from what? Pushing a rubber disc across some ice?"
His eyes darkened. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop ten degrees. He pushed off the counter and took two strides toward me.
I backed up until my hips hit the island. I was trapped.
He planted his hands on the counter on either side of me, boxing me in. He loomed over me, a mountain of heat and hostility. I could smell him—coffee and soap and that uniquely male scent of clean sweat. It was intoxicating. It was terrifying.
"Hockey," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble, "is the only reason I'm at this school. It is the only reason I have a future. I have scouts coming in three weeks. I have a championship to win. I operate on strict discipline. No noise. No drama. No girls."
He leaned closer. His nose brushed the tip of mine. I stopped breathing.
"And you," he whispered, "are nothing but noise."
My heart was hammering so hard I thought he must be able to hear it. I stared up at him, mesmerized by the flecks of silver in his gray eyes. He was so close. If I leaned forward an inch...
"Then ignore me," I whispered back. My voice was breathless. Traitorous.
"Hard to do," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "When you won't shut up."
For a second—just a split second—I thought he was going to kiss me. I thought he was going to close that tiny gap and devour me right there on the kitchen floor. My lips parted slightly, an invitation I didn't mean to give.
The front door slammed open.
"HONEY, I'M HOME!"
Jax’s voice boomed from the foyer, followed by the stomping of boots and the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor.
Ben snapped back like he’d been burned.
He pushed off the counter, putting distance between us instantly. The loss of his body heat was a physical blow. I shivered.
He ran a hand through his hair, his chest heaving slightly. He looked furious. Furious at Jax, furious at the snow, but mostly furious at himself.
He pointed a finger at me. A warning.
"Stay out of my way, Ivy. Stay out of my room. And for god's sake, put some real clothes on. You look like..." He trailed off, his eyes flickering over my tight sweater and skinny jeans.
"Like what?" I challenged, crossing my arms to hide the fact that my nipples were hard beneath the cashmere.
"Like trouble," he growled.
He grabbed his bowl of eggs and stormed out of the kitchen, shoulder-checking the doorframe on his way out.
I slumped against the counter, my knees suddenly turning to water. I brought the mug to my lips, but my hand was shaking so badly I spilled hot coffee on my thumb.
"Ouch," I hissed, sucking on the burn.
Jax waltzed into the kitchen, fully dressed now in a Bruins hoodie, shaking snow off his hair. He looked from the empty doorway to me, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.
"Whoa," he laughed, opening the fridge. "Smells like sexual tension and burnt coffee in here. Did the Butcher try to eat you?"
"Something like that," I muttered, staring at the empty doorway.
"He's intense," Jax said, grabbing a gallon of milk and drinking straight from the jug. "But don't worry. He's all bark. He hasn't bitten anyone since sophomore year."
"Comforting," I said dryly.
I looked out the window at the swirling white hellscape. The snow wasn't stopping. The drifts were getting higher.
I was trapped in a house with a guy who looked at me like he wanted to strangle me or strip me, and I wasn't entirely sure which one I preferred.
And the worst part?
When he had crowded me against the counter, when his scent had filled my lungs and his shadow had swallowed me whole... for the first time in twenty-four hours, I hadn't been thinking about my father. I hadn't been thinking about ballet. I hadn't been thinking about my ruined life.
I had only been thinking about him.
"This," I whispered to the steam rising from my cup, "is going to be a disaster."