“Are you seriously telling me that you date the most beautiful women in the world because they show up like magic?” Sarcasm dripped from her tone.
“I’m saying that I can’t remember ever dating someone because I saw them across a crowded room and said, yeah, I want that one. Women are…” I shrugged. “Women. They’re fun to have around, but my focus has always been on the game.” Except that one time I’d gone after London just to fuck with Sterling, but I wasn’t about to go into that with Evie.
Her shoulders and jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Not you, of course!” Fuck, I was screwing up left and right here. “You’re different. I mean, you’re Mila’s best friend. I don’t have to be Maxim Zolotov when I’m around you. I don’t have to put on a smile, or act like I’m happy all the fucking time because we’re out in public and people are watching. I’m just…me.”
Charged seconds passed between us, and though the entire space of the rink separated us, it felt like she was staring straight into my soul, and maybe finding me a little lacking.
“The hoodies are comfortable,” she finally said with a little shrug. “What’s your second question?”
“So, if you don’t like tequila, what’s your drink of choice?” I didn’t wait for her to answer, I simply sped toward the goal and fired off another puck.
I stopped just before the goal again and she slowly lowered her camera.
“Evie?”
She dragged her eyes up to meet mine. “It’s not that I don’t like tequila. It’s just…I had a night in college where I had a lot of it,” she said slowly. “Mila and I were out partying at some frat house—this is after you left. It was junior year.” She shook her head and her cheeks turned pink. “I had on this pretty little red dress, and the shots were coming, and this guy…” She dropped her gaze.
My stomach hit the fucking ice. “Tell me he didn’t—” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. All I needed was a name. Hell, I only required a first name if she remembered which frat house it was. The guy would be missing his fucking teeth within the week.
She sucked in a breath and looked at me. “I absolutely consented.”
“Not if you were drunk, you didn’t.” Maybe I’d break the guy’s hand, too, just so he thought twice about touching another woman when she wasn’t sober.
She shook her head. “I hadn’t had that much. I knew what I was doing.” She raised her hand to my chest and put it right above my heart. “I promise I knew that I was saying yes.”
I nodded once, but it didn’t stop my heart rate from skyrocketing.
“Anyway, it was…awful. Horrible.” She dropped her hand and skated back, moving backward toward the blue line, and I followed. “Honestly, it made me wonder why the hell everyone was so hung up on getting laid.” Her nose scrunched. “It was a half hour of being pawed at and drooled on, and then—” She looked away, like she was caught in the memory. “And then…” she tried again and failed.
“You don’t have to—” I started.
“I’ve probably read too many books, where sex is this overwhelming act of sharing your body with someone, and I thought it was supposed to be fun, or at least feel good. I thought it would be like French toast at Sunday brunch, all warm and sweet and exactly what I was craving. And instead, it’s just really, really awkward and unsatisfying. Like oatmeal that’s been left too long on the counter until it’s all congealed and gooey.” She stopped at the blue line. “Like it was supposed to be good, and probably was at one time, but you waited too long, or put in too much water and now you’re left with the bowl of yuck. You know?”
I blinked. “That’s a lot of analogies.”
“You asked.” She shrugged and lifted her camera.
“Oatmeal?” What the hell had gone on between them? Not that I classified any of the sex I had as earth-shattering, but it sure as fuck wasn’t…oatmeal.
“Or maybe cereal that’s gone all soggy—” she offered.
“I get the picture.”
“So yeah,” she sighed. “I smell tequila, and that’s what I think of. My one and only one-night stand.”
“Well if it was that bad, I can’t imagine you wanting to go back for seconds.”
She smiled as a laugh blossomed from her chest, and my heart stuttered.
Fuck my life, Evie was beautiful. Not just cute, or pretty, like I’d always said when Mila asked what I thought about how they looked before running off to do whatever it was they did. Evie was truly, heart-stoppingly beautiful, from those breathtaking eyes to her flushed cheeks, and those kissable lips…she was gorgeous.
How the hell had I never noticed before?
“Okay, one more, and I’m going to try and skate at your side for part of it, so you know…slow down,” she said, skating toward the blue line and then pausing, her camera at the ready.