Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Riggs

"Gotcha, bitches!"

Ella's triumphant as she settles the little plastic train down in the opening on the board, thus completing her win in the tournament of Ticket to Ride —and her overall board game—domination. I'm watching her—noting the deliberate way she's ignored me all night, barely a glimpse of those blue eyes on mine, while nursing a mule.

One. Mule.

Something inside me twists and then loosens.

It's anticipatory and it's fearful, and…it's a gnawing worry that I might have seriously fucked up.

I mean…no, I couldn't have fucked her, not like that.

But—

I'm not charming. I'm not smooth. I'm not a talker like Knox, who's blabbering next to me, and hasn't stopped since the moment we got in the car together after practice and headed to Lake's for a game night.

"…and that's when I flipped her over and?—"

"Asked her to paddle your ass like the bad little boy you are?" I say, switching into locker room banter without really thinking about it.

Conversation cuts out.

Knox gapes at me.

And…well, fuck, that just slipped out.

Ella's eyes are wide and she freezes, mid-sip of her honey-rosemary mule, and then she's choking.

And then I'm filing that away.

Is it the paddling? Or the dirty talk?

She'd certainly been ready when I told her that underwear was optional.

One drink. She's only had one and?—

I pause, listen to my body, to the memories clinging to the edges of my brain always, and…

I can work with one drink.

"How'd you know?" Knox croons, battling his eyelashes up at me and leaning close.

I scowl at him.

Drunk idiot—something I don't want to work with.

"Those strong arms"—Knox strokes his hand down my biceps—"those rock-hard abs"—he waggles his brows at me then at Nova, Lake, Leo, and Jolie, soliciting a round of chuckles and giggles—"however am I going to control myself?" He sighs and flops against me, and I don't know if it's the same devil in me that had me writing on the puck, or just a need to wipe that smirk off Knox's face, but I wrap my arm around his chest, draw him tightly against me, and, fuck it, I press my lips to his.

He freezes.

Nova and Jolie cackle.

I pull back, shoving him into his own chair again.

"What the fuck?" he snaps.

I lift an eyebrow. "You play with the bull…"

Lake smirks.

Knox glares.

Leo collapses into a puddle of laughter.

"So, this is what you boys do on the road?" Nova teases.

Lake hauls her close, nips at her bottom lip. "Some of us."

I pick up my beer—my one beer I'll allow myself because I have to drive home, because I won't allow myself to get to the point that I can't control my actions, my thoughts, my words, my body—and salute him with it.

Ella chokes again.

"Don't worry," Knox says. "Riggs talks a big talk, but he likes to play monk on the road."

My eyes go to Ella's.

Her expression is…

Well, it has me lifting the bottle further, tipping the dredges of my beer into my mouth.

One beer.

Because I need to always be ready and on alert and?—

Ready to leave in an instant.

Fuck.

The puck was a mistake.

This was a mistake.

Coming here tonight, searching for something, wanting… more.

I can't have what Nova and Lake do. Not what Jolie or Leo do either. I'm just…

Not good enough.

Gritting my teeth, I push up from my seat, head to the back door, staring out into the darkness, not able to see the snow I know is softly falling on the other side of the plate glass, not with the bright lights on inside and only the moon illuminating the expanse of Lake's back yard outside. Needing some fresh air, I reach for the handle, but just before I step onto the deck, bracing for the frigid planks to seep right in through my socks, I feel tiny claws pressing into my leg.

Steve, Nova's pug, snorts disapprovingly at me.

"You don't want to go out there," I tell him.

He grunts, spraying my jeans with snot. "Disgusting mutt," I grumble, but I scoop him up anyway, tucking him under my arm before I push outside.

His nose works in overtime (something I know because he snorts and snots and sniffs all over my bare skin beneath the sleeve of my tee), but I'm barely paying attention to it. Instead, I'm focused on the cold air sinking into my flesh, my T-shirt the barest bit of insulation. It bites into the soles of my feet, pricks at me through my jeans. In fact, the only part of me that's warm is my side, and that's only because Steve is pushed against it, his tiny body already shivering.

"Told you," I say on a sigh, turning and cracking the door, setting him down in the opening, and even though he likes to play the dum-dum, he proves that he's smart right then.

And that's because he zips off into the warmth, tearing across the hardwood floor and leaping—quite nimbly for the uncoordinated guy he is—into Nova's lap.

He starts licking her chin and she doesn't miss a beat in her conversation with Jolie, just cuddles her pup close and keeps chatting.

Smiling despite myself, I start to pull the door closed, but it doesn't shut.

Frowning, I glance up and see Ella standing in the opening, gripping the edge of the glass and wooden panel. Our eyes connect…hold.

Her throat works. Her teeth bite into her bottom lip.

Then she asks quietly, "Can I come out too?"

"No," I rasp.

Her face falls.

I straighten and step close, nudging the door further inward so that I can slip back inside. "It's cold," I say softly, "and you're not dressed for it."

Her eyes flick down then back up. "And you are?"

I shake my head. "The cold doesn't bother me."

"Who are you?" she teases and something in me eases. Because the sparkle is back in her eyes. "Elsa? Let it gooo," she sings.

"Hilarious." I grunt then nudge her backward a little further so that I can close the door behind me.

She waggles her brows. "I can keep you warm."

I still, hold her gaze. "We tried that."

And she had to get drunk in order to crawl into my bed.

Her head tilts toward the big table that's littered with board game wreckage and empty glasses. "I only had one," she says. "I'm in complete control of my faculties." She stretches out an arm, bends it at the elbow, touching her finger to her nose like she's mid-sobriety test. "See?" Her lips twitch. "I can even recite the alphabet backwards or walk in a straight line." When I don't immediately respond, she hitches her thumb over her shoulder. "Want to see?"

I study her closely, throat suddenly tight.

She's sparkling, fucking beautiful in this light, and so damned full of life, but?—

The words won't come free.

I just keep hearing all of the excuses I've held tight to from the first moment I met her.

This is wrong.

This can't be.

This…

"Okay," she adds softly, "maybe I can't walk in a straight line, but I'm not able to do that completely sober anyway." She winks and holds up her arm, showing me a bruise there. "See? The corner of the cabinet just jumped out to hurt me." A shrug. "So, don't hold the lack of coordination part against me."

Still, the words won't come.

Not as her smile flattens out.

Not when the teasing in her eyes fades and her arm drops back down to her side.

Not even when she takes a step away from me, embarrassment edging into her expression, and starts to turn away.