Page 35 of Cross Checked
“It doesn’t.”
“It kind of does.”
“No,” he said, quieter now. “It doesn’t.”
The steadiness in his voice made my throat tighten in a way I did not appreciate. I picked at the edge of the plastic potato bag, needing something to do with my hands. “The public sees the stats, the jerseys, the fights, the interviews, the viral clips, the hot guys with god complexes, and they either worship them or wait for them to fall apart. I don’t want to do that. I want to humanize them. I want to show the person underneath the performance.”
Cade watched me for a beat. “But you still distrust them.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
The question was simple.
My chest pulled tight. I could have joked. I almost did. Every instinct I had reached for sarcasm like a weapon, but Cade had already called me on that, and suddenly another jab felt cheap. Lazy. Cowardly.
I swallowed and forced myself to look at him. “Because I dated one.”
His face changed. Barely, but it changed. “A hockey player?” he asked.
I nodded once. “A big deal. Not like you, not future-NHL big, but around here? In his day? He was everything. Local legend. Charming. Talented. Everyone loved him. Everyone trusted him.” My laugh came out quiet and ugly. “And he destroyed me in a very textbook kind of way.”
Cade went still. Not cold. Not detached. Still like the room had narrowed around that sentence and every part of him was listening now.
I hated how much that made me want to keep talking.
“It wasn’t just him,” I said quickly, because if I left the sentence there, it felt too close to a confession I was not ready to make. “I see it with my brothers too. Their friends. The guys at The Sin Bin. The athletes who walk through like the room should thank them for showing up. I see the egos, the attention, the new girl every night, the way some of them get treated like they’re above consequences because they can score or fight or skate fast enough to make people forgive anything. And maybe that made me unfair to you.”
“Maybe?”
I huffed out a laugh, but it was smaller this time. “Fine. Definitely.”
Cade stepped closer, slow enough that it didn’t feel like a threat, but enough that the air between us warmed anyway. His eyes stayed on mine, serious and frustrated and something else I did not want to name.
“We aren’t dating, though,” he said. “So why fling your shit at me?”
The bluntness startled a laugh out of me before I could stop it. Not because it was funny. Because it was true.
“Okay,” I said, pressing my lips together as embarrassment crawled up my neck. “Fair.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I forced myself to hold his stare even though every part of me wanted to hide behind the potatoes. “Look, you’re hot and you know it.”
His brows lifted.
“Do not look pleased yet. I’m not finished.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would.” I pointed at him because I needed the distance of accusation or I was going to start noticing his mouth again. “Every move you make is filled with some kind of sexual promise, and you don’t even have to try. You lean against counters like a threat. You look at people too long. You say things in that low voice like you’re not aware it should come with a warning label. So yes, my guard went up because I don’t want that vibe in this.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth for one reckless second before coming back to my eyes, and the kitchen suddenly felt too small for both of us and every honest thing I had just said.
“That vibe,” he repeated.
“You heard me.”
