“Gage?” a feminine voice called from behind us.

“Yeah?” I asked as I turned to see the same blonde reporter racing toward us.

“Gosh,” she said, giving me a smile and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, but my bosses were dying for a few more questions. Could I ask them?”

I smiled while inwardly grumbling. PR was part of my job, and as one of the faces of the Sharks, I couldn’t exactly be a dick and tell the lady that I was dying to get Bailey home so I could debate kissing her in a less crowded environment.

“We’re in the player lot, so I think we’ll be okay,” I answered.

“Thank you,” she said with a relieved smile. Then she batted her eyelashes at me and blatantly checked me out. A month ago I would have been tempted, but even all dressed up, she paled in comparison to Bailey in my jersey.

A sense of territorial pride swept through me and I winked at Bailey as she backed away so she wouldn’t be in the shot.

Bailey gave me a knowing smirk as the blonde pushed her boobs out and grinned for the camera. “So Gage, now that you’ve won your opener, and you’re feeling optimistic about the season, have you given any thoughts to your game with Ontario in three weeks?”

Every muscle in my body tensed, and Bailey’s smile slipped.

“We’re going to approach that game just like every other one. With preparation as a team.”

“Absolutely. And knowing you’re going to face Adkins for the first time since returning to the ice?”

I’d known the question was coming, but it didn’t hurt less.

“He’s an old teammate,” I answered slowly. “What happened between us was on the ice and ruled accidental. I bear him no ill will for what happened to my shoulder. This is hockey. People get hurt. I’m just lucky that I’ve made a full recovery and can continue in my starting position for the Sharks.”

Good boy.

Bailey nodded behind the blonde, a silent source of support.

“That makes total sense. And what about your personal vendetta? Will we get to see that play out on the ice?”

Holy shit, the woman was a dog with a bone.

“I think we can keep our personal feelings to ourselves. Like I said, he’s an old teammate.”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed. “Right, so you don’t think you’ll be off your game a little knowing that you’ll be playing against the man who destroyed your shoulder and left town with the mother of your child? Your daughter right?” She looked down at a notepad. “Scarlett?”

Unadulterated rage poured through every fiber of my being. “This interview is over.”

“I’m sorry?” The reporter sputtered. “I’m simply asking about your performance.”

“No,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “You’re asking about my daughter, and she’s off limits.”

I walked in front of the camera and led Bailey to my car with a hand on the small of her back, knowing the camera would follow—that I’d be a top story on ESPN for being a dick to a reporter.

I didn’t give a fuck.

No one messed with my daughter. No one threw her pain in my face and paraded it in front of the public like they had any right to it. And I’d be damned if someone ever alluded to Scarlett being abandoned by her mother, or pitied. I could love her enough for both parents.

I slid behind the wheel as Bailey clicked her seat belt in place, and then I tore out of the parking lot like the devil was after us. Or maybe I simply knew that mine was about to catch up with me.

 

What was worse than an insanely hot Bailey tempting me beyond all reason? A pissed-off Bailey. She didn’t blow hot like other women did—I could handle that. Have a little fight, air our shit out and move on. No, she wasn’t a volcano, there was no sudden eruption. She was like an earthquake...all around us I could feel the tension, and I knew she was brewing something up just beneath the surface.

The same way I knew that once she blew, I was in for a life altering shake-up.

She’d been like that since we were kids, and I knew she was always the most dangerous when she was quiet...and she’d been silent since we left the rink.

“Are you going to say anything?” Bailey asked as I threw my keys on the kitchen counter.

“What would you like me to say?” I snapped, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“Gage, you get to be mad about her asking those questions. You can talk to me.”

“Of course I’m pissed,” I said, slamming the door shut. “But talking about it isn’t going to help.”

Bailey leaned back against the opposite counter and folded her arms over the Seattle Sharks logo on her chest. “What are you more nervous about? Seeing Adkins or Helen?”

My head snapped up. “I’m over it. Both of them.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why the hell do you think that?”

“Because you won’t take a chance on us.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with any of this?” I fired back.

She arched an eyebrow at my raised voice. “You think I’ll leave. You think if we act on whatever this is between us that I’ll leave and it will destroy Lettie, right?”

I peeled the label on my water bottle. “Maybe. What about it?”

“I’m not Helen!”

I winced. “You’re not. But shit happens, Bailey. We’ve been friends for what? Twenty years? Relationships fail. People walk out. My mom left my dad, Helen left me. People leave.”

“It is so damn unfair to loop me into that assumption.”

“You left once upon a time,” I countered.

“For college!”

I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the island. If she wanted to go rounds, I’d go. “And how long before you walk out? Fuck, Bailey. You’re going to leave, it’s just a matter of time.”

Man, if looks could have killed, I would have been in a chalk outline.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re not going to get an argument from me. Look, what we have here, this incredible chemistry...it’ll fade. Yes, I want to fuck you. I want nothing more than to lift you onto this counter, slide your pants off and bury myself in you so deep that you can taste me. Hell, I’d love to do it while you’re wearing my name on your back, so go ahead and leave the jersey on.”