"What the hell, Carter?" Bailey pulled away from me, coming to a stop on the sidewalk outside the arena. Her eyes flashed with anger. "Where are you taking me?"

Late afternoon sun glinted off her dark blonde hair, bringing out the green and gold in her hazel eyes. Unlike most girls I met at nightclubs, she was even more attractive in a normal, everyday setting without all of the makeup and tight clothing. And, like when we first met in the nightclub last weekend, she had reverted back into hostile mode.

Just my luck: one of the hottest chicks I'd ever met hated my guts. Or was she hot because she hated me? Maybe it was a bit of both.

I didn't want to examine that too closely.

But it was probably both.

"To my truck." I pointed with my keys to the corner of the parking lot, where my black F-150 was parked several rows down.

"And then what?" She unzipped her grey jacket, sliding it off to reveal a white short-sleeved V-neck underneath. It dipped down in the front, showing the slightest hint of her round, perky cleavage. But I managed to keep my eyes above shoulder level. Mostly.

"Whatever you want."

"I don't even like you."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough." She drew in a breath and paused, watching me. I said nothing, waiting her out. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a defeated sigh. "Fine."

I'd received warmer receptions from women, to say the least.

We weaved through the parking lot at a pace that was, fortunately, much faster than last weekend's drunken excursion. I always ran hot after games from the enormous physical exertion and resulting metabolic boost that followed. Combined with the unseasonably warm fall weather and my dark suit pants, I was running at a thousand degrees.

I loosened my tie as we continued to walk and slipped it off, followed by my suit jacket. I hated the fucking dress code for games. What was the point?

"Are you stripping, now?" Bailey said dryly.

"I can if you'd like." I unbuttoned my collar and rolled my sleeves up to my forearms. I was roasting. Was I nervous or something? What was going on? "But then you'd have to pay me, and I don't come cheap."

"That's not what I hear."

We reached my truck and Bailey came to a screeching halt in front of it instead of getting in. She looked at me, to the vehicle, then back at me. Her expression hardened.

"I changed my mind," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "I don't want to go anywhere with you."

I arched an eyebrow. "You're telling me you want to go back inside?"

"Well, I can't now. You just blew up my life."

Really? Seems to me like her life blew up, oh, approximately last Friday. It's just been raining shrapnel ever since. But it was easier to blame me, I suppose.

"I think you're overstating things, here."

"Not even a little. Everyone is going to be pissed at me."

I snorted. "For what? Moving on? Morrison sure did. Though it was a downgrade if you ask me."

Almost imperceptibly, she flinched. I immediately regretted what I said, even though it was true—that girl Morrison was with had nothing on Bailey. Not even in the same league. But tact wasn't my strong suit, and she seemed vulnerable in a way I wasn't used to dealing with.

She regained her composure, glaring at me. "No, for sleeping with the enemy."

"I don't think literal sleeping counts." I strolled past her, opening the passenger side door and holding it for her. "Unless this is your way of hinting at something."

"Definitely not."

All I wanted was to get inside my truck and blast the air conditioning directly at my face. Stop by home and change into a T-shirt and some jeans instead of this ridiculous suit. Then inhale at least three plates of food. I would figure out the rest later.

If her company factored into any of the above, all the better.

Unfortunately, she seemed hell-bent on trying to argue with me.

We stood locked in a standoff while I cooked under the sun, waiting for her to decide whether she was going to get in the damn vehicle. My truck chimed, reminding us that the door was still ajar. James had to be one the only people I had met who was less argumentative while drunk.

Maybe I could de-escalate her just a tad.

Taking a few steps, I drew closer to her until she was within arm's reach. I didn't actually touch her, but that was the point. "James." I dropped my voice, keeping it low and smooth.

"What?" She looked up at me sulkily.

"Do you have other plans tonight?"

Her mouth scrunched up. "No."

"So, what's the problem, here?"

"Everything?" She gestured. "You, me, this?"

I ducked my head, catching her eyes. "Are you hungry?"

It was just a guess, but it was dinner time and would explain some of her irritability. And I was definitely starving. A massive burger was in order, stat. Maybe two.

As if on cue, her stomach gurgled loudly. Her cheeks flushed pink, which was actually pretty adorable.

She jutted her chin defiantly. "No."

"Great," I said, ignoring her reply. "What are you in the mood for?"

She looked down at her black converse. "I don't know. Pizza? Burgers? I'm not picky."

"Let's swing by my place quickly so I can change and then we can go grab some food. My treat."

"Okay," she grumbled, walking over to the passenger side and climbing in.

*

After quickly stopping by my place, we ended up at Burger Bar down in the trendy brewery district nearby. We ordered their signature boozy milkshakes, burgers, and fries, and somehow I even talked her into sharing an order of onion rings with me, but I was borderline worried she might poison them if I wasn't careful.

"I hope you know I'm not going to sleep with you." Bailey took a sip of her chocolate-Kahlua milkshake, eying me warily from across the table of our booth.

I grabbed an onion ring from the middle of the table, setting it down on my appetizer plate. "Technically, you already did."

"If you use that loophole to tell everyone and give them the wrong idea, I will strangle you with hockey tape."

"Relax, James. I was kidding. I didn't think you were going to sleep with me tonight."

Sober Bailey had made it abundantly clear on Sunday morning that she was not, in fact, a one-night stand type of person. I had no delusions about that changing soon. Though obviously, I wouldn't turn her down if it did.

"Oh really?" She raised her eyebrows. "Then what about all that crap you said to me at the bar?"

"I was just teasing you." I shrugged, biting into the gigantic onion ring. Oh my god. It was almost orgasmic. Food always tasted exponentially better after games.

"Yeah, right."

Our server returned, quickly setting down our plates. She slid Bailey's chicken burger with sweet potato fries over to her, followed by my loaded double burger with regular fries, before disappearing again.

"Well, it's half-true," I said, picking up my burger. "I was teasing you in a playful way. Obviously, I was hitting on you, too."

There was no point in trying to deny that part. Hostility aside, she was still freaking gorgeous. I was attracted to her and I could own it. What was a little more muddy was whether she was attracted to me now, in the absence of tequila.

I mean, I was pretty sure she was. But the death stare made it a little hard to tell.

Bailey leaned over the table, brow crinkling. She lowered her voice, like she didn't want anyone to overhear. "Does that actually work with other girls?"

Did she want honesty here, or what? I guess that's what I would give her.

"Most of the time," I said, taking a bite of my French fry.

"Seriously?"

"You came back, didn't you?"

"That was the tequila talking," she snapped.

Damn. She was cute when she was annoyed.

"Huh." I stroked my chin. "Isn't that a country song?"

She placed her palms flat on the table, resting her forehead on them. "You are exasperating," she muttered, still face down.

"Back atcha." I just wished I didn't enjoy it so much. There had to be something problematic about the fact that I actually liked the dynamic we had going on. But I put the fun in dysfunctional, so I guess that wasn't a huge surprise.

Bailey lifted her head, golden hair falling in her face as she looked up at me. "Why aren't you out celebrating your win and hat trick against us with all your Falcon buddies, anyway?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. In fact, I was missing at my own house party with Ward and Tyler at this very minute. My phone, switched to silent, had been blowing up. "I guess that scene gets old after a while."

"What, you don't like having a crowd of doting fans throw themselves at you? That seems like it would be right up your alley."

Honestly, I would rather have been here with her, getting the gears, than surrounded by a bunch of people who didn't actually know me but claimed to think I was great because I could hit things with a stick.

I swallowed a bite of my burger. "Don't you ever find it...superficial? That whole scene?" I asked. "We're joined together by this single common thread but otherwise, I'm not sure most of us would even be friends."

She should know, as it looked like she was about to be ex-communicated by Captain Dickhead. I'd seen it happen before in situations like hers. But I wasn't sure she really grasped what was coming yet, which honestly just made me feel bad for her. She didn't deserve that.

"Deep thoughts from Carter over here," she said. "I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Life of the Party. Don't all the Falcons love you?"

"Ha, no. Ward and I are solid. And Tyler's fine, odd duck that he is. But I'm pretty sure half the team would throw me under a Zamboni if they thought it would help them make the league."

Bailey blinked slowly, trying to process what I had just said.

"Okay." She shook her head as if to clear it. "Did you start talking to me in the bar because you knew who I was?"

"No, I didn't know. Not until you came back, anyway."

"But you came up to me tonight to piss off the team," she said.

"Honestly?" I pinned her with my gaze. "Partly. But also, it looked like you could use a friend."

When I'd walked out, I had seen that stricken look on her face from a mile away. It pissed me off, especially because I knew it was because of that douche Morrison, which made it all that much worse. I couldn't not do something.

She bristled. "I have friends."

"And what were they doing while your ex was parading that chick around right in front of your face?"

Another flinch. Maybe I should start filtering my thoughts somehow. I mean, I never really had, but surely I could learn.

"Amelia and Jillian are caught in the middle," she said, looking down at her plate of food. "I'm sure this whole situation isn't easy for them."

Something tugged at my gut. Sympathy? Pity? I wasn't sure what it was. It was unfamiliar and I didn't like it. At any rate, these friends of hers sounded shitty.

"It's nice that you're thinking about their feelings," I said. "But who's thinking about yours?"

She raised her eyebrows. "So, you were thinking of my feelings tonight when you abducted me in front of everyone?"

"Of all the ways you could have left the arena tonight, do you honestly think that wasn't the best case scenario?"

"I guess..." She shifted in the booth, avoiding my eyes. "But you were just trying to rattle Luke. Don't act like you were doing me a favor."

Rattled didn't even begin to describe it. I would have paid good money to capture a photo of Morrison's face when I threw my arm around her shoulders. It was the perfect mixture of rage, disbelief, and jealousy.

And as much as she was protesting right now, I was pretty sure she enjoyed that as much as I had, if not more.

"I'd say it's a win-win, wouldn't you agree?"

While technically, Bailey wasn't his business anymore, I was well-versed in the inner workings of the male mind and to Morrison, she absolutely was. That meant there was a 100% chance that he was losing his shit right now. The smug as fuck smile I just flashed Morrison pretty much guaranteed that.

Morrison wasn't a direct threat on the ice—he didn't even engage in fights when he was challenged, let alone start them. But he would send his minions to his bidding, which meant I would probably need to look out for Bailey's brother and a few of the forwards for a while. That Paul douche, too.

There was a decent chance of a full-on line brawl with Callingwood in the future because of what I just did.

Dammit. I had enough fires constantly erupting in my own life, most of them self-ignited. Now I'd thrown kindling onto the perpetually smoldering feud between the Falcons the Bulldogs.

Coach Miller was going to have my head.

"As much as I may hate him right now," she said, "I am still firmly Team Bulldog."

I shrugged. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

Part of me did admire her sense of loyalty, however misguided it was.

*

When Bailey left the table to use the bathroom, I quickly checked my texts. Ignoring most of them, I wrote Dallas back.

Dallas: Where the fuck are you?

Dallas: You ditched us.

Chase: Something came up.

Dallas: You mean someone.

Chase: Exactly.

*

The waitress came by with our bill, leaving the black leather folio on the end of table. Bailey lifted her hand like she was going to make a grab for it. I leaned over, yanking it out of her reach before she could.

"Don't even try."

"You can't pay for me," she said, blonde brow furrowed. "This isn't a date."

"I'm well aware. And I'm still not letting you pay."

"I don't know whether I should thank you or throttle you." Bailey sighed. "Does that mean I owe you now?"

"Well, you did give me the pleasure of your sunny personality over a meal, so I guess we're even."

"Har, har." She rolled her eyes.

"Though, you do seem marginally more pleasant now that you've eaten. Emphasis, marginally."

"I guess I was kind of hangry. I spent all my money on—" she stopped, catching herself. "Never mind."

She almost let her guard down. Interesting.

"Do tell." I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Hookers and blow? Me too."

Bailey laughed. "Nothing nearly that interesting, sadly."

"Well, the night is young."

*

I signaled and took a left, pulling into the parking of Bailey's brownstone complex. Easing into the visitor parking stall, I put my truck into park and left the ignition running. At least she was sober enough to get upstairs without falling down them this time.

"Here." I reached over, holding out my right hand. "Give me your phone."

"Why?" Bailey leaned away, hugging her phone against her body and eyeing me suspiciously.

"So I can look at porn, James. What do you think? So I can put my number in it."

"Who said I wanted your number?"

"Who else are you going to text next time shit gets weird?"

She unbuckled her seatbelt, still clutching the phone. "Why would you want me to text you?"

"Maybe I need a friend, too."

"You need a friend."

"Why not?" I shrugged. "Like I said, half the team would throw me into a skate sharpener if they had the chance. Maybe three quarters. Coach Miller might even get in on that action."

She chewed her bottom lip as she scanned my face. I raised my eyebrows, waiting.

"Fine," she said, passing me her phone. "But I'm not giving you mine."

I quickly entered myself as a contact, handing it back to her. "Text me sometime."

"As a friend."

"Right," I said. "As a friend."

...for now.