I thought she didn’t follow hockey. Was that a lie? She looks too cozy in Rohan’s embrace for them to have only met recently. What’s she playing at? Or, who?
“I met Sp. . . uh. Mr. Nov. . . Theo, last week,” Alia stumbles.
“What? Where?”
“Block on Wood.”
“You never mentioned that, Aloo.”
I don’t like the way he’s talking to her. As if he has the right to demand answers.
“Nothing worth mentioning. I was fine, Ro,” she replies, sounding mildly exasperated.
“Yeah? That’s why you don’t even know his name?” Rohan stands with his arms crossed over his chest like a disapproving father.
Fuck.Now I really want to shove him against something. What the hell is that tone he’s talking to her in? Like she’s a goddamn child?
Her brows twist, looking at me for help.
Guilt thrusts a sharp needle in my gut, and I grimace, knowing my silly choice to keep my name a secret is returning to bite me in the ass.
“Callum Finnigan.”
I notice the exact moment when understanding settles in. Something uncomfortably close to betrayal rises to the surface before she glances away. I wait for her to say something, to ask for clarification or deliver a reprimand, but she never does. Instead, Rohan pulls out a set of keys and hands it to her.
“Go on. You know where I parked. I’ll find you there.”
Alia ignores me as she walks down the hall and exits out the door. My view of her is cut off when Rohan steps into my field of vision. He’s frowning. While that’s generally in character with the man I’ve come to call friend, he’s got an edge when he speaks.
“Is Alia the girl you were talking about in the locker room?”
I run my fingers through my damp hair, wondering how truthful I should be. The tie around my throat tightens like a noose. “Listen, bud. I had a conversation with her. Nothing else happened.”
He looks conflicted, a flicker of worry softening his stern expression. “I. . . She’s important to me.”
Important? Like, she’s your girlfriend?
“It was nothing,” I assure him, the lie feeling like ash on my tongue. It wassomething. I’d flirted with her. Heavily. And she’d been into it.
She’d also been tipsy. Maybethat’swhy she left. Because she came to her senses. The idea is appealing because it means she has morals, yet disappointing because every door to her is now closed. I’d never make a move on another man’s girl, especially not my friend’s.
Rohan rubs his chin, exhaling loudly. “I don’t mean to sound like an ass, but don’t practice your charm on her.”
My brows rise at his demand. Charming Cal is a shitty nickname that the team teases me with; I apparently charm even the women I reject so they don’t hate me.
It’s not like I have some mysterious power. I’m respectful, that’s all. I never lie about what their time with me will mean. Those who want the same things I do always leave happy the next morning. Those that expect something else. . . Well, rarely has it been about their desire for me versus what life as an NHL WAG offers.
I never thought the tact that allowed me to spare their feelings would earn me the reputation of a fuckboy—or that I would dislike hearing about it. Because, when Rohan says ‘charm’, it sounds synonymous with a contagious infection.
“Charm?” I grit out, my jaw locking tightly.
“You know what I mean.”
“Moore, I may not be a fucking saint but I won’t apologize for having fun as a single man.”
“Nor should you,” he says, not missing a beat. “As long as that fun isn’t with Alia.”
“Like I said,” I hiss through clenched teeth, “it wasoneconversation. Seriously, buddy. Lighten up.”