Page 64 of Lawson
I mimic his position, leaning against the back of the couch just across from him.
“You might as well get it out.”
“What the hell was that?” I release the pent-up question.
Lawson folds his muscled arms over his chest and shrugs.
The man fuckingshrugs.
I copy the shrug but add a dramatic flair to it because I'm just a little bit peeved. “That's it? That's your entire response?”
“What do you want me to say, Blakely?” he asks, and I think it's the first time I've ever heard him have even a hint of anger in his usually super chill and cocky tone. “He was being a dick to you.”
“That's to be expected,” I snap, taking a few steps closer to him. “I knew the second I took this job that it’d be hard to convince a bunch of burly, arrogant, chip-on-their-shoulder NHL players that a figure skater might be able to help them with their game. Do you think I care that he accused me of fucking a Shark? It certainly didn’t give you ground to put hands on him?—”
“You think I don't know that?” he cuts me off, pushing away from the counter and meeting me to where we're only a breath away from each other.
I have to arch my neck to hold his frustrated gaze.
“I know that just because he was flying off at the mouth didn't mean I could take his head off, but what do you want me to say? I fucking reacted. Do I regret it? I don't know,maybe. I haven't had enough time and distance from it to see if I do. But he's an asshole, and he always has been, and when he said that you were fucking a Shark when you were just trying to help us, it flipped a switch in me.”
“Well, you just can't go around fighting with anybody who is mean to me on the team,” I fire back. “Hell, Clay barely gives me answers sometimes and can be reduced to simple grunts or glares, and I don't see you fighting him!”
“Clay adores you,” he says. “He actually wants to protect you, in a way that even I don't understand. In a way that I think you could clear up, but you haven't.”
I gasp, taking a step back at the drastic left turn he’s just taken. “What are you talking about?”
“Don't play coy with me, damsel. You’re way smarter than that and you're not giving me enough credit. I've spent enough time with you now to know that you're hiding things from me. Things about this team or the players, I don't know. And I'm fine with that. Everything between us is new, and I know how toxic your relationship was with your ex, so I'm not pushing any topics that you don’t want to open up about. But back to your original comment, Clay may be an asshole, but he’s more of the teddy bear asshole type when you really get to know him. Waller, on the other hand, disrespected you in a way I didn't like.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, somehow wanting to cry and throw my arms around him at the same time at how simply he dismisses me keeping secrets and accepts it and supports me at the same time.
How can he be so incredibly infuriating and insanely compassionate at the same goddamn time?
I study the harsh lines of his face, his chiseled features tight as the muscle in his jaw ticks. “What bothered you more, Lawson?” I ask, my tone soft, any traces of anger completely vanished. “That he disrespected me or that he accused me of fucking someone else?”
A low growl rumbles from his chest, and it sends warm shivers skittering across my skin.
“I don't know which one bothered me more,” he admits, the fire leaking out of his tone. “I know the idea of you fucking a Shark spun my head.”
“But you have to know I'm not,” I say, shaking my head. “It's a good team, anyone would be ridiculous not to acknowledge that?—”
“How would I know that really, though?” he asks. “That's what it comes down to, doesn't it?” He motions to the small space between us. “It's not like we've had the exclusive talk,” he continues. “We've only ever told each other how much wedon'twant a relationship despite spending nearly every waking minute with each other.” He releases a heavy sigh, and I look up at him, my heart aching to find the right words.
“You can start byaskingme if I'm sleeping with anyone else,” I say. “That's simple enough and doesn't carry any weight to it, not really. And my answer would beno.”
“Just no?” he asks, a little bit of mischief flickering in his eyes.
I purse my lips to try and hide my smirk. “Fine, not justno,” I say. I step a little closer until our bodies are almost flush. “I'm not sleeping with anybody because I know no one else can compare to the great and amazing and incredibly infuriating Lawson Wolfe.”
His smirk deepens. “Well, that much is obvious.”
I raise my brows at him. “Are you sleeping with anyone else?” I ask when he doesn't immediately offer his side of this little dance.
His brow furrows. “No.”
I tilt my head, trailing my fingertip along one of his tense forearms that are still crossed over his chest. “Justno?”
He drops his arms from their agitated stance, instead electing to gently grip my chin between his fingers. “No,” he says. “Not justno. I can't think orbreathewithout feeling you in here.” He uses his free hand to tap the center of his chest, and I swear my heart clenches. “And I have no clue what to do with that feeling. I've never felt it before. And I know the timing is shit, so again, I'm not pressing the issue. Neither of us knows what to do with what's going down between us, but I'm fine eating up the seconds you feel like giving me.”