Page 47 of The Playmaker
I take a deep breath, and it almost hurts to breathe. I miss my brother so freaking much. Miss the closeness we used to have. As loneliness invades my soul, tears pound behind my eyes. Maybe I should reach out to him.
Do not cry, Nina.
“Welcome to Paint Nite,” our instructor says, and the speaker behind us gives a high-pitch squeal that nearly deafens us. We all cringe, and the instructor quickly makes an adjustment. “Better?” he asks as he twists the mouthpiece on his headset.
“Better,” a few people call out.
“Okay, let’s take a look at your brushes and I’ll explain how we’re going to use them, while Danni comes around and fills your paper plates with paint.”
We all pick up our brushes, and the instructor goes over everything. Soon enough, we all fall into a rhythm and begin painting our flowers. It’s cathartic, really. A daisy might not have been Cole’s first—or even millionth—choice, but he’s doing a fine job and seems quite happy and content beside me. If I’m not mistaken, he even has a hint of a smile on his place.
“Hey, Cannon, I thought that was you,” a male voice says, pulling our focus.
We both glance up and I try to place the handsome blond who probably spends hours, and too much gel, to get his hair to fall into a hot messy look that the girls probably go crazy for. Still, no one comes close to Cole in the looks department, at least not to me.
“Scott,” Cole says. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Blind date,” Scott says, and cringes as he gestures with a nod to the girl behind him.
“Not working out?”
“Nope.” Scott’s gaze leaves Cole and slides to mine. He looks me over, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, well, if it isn’t little Nina Callaghan,” he says.
“You know me?” I ask, then narrow my eyes and search my memory bank. That’s when it hits me. He used to play hockey with my brother and Cole in high school. From the snarl on Cole’s face, I’m guessing they weren’t really friends.
Scott scoffs. “Hell yeah. How could I ever forget Crazy Callaghan’s sexy little sister?” I sit up straighter, sure I’d heard him wrong. “Fuck,” he says as he scrubs his face and winces. “Bastard gave me a black eye just for looking at you.”
“He what?” I ask, incredulous.
Cason gave Scott a black eye?
Scott’s gaze goes from me, to Cole, back to me again. “Are you two—”
“We’re friends,” I say quickly, so quickly, Cole’s head swings around and his eyes flash to mine.
What? Is he surprised that I actually called him my friend, considering all the ‘issues’ we’re working through? But seriously, we’re nothing more, and I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a puck bunny who sleeps with anyone wielding a…stick. More importantly, I don’t want Cole to think of me that way. I don’t want to examine why. All I know is, I hate the idea of him thinking I’m one of those girls who stalks all the players—and sleeps with them.
Scott nods. “Cool, can I give you a call sometimes? Now that you’re all grown up, and Callaghan isn’t threatening every guy who looks at you, maybe we can hook up.”
Hook up?
As in get together for sex. Damn, maybe he really does think I’m a bunny. My stomach clenches at that, but the truth is, isn’t that what I’m doing with Cole? Hooking up for sex?
“I…” I begin, but I’m not really sure what to say. I’m used to guys overlooking me, not asking if I want to hook up, and truthfully, I don’t like the way this guy is gawking at me. Sure, I’m hooking up with Cole, but he looks at me with appreciation, not like I’m some piece of skin, his for the scoring.
Hateful images of Kenny Foster, and the way he treated me like I was nothing but his plaything—not to mention my date with the bartender—come back to haunt me, and I shiver.
Cole moves closer to me, as if picking up on my unease. “She’s already seeing someone,” Cole says, the muscles along his jaw rippling as he clenches his teeth.
“Shit, missed my chance,?
?? Scott says. “If anything changes, you can get my number from Cole.”
“Yeah,” Cole says, and refocuses on his daisy. Scott saunters back to his table, and I look at my canvas, but from my peripheral vision, I can still see the scowl on Cole’s face. “Did you want to date that guy?” he asks, his voice devoid of emotion, but his shoulders are pulled tight, his back poker straight.
“No.”