Page 9

Spitting the word stripper at him as an insult was vile and close-minded. Sky has every right to do what he wants with his body, and he exudes a sexy, joyous, vibrant energy when he dances. He loves it, and I judged him for it. Being ignored would serve me right.

I press on my erection, but images of Skylar rhythmically twisting and turning his body are too much. Before I lose my nerve, I dial his number.

It goes straight to voicemail.

What if he doesn’t call? Ever.

I stretch out on my too-small couch, not bothering to take my shoes off. The raised floral pattern is scratchy and uncomfortable. I hate it more now, realizing it should hold naughty high school memories of me and Sky, but I was too chicken. Following Brant’s advice to apologize seems like the best place to start.

I jerk, practically falling off the couch when it rings.

It’s him. Holyfuckingshit.

“Hello?” I say, fumbling the phone.

“You okay?” Sky asks. “You sound like you’re running.”

“Nah, I’m good. Nervous you wouldn’t call,” I confess. My heart is in my throat, and I swallow uselessly. “Sky, can I see you?” I wince, starting off without an apology. “You’re right. I treated you shitty, and I don’t have an excuse except I’m a dumbass. I regret what I said.”

“Did you follow the link I sent?” His voice gives no sympathy.

I scrub my hand over my face. “Yeah. I’m half afraid you’ll file stalking charges.”

A boisterous laugh I haven’t heard in years bursts out of him. “I’m surprised.”

“Surprised I apologized or that I’ve watched every one of your videos too many times to admit?” I kick my shoes off and turn the volume up high to be surrounded by his voice.

“Apologies were never your thing.” He takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t bother you? You understand it’s how I make my money. It’s what paid for my brownstone.”

“You own a brownstone?” The awe in my voice is clear as I glance down at my used couch.

“Two floors in Brooklyn. My upstairs neighbor is eighty-four, and I plan on taking over her unit after her death, but the woman will live to be over one hundred to spite me.” His voice rings with affection, then he clears his throat. “But don’t change the subject. I won’t stop dancing.” The hard edge returns.

“I swear I won’t ask you to,” I say in a rush, and he clucks his tongue. My heart gallops, eager for more with Sky. “I’d really like to make things right between us.”

“Why?” he asks with cool detachment.

“Umm.” A thousand reasons run through my head, but they all sound selfish. I settle for the truth. “I…we… You’re important to me.” I’m dying to prove I can treat him better and my actions can match my words. That he won’t be sorry if he gives us another chance.

“Am I, tho? Was it me, or that I willingly did whatever you wanted? Convenient and obedient.”

“Don’t say that,” I croak as the shame of the truth washes over me.

“Listen, I’m as much to blame as you. I taught you that you could treat me like shit and I’d stick around. Standing up for what I wanted wasn’t part of who I was. Even if you believe you cared for me, I’ve changed. I’m not the same person you knew.”

“Tell me about the new you,” I plead, greedy for any information. The years have been good to him, and he’s aware of his worth and won’t settle for less. He gives the impression he won’t let people take advantage of his kindness. His videos showcase his strong muscles and cut abs, and he moves with grace and confidence. Qualities he struggled with throughout high school.

“Lark would never put up with your shit. I made him an upgraded version of Skylar—smarter, tougher, and no one’s fool.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a stripper. It was mean, and a me problem. I’ll admit I was jealous of anyone who got parts of you that I didn’t.” If I could reach through the phone and hug him, he’d be in my arms, except he’d most likely refuse me. He has a new aversion to touch, quickly moving away when someone gets near him.

“What do you want from me, Maverick?”

“You in my life.” I hold my breath, my heart beating under my Adam’s apple as I wait for his answer.

He exhales, and I picture his nose crinkling in annoyance. “I knew two of the guys at the party. One helped me become Lark, and the other only knows me as Lark. You won’t be able to pretend I don’t take my clothes off for a living. People recognize me. They expect things from me. Even if I don’t like them, I have to be polite. My face is my business, and I can’t afford to offend every guy who assumes my body is for sale.”

“That’s… That’s…” I fall silent, processing. I tamp down the urge to demand which of my teammates has seen him basically naked because he’ll never speak to me again. It’s a test of sorts to figure out if I can handle his life. I don’t want to fail, but my words aren’t worth much. Sometimes women throw themselves at me solely because I’m in the NHL. “It must be hard to trust people.”