Want You to Want Me

by Lorelei James

  Lick, salt, shoot, squeeze. A little moan escaped when that burning warmth spread down my throat, followed by the sour tang on my tongue. God. I loved tequila shooters. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one. And that’s why I always limited myself to only one.

  “Another?” Rico asked.

  “Shot? No. Margarita? Yes, please.” From the corner of my eye I saw Nolan open his mouth, probably to warn me to slow down, so I held up my hand to stop him. “I’m entitled to drown my sorrows, Lund. You volunteered to be here as my DD, not my liver monitor. Feel free to leave anytime you’ve had enough.”

  “Whatever. I’ll rack.” He sidestepped me and headed to the pool table.

  I watched him walk away, wondering if he’d leave his snappy suit jacket on the back of the barstool like a regular joe, or hang it up on the deer antler coatrack I’d never seen anyone use.

  Of course he hung it up.

  Then Nolan crouched to insert the quarters and push the mechanism that released the balls. I chose my stick, a short one with a heavier bottom.

  He sauntered over to pick his own cue. “You want to rack or break?”

  “Rack.”

  “Fine. I’ll break.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves.

  I might’ve made a smarmy remark about him getting serious about beating me, but my gaze had gotten stuck on his forearms. With that kind of muscle definition? The man did more than push pencils all day.

  Damn him. I didn’t want to notice that.

  The balls cracked and scattered across the green felt as he broke.

  We both watched as the 11-ball dropped in the far-left corner. “Looks like I’m stripes.” He moved around for his next shot . . . and the cue ball followed the ball into the side pocket.

  I plucked my fresh drink from Rico, keeping my game face on as I snagged the cue ball and positioned it. I sank two balls before I scratched.

  Nolan called the 9-ball in the corner and missed.

  “Ooh. Almost. Those rebounds are a bitch though.”

  Now Nolan didn’t look nearly as out of place with his tie askew, his sleeves rolled up and his hands wrapped around his cue stick as he leaned into it with his feet braced apart.

  After sinking three balls, I banked the cue ball off the side rail and it barely tapped the 7-ball, but it somehow dropped in. “Sorry. That was slop. Your turn.”

  “I’m not taking a turn out of pity, Coach Welk.”

  I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” I focused on the 1-ball and nailed it. Then called the 8-ball in the corner pocket and nailed that one too. I glanced over at Nolan.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “What just happened here?”

  “I beat you.” I finally allowed a smirk. “Go ahead and practice since most of your balls are still on the table.”

  “Like hell. Let’s go again. I’ll rack ’em this time.”

  Like that would make a difference.

  I felt Nolan’s eyes on me as I sipped my drink. I wasn’t anywhere near drunk, but I did have “I’m tipsy” talkative tendencies. “What?”

  “Is this when you suggest a bet for the next game?”

  “If I’d wanted to hustle you, I would’ve let you win the first game. Besides, I’m guessing you’re the one who grew up with a pool table in your house, whereas I didn’t.”

  He drained his Coke. “Quit stalling.”

  After paying for game two, I sauntered to the opposite end of the table, chalking my cue as I walked.

  Before I could line up, two bar regulars showed up. Upon seeing me, they immediately walked over.

  “Heya, champ! Long time no see.”

  “If it isn’t Matt and Jeff.” I allowed myself to be hugged awkwardly. Then I gave them each a once-over. “All of the hunting seasons must be done if you two are here.”

  Jeff shoved his hands in his pockets. “No huntin’, but ice fishin’s been good up until last week.”

  His brother Matt added, “Real good.”

  Their gazes followed Nolan as he moved to stand beside me. “We still playing?”

  “Yes. This is Matt and Jeff, a couple of regulars. They’re brothers—”

  “Twins,” they said in tandem.

  “I see that,” Nolan said with annoyance.

  Then they just stood there and stared at one another.

  Which I blamed on Nolan. I smiled at the brothers. “We’ll catch up in a bit, cool?”

  “Cool.”

  After they were out of earshot, I whirled around. “Asshole much, Lund?”

  “What did I do?”

  “You were rude.”

  “I was rude? They’re the ones who interrupted our pool game. Besides, I wanted to make sure you didn’t invite the regulars to play doubles with us.”

  “Aww. How sweet that you want me all to yourself.” I broke, knocking in two stripes and one solid.

  Then I ran the table—five shots in a row. Finishing with a hard bank to the 8-ball, neatly putting it into the side pocket without scratching.

  A little over the top, but I took a victory lap around the table anyway.

  “Now that you’ve thoroughly kicked my ass at pool—twice—tell me how you got to be so good.”

  “You’re assuming I spent all my formative years on the ice and had no time to develop other skills?”

  “I don’t need to assume anything. My brother was a pro hockey player too, remember?”

  “And you consistently beat him at pool?” I prompted.

  “Yes.”

  “What other games did the little Lund brother win?”

  He flashed me a cocky grin. “Most any game where brainpower was involved.”

  I snorted.

  “On the physical side, I’ve always been able to outrun him—distance and sprints. We’re evenly matched in basketball. Sparring and grappling . . . I’ll admit he usually wins, even now that we’re adults, but it is different when we’re not wrestling because we’re pissed off at each other like when we were kids.”

  “At least you got to fight with him. I wasn’t allowed to even look at Dani wrong.” Why had I told him that?

  Those baby blues of his turned shrewd. “Is that why you’re not confronting your sister now? Out of habit?”

  I returned my pool cue to the rack on the wall, wishing I would’ve kept my mouth shut.

  Then Nolan was right there, prodding me. “Gabriella?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Nolan.”

  “I get that. But I think you need to talk about it.”

  “Why you gotta be so nosy?” I growled at him. “Can’t I just drink and pretend everything is—”

  “Peachy keen, jellybean? Because I’m one hundred percent sure that’s not true.”

  The way he studied me had the opposite effect to my usual response of adding another coat of steel to my already tough outer shell. The idea of him chipping away at the chink in my armor didn’t fill me with dread.

  I dropped into the closest chair and he didn’t miss a beat; he plopped right down beside me.

  “Why weren’t you and Dani allowed to fight like normal siblings?”

  “We didn’t have a normal childhood together. I’m twelve years older than her. My parents tried to have another baby for years and couldn’t, so I got the full scope of their attention. I won’t claim I showed above-average hockey prowess from an early age, but I did love hockey more than it just being something I did for fun. Anyway, my parents didn’t make a big deal about what I wanted to do for my twelfth birthday, and I secretly hoped it was because they’d signed me up for club hockey in Fargo. I wanted that more than a party or presents and I knew it was a big expense. But on that birthday, they told me I was going to be a big sister.

  “This is where, in a Hallmark Channel retelling of my life, I’d be overjoyed by the news, I
’d promise the unborn sibling all the love and protection my preteen self could imagine. But the truth? I knew that baby would change my everything. And she did.” I smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved her immediately, but I didn’t want my life to change to accommodate hers.”

  “Your parents expected that?” Nolan asked.

  “Not until Dani turned two. By then I was playing club hockey. At that point it was apparent I had skills above the norm. It was also at that point my parents wanted me to quit club hockey and just be satisfied with playing on the local high school team.”

  “Can I ask . . . was their reasoning for that suggestion financial?”

  I shook my head. “The issue was the travel time between our farm and Fargo, which was forty-five minutes one way. No other kids in my rural area were players, so ride sharing wasn’t an option. The wonky weather in North Dakota in the winter was always an issue too. The solution was to have me move in with a widowed woman in Fargo, a hockey patron, who lived close enough to the rink that I could walk to team practice and I could ride the bus to the high school.”

  “So you went to hockey boarding school.”

  “Basically. But I wasn’t around much in the summer either because I attended hockey camps. I’m pretty sure my dad was against me living in town because he wanted my help at home. My mom . . .” I could stop the story there.

  “What happened with her?”

  Just say it. “She told me I was selfish. That Dani deserved better than a sister who preferred hockey to her. That there’d come a time when they’d expect me to step up and be there for Dani, for whatever she needed. Mom made me promise and she’s held me to it ever since.”

  “Jesus, Gabriella. You were what . . . fourteen when you made that promise? Do you really think it applies now? That you have no right to be upset that your sister stole your boyfriend?”

  “I’m saying it’s just another thing, in a long line of things, that Dani gets because I let her. And this one, it’s one of the easier things to let her have.”

  Nolan frowned.

  “So to answer your question, I got good at pool because the ice rink where I spent a good chunk of my life had a pool table for kids like me, who were dropped off early and were the last to leave as we waited for rides. Even when I lived a five-minute walk away, it became a habit to stay and play after practice as a way to wind down.” I stood. “I’m ready for another drink.”

  I’d told him way more than I’d ever intended.

  To lighten my mood, I wandered over to Matt and Jeff’s table. They bought me a margarita and I learned more about pulling an ice fishing house off a lake than I ever wanted to know. But the conversation and the drink loosened the tight feeling in my chest, so I was able to offer Nolan a genuine smile when I returned.

  He slid his phone into his pocket.

  “Checking your stock prices?”

  “No. Just catching up on a game I play.”

  “Please tell me it’s Candy Crush.”

  He laughed.

  “Angry Birds?”

  “Are those your favorites?” he said curiously.

  “Nope. I’ll tell you when I get back.” I snagged my purse. “I’m going to the restroom.”

  The bathroom was hidden in the very back of the bar behind the storage room.

  I hadn’t been gone long, but before I turned the corner to go into the main bar, I noticed Rico had moved out from behind the counter and stood by my chair with his arms crossed. I couldn’t see Nolan from this angle and neither of them could see me.

  “Why are you flirting with Gabi?”

  “What? I wasn’t flirting with her.”

  Leave. Right now. Return to the bathroom because you don’t need to hear this.

  Problem is: I wanted to hear it.

  Rico kept pushing. “Admit it. You’re more than her DD.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I saw you eyeballing her ass during the pool games. I saw the ‘back off’ looks you gave the regulars who just tried to say hello to her. If you’re into her, dude, just say so.”

  Nolan chuckled.

  A strange feeling tightened my insides; throat, chest, gut.

  “I’m not into her at all. She’s not my type.”

  Yep. Totally should’ve left.

  “I really am just her DD. That said, I definitely expected more than her macho ‘man this sucks, I need to get drunk and get laid’ attitude after her boyfriend dumped her tonight, which is exactly what I hear from my guy friends after a breakup.”

  Rico said, “You don’t know Gabi at all if you thought she’d be crying in her tequila.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know her at all. I get that she’s tough. But I suspect that’s all there is to her, regardless if she’s in her hockey uniform.”

  Oh that stung.

  But mostly because he wasn’t wrong.

  Given the craptastic day I’d had, that comment shouldn’t have been what brought me to tears, but it was. I wheeled around, nearly knocking the cocktail waitress over. “Damn. Sorry, Brenda.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I—I just need to get out of here.” Right now. “Can I go out the back?”

  Brenda looked concerned. “Are you going to be sick?”

  “No. It’s just . . . everything I shoved down today is starting to surface and I don’t wanna be in public when the meltdown happens.” Not a lie; I barely kept my voice from shaking.

  “Honey, that I can understand. You go on.”

  “Thank you.” I handed her a twenty. “This should cover what’s left of my tab. Tell Rico I’ll see him later.”

  She nodded. “What should I tell your DD?”

  That he can go fuck himself.

  When would I learn that a man like Nolan Lund—charming, wealthy, gorgeous, well-connected—would never look beyond the surface of any woman, let alone me? I had no issue admitting that my outer shell had none of the slick, glossy veneer he required. Most days I was perfectly fine with that.

  However . . . today was not one of those days.

  “Gabi?” Brenda prompted.

  “If he asks, tell him I got a ride home.”

  I already had the Uber app open as I slunk out the delivery exit.

  Two minutes until the car arrived.

  Enough time to chastise myself for thinking for one moment that Nolan Lund and I could ever be friends.

  Three

  GABI

  Bang bang bang.

  I pulled my pillow over my head and tried to sink deeper into my mattress.

  The banging continued.

  Jerking the covers back, I stumbled out of bed. It was the first Sunday in months I didn’t have to be up at the crack of nothing to be at the rink, and dammit, I deserved to sleep in.

  I didn’t bother checking the peephole before I twisted the deadbolt, slipped the chain and threw open the door, bellowing, “What!”

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine.” Liddy, my pesky neighbor/pain-in-the-rear friend, breezed past me carrying a covered plate that smelled heavenly. She disappeared around the corner and called out, “I’ll just put on the kettle.”

  Yawning, I made my way into the kitchen. Liddy looked every inch the English rose with her smartly styled strawberry-blond hair, her flawless ivory skin, her knee-length floral dress topped with a formfitting pale pink cardigan and ending with nude-colored kitten heels.

  When she spun around, I half expected to see a string of pearls around her neck, white gloves on her hands and a designer pocketbook tucked in the crook of her elbow. She scowled at me. “Bloody hell, woman. You actually answered the door in shambles? You’re lucky I didn’t bugger off at the sight of you.”

  So much for my comparing her to an English rose; she was more English bulldog. “You woke me up. And yo
u would’ve kept beating on the bloody door if I’d ignored you.”

  “True. But you will forgive me, when you see I brought scones. Thoroughly English, freshly baked blueberry scones with real clotted cream and lemon curd.”

  I curtsied. “Did you bake them before you headed off to church, milady?”

  “Piss off, puckhead. Not only don’t I go all British Bake Off, I refuse to step foot in any of the fifth-cousin-removed churches here in the colonies that blasphemes the glorious Church of England.”

  I laughed. “I thought you were an atheist?”

  She sniffed. “Darling, I’m agnostic. True atheists don’t celebrate Christmas and I just can’t imagine a life without presents, eggnog and plum pudding.” She gave me a once-over. “Speaking of presents . . . I have a delicious morsel of news to accompany the scrummy scones, but you’ll have neither until you hit the loo and look less knackered.”

  “Oy. Just get off the telly with yer mum? Because blimey, you’ve gone full-on British slang first thing this morning, mate.”

  Liddy rolled her eyes. “Wanker.”

  “You love me.”

  “I do. Which is why, ever since our conversation Wednesday night, I’ve been thinking of ways to help get you out of this slump.”

  My face got hot. After a couple of glasses of wine during our weekly Whine Wednesday and Liddy’s urging, I’d voiced my dissatisfaction about my personal and my professional life. I didn’t regret opening up to her even when I should’ve known that Liddy—a “fixer”—would obsess about helping me. Maybe that’s what I’d secretly wanted. “Liddy—”

  The teakettle whistled. The interruption allowed her to shoo me off, promising my tea would be the perfect temperature after I exited the shower.

  I shuffled off to the bathroom after snagging a Red Bull from the fridge. While I liked tea, it didn’t provide me with enough of a caffeine kick.

  Under the lukewarm shower spray, my thoughts drifted to my friendship with Liddy and how important she’d become in my life.

  Liddy and I had met months ago when I’d moved into Snow Village.

  Snow Village was like any other gated community in that it was comprised of three connected apartment buildings with separate parking garages, a fitness facility with a large multipurpose room, a fenced pet park and a playground. The unique aspect? Most of the residents were athletes—current and former—who competed in winter sporting events. I’d been lucky to score a two-bedroom apartment due to the fact my boss, Jax, and Jensen Lund, the owner of Snow Village, were cousins, not solely because I played hockey.