“Don't mention it.” I shifted into first gear and eased ahead. I kept my window cracked open, and my cigarette held near the draft.
She seemed unsure of me. Not a bad trait for a woman to have when she climbed into a car with a guy she didn't know personally, but still—it was one more way she wasn't quite like the others.
For some reason, I wanted her to feel comfortable. “You must be freezing. Here.” I pressed a button. “Your seat's got a warmer in it. Let me know if it gets too hot.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“So what's your name?” I asked her.
“Honor.”
“Honor,” I repeated, wanting to feel her name on my tongue. “Unique. I like that.”
“Thanks.” She kept her knees pointed far away from me. “What's yours?”
I shot her a look.Was she serious?Who knew. She was the new girl, after all. Maybe she didn't know which player I was.
“Hunter,” I answered.
“Hunter,” she repeated, and I could see the wheels were turning in her head. “And you—you said you're an ice technician, right?”
I chuckled. “That was a joke, sweetheart. I'm Hunter Rockwell.”
She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Ugh, great.”
The hell's her problem?
“What?”
“You lied to me,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I askedif you were an athlete and you said no. I know your name, though—youarea player! You're the captain.”
“I didn't lieto you—it was just a joke. An ice technician that drives a Maserati? C'mon. That's absurd. Don't you get it?”
“You kinda have to be into cars to get that joke, which I'm not,” she said. And then she fluttered her eyelids in my direction. It was the expression of a girl whodidn'tthink I was such hot shit and wanted me to know it, too. I hadn't seen that look since my school days. Reminded me of, say, flicking a cute girl's ear on the bus until she finally snapped at me—long forgotten memories like that.
“It's a $400,000 Italian sports car,” I said, and I ran my hand over the smooth dashboard. “And, well, an ice techni—”
She cut me off. “And an ice technician doesn't make nearly enough money to buy such a nice car.Ha ha,oh man, that jokeishilarious.”
She rolled her eyes. But being pissed off kinda made her cuter.
“Damn. Feisty one, aren't you.”
“And in my defense?Yes,my gut instinct told me that you were an athlete. But then I asked myself, what kind of professional athlete would be smoking a cigarette?” She pointed at the cigarette in my far hand with disgust. “Aren't you guys supposed to be dedicated to a healthy lifestyle? And if this issucha nice car, why are you smoking in it?”
A warmth rushed into my cheeks. I took a self-conscious drag from my cigarette.
“Well. I'm trying to quit.”
“Not very hard.” She smiled. “There's trying and then there'sdoing,like my Dad always said.”
“God damn. You're a pain, aren't you.” I flicked my cigarette out the window and into the freezing rain. “Happy?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She suddenly looked quite comfy in her seat, folding her arms triumphantly. I wanted to bring her down a peg.
“You know, you'd already climbed into my car before I 'lied' to you. So I don't get why you're acting all outraged over it.”
