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Now she glares at me. “No way.”
“Do you or do you not want Kohl to think you’re into me? Because if you do, you’ll need to at least try to act like it.”
“That’s going to be tough,” she says with a smirk.
“Bullshit. You like me lots.”
She snorts.
“I’m totally digging that snorting thing you do,” I tell her frankly. “It’s kind of a turn on.”
“Would you quit it?” she grumbles. “He’s not in the room right now. You can save the flirting for Saturday.”
“I’m trying to get you used to it.” I pause as if I’m mulling something over, but really, I’m getting a huge kick out of making Hannah squirm. “Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m wondering if we should warm up.”
“Warm up? What the hell does that mean?”
I slant my head. “What do you think I do before a game, Wellsy? Just show up at the rink and throw my skates on? Of course not. I practice six days a week to get ready. Ice time, weight room, watching game tapes, strategy meetings. Think of all the advance prep that goes into it.”
“This isn’t a game,” she says irritably. “It’s a fake date.”
“But it needs to look real for Loverboy.”
“Would you stop calling him that?”
Nope, I have no plans to stop. I like how angry it makes her. In fact, I like pissing her off, period. Every time Hannah gets mad, her green eyes blaze and her cheeks turn the cutest shade of pink.
“So yeah,” I say with a nod. “If I’m going to be touching and kissing you on Saturday, I think it’s imperative that we rehearse.” I lick my lips again. “Thoroughly.”
“I honestly can’t decide if you’re messing with me right now.” She blows out an annoyed breath. “Either way, I’m not letting you touch or kiss me, so wipe all those dirty ideas out of your head. If you want some action, call Tiffany.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
There’s a bite to Hannah’s tone. “Why not? You seemed pretty into her last night.”
“It was a one-time hook up. And stop trying to change the subject.” I grin at her. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?” I narrow my eyes. “Oh shit. There’s only one explanation I can think of.” I pause. “You’re a bad kisser.”
Her jaw drops in outrage. “I most certainly am not.”
“Yeah?” I lower my voice to a seductive pitch. “Prove it.”
16
HANNAH
Somehow I’ve traveled back in time to my third-grade playground days. Unless there’s another explanation for why Garrett is goading me into kissing him.
“I don’t have to prove a damn thing,” I inform him. “I happen to be a fantastic kisser. Sadly, you will never get to find out.”
“Never say never,” he answers in a singsong voice.
“Thanks for that, Justin Bieber. But yeah, not going to happen, dude.”
He sighs. “I get it. You’re intimidated by my potent masculinity. Chin up, it happens all the time.”
Oh brother. I can still remember the days—all of a week ago—when Garrett Graham wasn’t a fixture in my life. When I didn’t have to listen to his cocky remarks or see his rogue grins or get drawn into a flirt battle I have no interest in.
Except Garrett happens to be very, very good at one particular thing: throwing down the gauntlet.
