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Instead, that icy armor grows thicker and she counters with, “Why did you get upset when I asked how you were doing earlier?”

Her hair is like silk settling over my fingertips.

I inhale, start to draw back, but as I do, I see the look in her eyes.

The victorious look.

Knowing she’s pushed a button.

Thinking she’s going to win.

Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

I’m the one who always wins.

So, before I can really process that this is a shitty fucking idea, I open my mouth…

And I tell her.

Too fucking much.

FIFTEEN

Violet

“It feels fucking weird,” he mutters, his hand starting to move through my hair again.

Gently.

Way more gently than I would expect for a hockey player, for a man like him.

“What feels weird?” I ask, even as I’m feeling more than a little weird of my own.

And not because my head is still aching.

I know the pain won’t fully abate until I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. It’ll be better in the morning—almost like it never happened.

Kind of like this, I figure.

A weird moment in time, a pause in reality.

Because Ace actually answers me.

“The last girl I brought up to my room was my high school sweetheart.”

“Was it bringing?” My lips twitch. “Or sneaking?”

He freezes, eyes locking with mine, fingers digging lightly into my scalp.

My breath catches.

“Shit,” he mutters, immediately loosening his hold and going back to sifting through my hair. “Sorry.”

“I’m good,” I whisper as he finds one last pin, setting it on the nightstand with a soft plink.

My hair is free and skating down my back, and, yeah, that’s so much better than five minutes ago—or maybe that’s just a result of the gentle scalp massage he’s giving me. Because, right then, it’s almost as though I never had a headache at all.

Just wait until he stops, the cynic in me thinks.