Puking My Hockey Rival

Chapter12

RONAN'S POV

The steam from the bathroom was still clinging to the cool air of the hotel room when I tossed the damp towel over the back of the chair and pulled a pair of clean boxer briefs on, my skin still warm from the shower.

I was halfway through buttoning a crisp white oxford shirt, sliding the pearl buttons through their slots with practiced efficiency, when the phone on the nightstand buzzed against the wood.

Unhurriedly, I finished buttoning the cuffs, stepped into my dark wool trousers, and zipped them before walking over to pick up the device.

The screen lit up with a short, neat string of text.

“I've thought about your proposal for a meeting and I'm willing to give it a try. Just for one hour and I can leave whenever I want.”

A slow, steady satisfaction settled deep in my chest, and with it, an equally satisfied smile stretching across my face. I hadn't expected him to fold this fast, not with how hard he’d been digging his heels in since I proposed it.

I would say that his refusal was the main reason I wanted the whole thing to push through. The challenge of seeing how hard I could push before he gave in, far outweighed what was supposed to be the main reason for me initiating the meeting thing.

I tapped out a reply with my thumb, the phone glowing in the dim light of the bedroom.

“Took you long enough. What finally made you change your mind?”

His reply came back almost instantly, formal and defensive in that way that always made me want to push a little harder.

“Because there’s no harm in a civilized conversation, Calloway. Just looking forward to finally talking out and squashing this exhausting animosity between us.”

I let out a low huff of air, locking the screen for a second as I reached for my leather belt, threading it through the loops of my pants and buckling it with a sharp click. I picked the phone back up and typed.

“Animosity? I wouldn't necessarily call it that.”

The typing bubbles appeared immediately, disappearing and reappearing as he clearly debated how much energy to give me.

“What would you call it then?”

I hit call before I could overthink it, pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I walked over to grab my watch from the dresser.

“You're calling instead of texting?” Luca's voice came through, clipped and irritated.

“I could've been in the middle of something important.”

“Are you?” I challenged.

Silence.

“Not right now but…” Luca began.

“Then it's settled,” I cut in calmly.

“I’m hanging up…”

“I called because I just wanted clarity on your choice of words,” I said, my words rushed, as I slid the watch onto my wrist and clicked the clasp into place.

“Animosity implies a mutual dislike. I don't dislike you, Luca. Competitive though? Yes. Yes I am.”

“Right,” he muttered over the line. “You just spent three years memorizing every time I blink so you can use it against me on the ice because you totally like me, right ?”

I felt something move in my chest as I chuckled, but I refused to acknowledge it.

“What is it, then?” Luca continued. “What would you call it then if not animosity?”

“It's something deeper,” I answered, my voice trembling slightly as I looked out the hotel window toward the Boston skyline.

A heavy silence stretched over the line for three long seconds.

“You're out of your mind,” Luca snapped, the disbelief sharp in his tone. “You are genuinely, completely insane if you're thinking about what I think you're thinking about.”

Before I could answer, the line went dead with a sharp, electronic click.

A laugh tore out of my chest before I could stop it, rich and entirely unfiltered, echoing in the quiet hotel room.

Well good thing he ended the call because he definitely wouldn't have loved what I had to say in response, which was the fact that he was acting like I was the one who kissed him and not the other way around.

Sure, I kissed him back, very enthusiastically too…but he initiated boldly. Surely that had to mean something right?

I lowered the phone, staring at the blank screen with a grin pulling at the corner of my mouth. I loved doing that, loved finding the exact pressure point where Luca's pristine, media-trained, tough composure cracked just enough to show me the real man underneath.

I tossed the phone onto the bed, sliding my arms into my jacket as I headed toward the door to meet a few of my teammates for dinner.

The adrenaline of messing with his head lingered, warm and familiar, but as I locked the hotel room door behind me, a quieter, heavier thought settled into the back of my mind.

I liked the game. I liked the fact that I could ruffle Luca's feathers.

But somewhere beneath the fun and the adrenaline rush of getting under his skin, a nagging question remained, one I hadn't answered yet, at what point would I actually have to admit that this wasn't completely a game to me either?