“Really.” I use my thumb to trace circles over her hip through her jeans. “Rocky is still one of my best friends. It helps that she’s a Covenette and besties with my sister too.”
“I can’t believe you just said bestie.”
“I’m confident enough in my manhood to use it.”
“I bet you are.” She snorts. “I feel like I need to meet these Covenettes you talk so much about.”
“You will, but not yet.” I press deeper into her personal space, bringing my face to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. I catch the faint scent of bubble gum as I inhale, my lips brushing her skin when I speak. “For now, I want to keep you to myself, because once you meet them, the girls will adopt you as one of their own. They like to collect friends like Ariel does trinkets for her hidden cave.”
“First bestie, now a Disney reference.”
“What can I say?” I continue to speak against her soft skin. “I’m a good time. They’ll tell you that too.” My teeth nip at her neck. “For now, I want to enjoy you being just mine for a little bit longer.”
“I-I’m not yours though,” she stutters as I drag the metal ball of my tongue ring up her neck. She can deny it all she wants, but there is no way for her to hide the way I affect her. Her skin flushes a delicate shade of pink, goose bumps are visible on the skin her sweater has exposed, and her breathing is as labored as mine after blue line drills.
“Oh, but…baby, you are.” I press one last kiss to the soft spot behind her ear, straightening back in my seat before I can take things further.
I will find out if she tastes as good as she smells, but if I learned anything from book club, it’s that chicks can’t resist a slow burn. I’ll take this so slow we’ll burn like incense.
A minute—a full sixty seconds—of silence passes before she clears her throat, her onyx eyes blinking up at me from beneath thick black lashes. Shiiit, the hazy glaze in them makes me want to say fuck the slow burn and reach for the kerosene.
“You know…all night you’ve asked me about work, but we haven’t talked about you being picked for the All-Star Game again.”
Her question is a bucket of cold water on my raging libido.
Yes, I was selected to represent the Metropolitan Division at the All-Star Game for the second time in the four years I’ve been playing in the NHL.
And yes, one of the two years I didn’t make the team was my rookie season, when it is statistically unlikely for a player to make it—Ryan notwithstanding—and the second time there was no game because of the Olympics, for which I was selected.
But, her poor taste in hockey teams aside, she has a good base in terms of hockey knowledge. I love my brother dearly, but I don’t want him encroaching on my date. The last thing I want is for the subject of the Metro’s captain to be brought up.
“I was picked—what else is there to say about it?”
“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes widen so there’s a full circle of white around her dark irises. “It’s a major accomplishment, and you should be proud.”
Well, I’m an ass.
“I am.” My thumb traces patterns on her thigh, the denim material heating more the longer I touch it. “The whole weekend is a good time. Most of my family will fly out, and it usually turns into a mini BTU Titan reunion even if we aren’t all on the same team.”
“But you get to play on the same team as your brother and brother-in-law. That’s gotta be fun, right?”
Yes, I love teaming up with my brother. It isn’t Ryan’s fault people credit him with his team’s success.
I may keep a grueling training program to prove I can stand on my own merits outside of the great Ryan Donnelly, but even I know what I feel has nothing on the pressure he must feel to live up to the hype surrounding him. It’s the biggest reason why I’ve never said anything about my own insecurities.
“Of course I enjoy getting to play with my brother. He’s like the all-star—there was never any doubt he would get selected.”
Her brows pucker and she looks at me like I just grew an extra head. “As a Boston fan, I will deny this if ever asked”—she holds her hands up in a pledge—“but you are the top defender in the league. Why wouldn’t they pick you?”
My lips twitch at her unknowingly taking a dig at Bastard Bishop. “You mean to tell me you think I’m better than your boy Bishop?”
She stills, her eyes darting back and forth as if looking for an escape.
“The Olympics was my favorite, though.” I throw her a bone with the quick subject change, knowing what it’s like to be possessive about the teams you root for.
A shadow passes over her face so fast I’m not even sure it really happened. Not the reaction I was expecting.
One of her hands lifts to twirl a section of hair around her fingers. “Why?” The playfulness is back.
“About a third of the roster was made up of BTU alumni, with five of us from the same playing years.”
“Who were the five?”
“Me.” I point to myself, shooting her a wink, and I don’t miss the blush it causes. Note to self: Hey, self. Make sure you wink at her—a lot. “Ryan, obvs, Jake, Tucker Hayes from Chicago, and Wade Tanner from LA.”
“I can’t believe you just said obvs.” She giggles. “I think that’s worse than totally, bestie, and the Disney reference combined.”
“Thinking I should turn in my man card, huh?”
“Maybe a little.” She holds her pointer finger and thumb barely an inch apart.
“All right, smartass.” I give her side a playful pinch. “Before you have me doing one-armed push-ups to prove how much of a man I really am, how about I give you your Christmas present?”
Her eyes light up like Times Square.
“You can do them with only one hand?”
I chuckle.
“Oh, baby.” I squeeze her thigh, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer. “I can do a lot of things with only one hand.”
Chapter Nine
You know that GIF where Charlie Sheen is pulling at his collar and steam comes out? Yeah, that’s me right now.
The last hour and a half has been a crash course in teasing and sexual frustration. I don’t think there’s been a minute since I stepped inside the apartment that Jase hasn’t been touching me in one way other another.
The way our knees knocked together under the table, how his hand would constantly reach out to touch me…and don’t even get me started on what it felt like when he dragged his piercing down my neck.
He’s tossing sexual innuendos out like Reese’s Pieces to draw me to his side like Elliot did to E.T. And like the alien, I willingly follow him to the living room, letting him guide me to the large leather sectional, my hand once again held in his.
The callouses earned from years of shoving his hands into hockey gloves rub across my skin, and all I can think of is what they would feel like on the rest of me. He may have been touching me all night, but it’s only been over my clothes.
“Shouldn’t we clean up the dishes?” I ask, letting him pull me down to sit.