He looks lethal right now. Like he could rip a car to shreds with his bare hands. His bare hands currently caging me in on both sides. How the hell did I get in this position? I swear, it’s like anytime he’s around me, I’m in some kind of weird haze and things just…happen. Like the kiss not so long ago. Like the way we’re alone in the men’s locker room. Like how my back is pressed to the smooth brick wall behind me, and how his breath is fanning across my cheeks as he bends down, compensating for our height difference. “You still a virgin, Blake?”
I gulp, my bravado swallowed up by the intensity in his gaze.
He just had to mention the v-word, didn’t he?
Asshole.
I still can’t believe I told him I was a virgin. Not sure what I was trying to prove, or how I allowed myself to confess something so embarrassing and intimate right after kissing him, but somehow, I managed to do exactly that.
Good one, Blake.
“Answer me,” he pushes.
I dip my chin. It’s a subtle nod at best, but my voice isn’t working. Not right now. Nope. It’s too busy catching in my throat, leaving me desperate for air. Or maybe Theo. Whichever works.
“Then, whose dicks did you see?” he demands.
My attention drops to his mouth, my tongue wetting my bottom lip as the memory from our kiss rises to the surface.
I still can’t believe I kissed him. That he kissed me. That I’ve tasted those lips. That I know what they feel like. Hard. Demanding. Dominating. Addictive.
“Answer me,” he growls.
I flick my gaze up to his again. “It’s none of your business.”
“I’m not playing around, Blake,” he warns.
The only penis imagery rising to the surface belongs to the guy in front of me, but I refuse to admit the not-so-little tidbit, so I shake my head to dispel it and keep my head held high. “I said it’s none––”
He grabs my throat and angles my head up at him, demanding my full attention. I gulp but hold his gaze.
Holy crap on a cracker, Batman!
He’s never touched me like this. It’s possessive. And commanding. And so freaking hot. The pressure is gentle but deliberate, proving he means business as he stares down at me. “Whose dicks did you see?”
“Theo––”
“Tell me.”
I shake my head again, but he doesn’t let me go.
“You think I’m playing, Blake?”
“It isn’t any of your business,” I remind him.
There’s a storm in his eyes. An angry and turbulent storm, transforming the dark blue to a deep gray, one matching his emotions.
He’s beautiful like this. He’d hate me for using the word, but it’s true. All worked up and frustrated. It’s sexy as hell.
I could tell him the truth. The only dicks I’ve seen have been in this very locker room, and I have no idea which appendage belongs to which player since I didn’t exactly see their faces. I could tell him I was avoiding said dicks because I’ve never even wanted to look at one until about two minutes ago when the bastard dropped his towel. I could tell Theo a lot of things. But I won’t. Not when he’s assuming he’s earned the right to care. To know about my sex life or lack thereof. He hasn’t earned anything but a solid place on my shit list, and I don’t see the particular tidbit changing anytime soon.
Now if I could just figure out how to not be turned on when his hand is on my throat and he’s standing over me, that’d be great. Especially when his minty breath is kissing my cheeks, and his stormy gaze is daring me to give into him.
“Blake,” he warns.
My phone buzzes against the ground as another text is delivered, breaking the tension between us like a glow stick cracking. Theo’s hand drops to his side, and he takes a step back, giving me space to breathe. To let out the oxygen I’d been holding in my lungs as if it had the power to ground me when I was oh so close to floating away a moment ago.
Without a word, he turns around, his back muscles tightening as he bends down and grabs my iPhone from the polished concrete floor.
He faces me again, his eyes even harder, and he hands me the phone.
“There a problem?” I ask.
“Burrows texted.”
Then he walks away.
8
THEO
Practice should start any minute, but Coach is taking his sweet time today, giving the rest of the team way too much free time to talk to Blake for my liking. You’d think she’s a shiny new toy by the way the team is surrounding her next to the bench along the side boards, but I keep my head down, forcing myself to ignore them. It doesn’t block out her light laugh, though, or the way her freckled skin heats anytime Burrows skates toward her.
Fucking Burrows.
I actually like the asshole, which only makes it worse. He’s a decent guy most of the time and doesn’t sample the puck bunnies quite as often as the rest of us. Well, the rest of the team, anyway.
After being fucked up enough to kiss Blake at my place a couple months ago, it felt weird to touch anyone else. Wrong, maybe. Which is messed up on a whole other level since it’s not like I plan on making the mistake of touching Blake again.
Especially after the locker room incident.
My dick twitches at the memory, but I push the thought aside.
I’ve fantasized about the moment for days. What she looked like. The way her breath hitched and her lips parted as I leaned closer to her. What I wish I could’ve done––and would have––if she were any other girl but my best friend’s little sister.
Russ calls for Blake from the arch leading to the locker room, and she waves goodbye to the team, heading down the tunnel and out of sight.
The rest of the guys watch her leave as Depp says something to Graves, but I’m too far away to hear what he’s said. The bastard laughs as I skate toward them, braking at the last second until a plume of icy mist blankets their calves and skates.
Depp looks down at the slush on his legs, then cocks his head. “There a problem, Theo?”
“You guys need to stay away from her.”
Tukani laughs, his elbows on his knees and ass still resting next to the spot Blake had been sitting. “Come on, man. We were just talking––”
“So, you don’t want to get in her pants?” I argue, my attention shifting from one asshole teammate to the next.
Austin, who’d been sitting on Tukani’s opposite side, stands up and rests his hip against the partition separating the ice from the bench. “Coach didn’t say she was off-limits.”
“It’s Colt’s little sister.”
“Yeah, we know,” Depp reminds me, fiddling with his glove. “And he doesn’t have a problem with us talking to her, either.”
“‘Cause he’s too busy hanging out with Ash to see you guys fuck anything with two legs on the weekends,” I counter.
“We’re just talking to her,” Graves argues. Logan adds, “Why’s a stick up your ass, man?”
My brows raise in surprise as I turn to him, throttling my hockey stick while attempting to keep my temper in check. Logan and I have been on shaky ground ever since Ash broke up with him and started dating Colt. Afterward, Logan decided to shove her nose in a bunch of shit in hopes of breaking them up. Unfortunately, it backfired. Colt decked Logan for being a dick, and I politely asked him to move out of the Taylor House, despite us being roommates and best friends since we were kids. I’m not one to pick sides––I’ve never been one to pick sides––but after the shit Logan pulled, I had no choice. It seemed like the perfect time to clean house, so I told Shorty and Graves to find a new place to live too.