“I’m serious.” She lifts her chin in defiance. “I don’t want you going all overprotective macho man on me at the rink or anything simply because one of the players talks to me and you don’t like it. Understood?”
“Afraid Leo the Lion will find out we’re sleeping together?” I question.
Another grin touches her lips. “Exactly.”
The girl is infuriating.
The way she’s playful and flirty and stubborn. So damn stubborn. But I know her. I know if I don’t agree, she’ll ask me to leave. It doesn’t matter how hot the sex is or how much her body craves mine. She is already on the fence. Already unsure whether or not our arrangement is a good idea.
Then again, so am I.
I need to play this carefully.
“Fine,” I concede. “Although, I definitely need to find a mascot replacement.”
Another breath of laughter slips out of her. “Oh, really?”
“Mm-hmm. And a replacement for your ugly ass floral chair.”
She glances at the chair in question and crosses her arms. “Maybe I like the ugly ass floral chair.”
“No one likes the ugly ass floral chair,” I counter and step closer. “I’m also going to be a replacement for your vibrator.”
“Who said I have a vibrator?” she quips.
“A girl like you knows how to take care of herself,” I note, prowling closer.
Her eyes soften slightly, but she takes another step back. I doubt she realizes how close she is to the wall behind her.
“I knew you were smart, Buchanan.”
“Just because you can take care of yourself doesn’t mean you should push everyone who wants to help away.”
Her back hits the wall with a soft thump, and her lips part on a gasp.
“Nowhere else to run, Brat,” I rasp, grasping her waist.
She reaches up and hooks her arm around my neck, tugging me closer to her. “Does this look like I’m running? Like I’m pushing you away?”
I shake my head, her scent driving me insane as my hands flex against her sides.
“Didn’t think so,” she quips. “Now, fuck me.”
“Here?”
She nods.
“You aren’t going to invite me to your bedroom?”
“If you think the chair’s bad, you’ll probably have a heart attack when you see my mattress.”
“Then, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t need a bed to fuck you properly.”
“A very good thing,” she agrees, lifting her head until barely a breath of space separates her mouth from mine. I can almost taste her. Her mouth. Her pussy.
The memory from the car earlier is like gasoline to a flame. It ignites every inch of me. I grab beneath her ass, hook her legs around my waist, and spread her wide. Heat seeps from the apex of her thighs as I give in, grinding into her. My body swells at the thought of round two and exactly what I plan to do with her.
Yes. This is a very good thing. So good, I’m not sure my mind will ever be able to placate my lust long enough to consider my own well-being when it comes to Mia Rutherford.
27
MIA
It’s amazing. What good sex can do for a girl. There’s a pep in my step and a flush in my cheeks whenever I think about my arrangement with Henry, no matter how unconventional it is. The reminder I don’t have to deal with Jeffry while on the job is basically the icing on an already delicious cake.
Halle-freaking-lujah.
It’s going to be a good day, and I’ve finally given myself a chance to actually enjoy my job for the time being.
It’s weird.
Enjoying something.
Life in general, even.
Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. For reality to crash into me. The other part? I’m soaking up the good stuff as long as it lasts because I’m not naive enough to believe this doesn’t come with an expiration date.
Still.
A few solid orgasms last night.
A fun job.
A chance to travel.
And zero creepers breathing down my neck.
Yup.
I’m calling it a win.
“All right, hit the showers,” Dawson yells when the team crosses the red line on the opposite end of the rink like their lives depend on it. Plumes of ice crystals spray across the goal as they each stop short, the players’ chests heaving from exertion.
“Actually,” I call out as the Zamboni appears and starts zamming the ice. “Do I have any volunteers willing to lip-sync a trending song for me? The video’s only ten seconds, so it shouldn’t be too terrible. Any takers?” I press my hands into a prayer gesture and give them a syrupy sweet smile, knowing at least one will cave with enough begging. “Pleeeease?”
With his glove-clad hand raised in the air, Beck heads toward me by the benches. “I can help.”
“Perfect. Anyone else?” I scan the already-tired players, their hair dripping with sweat as they skate toward the bench, but no one else speaks up. Another beat of silence passes, and I add, “Bueller? Bueller?”
“What song is it?” Greer asks.
I pull my phone out and play the song I plan to use. He bobs his head up and down with the beat for a few bars and gives me a thumbs up. “Sick beat. All right, I’m in.”
“Perfect. Can I have one more volunteer?”
Mortinson, one of the defenders, lifts his hand. “Yeah, I’m in.”
“Awesome, thank you!” The guys gather around me, preparing for my instructions while the rest of the team hangs out near the side of the rink, shooting the shit and waiting for their heart rates to finally slow after a particularly brutal practice, thanks to yesterday’s loss.
Ignoring them, I announce, “Okay, so for this video, I want to be in the middle of the rink and have everyone skate around me while lip-syncing the song. Like I said, super easy. Make sense?”
Again, everyone nods, and Beck offers his hand. “Do you need help onto the ice?”
“Yes, please.” I take his gloved hand, and he chuckles, guiding me from the bench onto the freshly-zammed ice. Gratitude shines in my amusement as I stare at the slippery surface beneath my feet.
Yeah, this stuff is slick.
We shuffle slowly, moving along the blue line toward the center of the rink like a couple of snails. I clutch his hand even harder, knowing how much it would suck to fall right now. My camera hangs around my neck, swaying with every shuffle of my feet. I lose my balance and nearly face-plant on the ice. Beck’s hands are on my hips almost instantly, steadying me with a sure grasp as my camera smacks him in the chest.
“Whoa, you okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, thanks.”
His hands stay planted where they are, and he grins down at me as the Zamboni finishes smoothing out the ice. “Glad I could catch you.”
My own amusement falls.
Shit.
I know this look. It’s the look I’ve received a thousand times at SeaBird. The look I’ve dodged more times than I can count while attending LAU. The look telling me he’s about to say something stupid, and I brace myself for it.
“Hey, so I was thinking…” His eyes catch on someone behind me, and he adds, “Go away, man. Mia and I need some privacy.”