I need to know it. I need to hear her say it. I’m not sure why. She’s agreed to the kiss and that should be enough, but there’s a part of me—the real me that no one knows—that needs to be wanted by her. Since I’ve always shut down my feelings, this foreign emotion scares the living fuck out of me. I should walk away, end this right now. I don’t want to feel. Nothing good can come from it, on or off the ice.
She exhales, and her warm, minty breath washes over my face. “We don’t even like each—”
“We don’t need to like each other to kiss.” I cup her face to stop her. “But that’s not what I’m asking.”
A moment of hesitation, then she answers me with an upturned face, her lips parting slightly, her actions letting me know she wants this too. I brush my thumb along her cheek, and suck in a fast, fueling breath.
If I do this, if I kiss my best friend’s kid sister, there’s no going back—and if Cason finds out, I’m a fucking goner. Stupid bro code.
But I’m already a goner.
As Nina stands before me, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, her mouth opened slightly, welcoming me to kiss her, not even the toughest defensemen on the Seattle Shooters could keep me away.
I lower my head slowly, wanting to draw the moment out, fearing I’ll never get the opportunity again, and press my lips to hers.
As soon as I do, she makes a soft, sexy bedroom noise, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have to stop myself from picking her up and carrying her to my bedroom. I angle my head, deepen the kiss as I touch her body and shape her curves. I place my hands on her hips, pull her against me, and rock into her softness. My tongue slips between parted lips and tangles with hers, and she slides her hands around my back, her breasts pressing against my chest.
The kiss deepens and expands, and when her eyes shut, my dick whispers at me to do wicked things to her.
But this is little Nina, which means this is so fucked up.
I break the kiss, and inch back. She remains in front of me, her mouth still poised, waiting for mine. I breathe fast, push down the things building inside me. The heat that could destroy my world.
Her eyes fly open, equal measures of disappointment and shock staring at me. “I…we’re done?” she asks, her innocence totally fucking me over. Man, she’s really too sweet and pure for a guy like me. Then again, the thought of her in another man’s bed burns in my gut like acid.
“Game’s on,” I say, switching back to Cocky Cannon mode. “Can’t let anything interfere with the game.”
“Right,” she says, and turns from me, but not before I see the way she’s swallowing hard. “That’s why I’m here.”
Fuck man, had I hurt her feelings? It wasn’t my intent but what the fuck can I do? No one gets into my head, my heart, or my home, and I’ve already broken one of those sacred rules with her.
I grab the remote and flick the TV on. Nina half listens to me as she unpacks the groceries and starts putting them away.
I glance at her moving around my kitchen like it’s where she belongs. “Leave them there, I’ll put them away.”
“No, I don’t mind,” she says, her voice infused with a lightness that seems fake. “And I want to get the steaks marinating.” She glances at the TV. “So there are five players on the ice at a time?” she asks, bringing the conversation back to the real reason she’s here, and I’m glad, because I’m much more comfortable with that.
“Six actually, if you include the goalie. We have two defensemen, a left winger, right winger and center.”
“What do you play?” she asks as she moves about the kitchen, and I suddenly find my eyes on her ass, and not on the game.
“Center. I quarterback the team at both ends of the ice.”
“Is that why they call you The Playmaker?”
>
“One of the reasons,” I say, and when she turns to me, I offer her my signature Cocky grin.
She has a soft, thoughtful expression on her face. “Your team must be missing you.”
“Yeah,” I say, and turn from her. It’s fucking killing me to be off the ice. I live for the game.
“Maybe you’ll be better for the playoffs.”
“I hope so. I’m doing everything the doctor told me to.” The first play of the game is on and the commentators are listing stats. Burns, a motherfucker who plays for the Illinois Icemen, takes off with the puck. I hate that guy. He’s the one responsible for my concussion. I scoff. All he got was a five-minute penalty and I’m out indefinitely. I hope they make it to the playoffs so I can make him pay. I’ve been obsessing over it.
“Cole?”