“I like that we’re friends with benefits,” she says, her lashes blinking rapidly. “But I’m not sure of the rules.”
“The rules are whatever we want them to be,” I say and stand. A little gasp catches in her throat when I tug her chair back and scoop her up. “And what I want right now is you, back in bed, my mouth between your legs.”
8
Jules
Sitting at Nelly’s bar, I stare at the big screen along with everyone else in the place, and practically leap from my chair when someone slams Rider into the unforgiving boards. How dare they! I wince and want to look away, but keep my eyes glued to the TV, desperately needing to know if he’s okay. My God, hockey is brutal, and in my line of work, I see enough broken bones and blood as it is. Is it any wonder I don’t watch? Rider picks himself up, shakes his head and skates back toward center ice. I let loose a breath I’ve been holding.
“I don’t like this game,” I say to Lindsay as cheers erupt in the crowd.
She chuckles and arches a brow. “Really? Then why are you on the edge of your seat?”
I give her a look that suggests she’s dense. “Because Rider just got hit.”
“It’s called checked, and yeah, he took a good one there,” Lindsay says, toying with the paper straw in her daiquiri.
“At least he’s okay.” I glance down and fiddle with the edges of my napkin, needing something to do with my agitated hands.
“Last October, he got knocked out,” Lindsay
says. “He missed a few games because of a concussion.”
My head snaps up. “What?” I ask. That must have been why he was in the hospital. I wonder why he didn’t want to tell me it was a concussion. “How long was he laid up?”
She wraps her lips around her straw and glances up at me. “Not long and speaking of laid…”
“What are you getting at?” I say and flick my ponytail over my shoulder. But when I do, the memory of Rider tugging on my hair stirs the needy juncture between my legs. At least the bar is dark and the flush creeping into my cheeks won’t give me away.
Lindsay’s expression is entirely too knowing when she states, “What I’m getting at is, it’s nice to see you finally got some, girl.” She snaps her fingers and tosses her hair back.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on. You’re sleeping with him.”
“I am not,” I blurt out, my first reaction is to go on the defense, even though Lindsay can read me like an open book. Why again is it I’m keeping it a secret? Oh right, it’s just a fling with a friend, and I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.
She snorts. “Oh, yeah, okay, sure,” she says and rolls her eyes. “I knew it the second you walked in here. After a whole week, you’re still walking funny.”
“Ohmigod, Lindsay.” My cheeks flare hot and she simply chuckles. But my mind revisits the night he spent in my bed, and how he was gone come morning.
“Rider must have given you one hell of a…ride.”
Fine, two can play this game. “Well, you’re sleeping with Kane.”
“So I was right then?” Her green eyes sparkle. “You’re admitting that you got some?”
“Oh crap,” I say, and she leans toward me.
“Spill.”
“There is nothing to spill.” In a move to bide my time, I take a slow sip of my wine.
“I’ve got all night, Jules,” Lindsay says and steals a glance at the screen when hoots and hollers drown out our voices.
When the place settles down, I say, “Fine, it just sort of happened. We were at my place—”
“You went back to your place?”