“What?” he asks, laughter in his voice.
“My ex was on the football team in high school, so I’ve watched that and know it’s called a touchdown, but I don’t really know much about hockey.”
“Yes, it’s a goal,” he says and turns from me, but not before I miss the agitation on his face, but why would he be upset? It’s summer, so maybe he’s missing playing or something.
“Maybe you could teach me. I’ve seen the kids in the neighborhood play street hockey.”
“You want to learn?”
“Something fun to do on a rainy day. Maybe we can pick up some sticks,” I say, even though I think Mr. Landry has a bunch. His kids played, his grandkids played, and now his great grandkids still play.
“I do have to go to the mall.” He cringes. “Please tell me what to buy for a five-year-old girl.”
I pull out my phone. “I’m on it, but we don’t have a big mall here. I’m sure we can still find something for her.”
His smile is so appreciative and sweet, my heart does a little happy dance that I can do something for him in return, considering all he’s doing for me. I study his profile as he drives, let my gaze roam lower, to admire all six feet of muscle and testosterone. Yeah, I bet there are all kinds of things I can do for him in return. Things that are way more fun than shopping. Things that are dirty, and delicious and exciting. He’s a nice guy. Like super nice. My guess is he’s worried about starti
ng something when he has no intentions of sticking around. Maybe later tonight, I’ll show him he has nothing to worry about. Yeah, tonight with my hands and my mouth…
“Something on your mind, Aly?”
“Nothing much,” I say.
“So you’re agreeing to the next one hundred and twenty hours with me then?”
8
Alek
Alyssa’s laugh curls around me as I park her truck and we dash into her apartment. We just finished mowing the lawn, and getting her mower back into her storage shed when the skies opened up. Now we’re headed to her place to pack, because yeah, I think I talked her into spending the next five days with me.
A measure of guilt niggles at me as we hurry to her apartment. Omission is the same as lying, right? And she’s the kind of girl who appreciates the truth. I know I should tell her who I am and what I really do. Hell, she left cab money for me for Christ’s sake, which is the sweetest fucking thing anyone has ever done for me. Although sharing her lunch with me is pretty damn high on the list too. But the longer we’re together, the more we get to know each other, what I do for a living—and the fact that I didn’t tell her—becomes a much bigger issue.
Shit. This is wrong. I know it. I can’t help but worry, though, worry that the second I tell her it will change things between us and make her look at me differently. I’ve seen the reaction many times, and call me a fucking coward, but I’m afraid to open my mouth and ruin what we have here, because yeah, I like her, and I like the way she looks at me.
Last night… Jesus Christ last night I wanted her. In my arms, and in my bed. I wanted to put my mouth all over her, but I stopped myself. I honestly never knew I had such restraint, but once I sleep with a woman it’s over. I’m here for the next couple weeks and I kind of want to spend them with her.
Will sex ruin that?
Can I take a chance?
She’s breathing hard and still laughing by the time we get inside her place. I reach out, brush a wet strand of hair from her forehead. She instantly goes quiet, her eyes locking with mine, and in that moment, all I can think about is kissing her. If I start, I won’t be able to stop.
“I’m wet,” she whispers and a groan catches in my throat. Her innocence and the way she blurts out things that can be construed sexually is seriously fucking with me. She briefly shuts her eyes and shakes her head as she backs up. “From the rain, I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” I say.
“Let me get a quick shower and change into dry clothes. Go get yourself a beer.”
I walk through her cozy apartment, and open the fridge. “Do you want one?” I call out.
“Sure,” she says, and I listen to her rustle around inside her room. I take two beers from the fridge and twist off the caps. After opening a few cupboards, I find a glass and pour hers in.
A stack of papers on the table catch my eye as I tip the beer to my mouth. Plunking myself down, I’m about to riffle through them when a leather-bound book, spread wide open catches my eyes. I scan the list, and can’t fucking believe it. I read through the entire thing, and I’m so engrossed, I don’t hear Alyssa entering the kitchen.
“Ohmigod, no,” she says and dives at the book, but it’s too late. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left it here.” The clean scent of her skin fills my senses, and the sight of her in a T-shirt and frayed jean shorts grips my dick and tugs.