Page 13 of My Brother's Teammates

Unless I’m busy with hockey, lunch is at twelve thirty, not three in the fucking afternoon. She’s a schoolteacher, so shouldn’t she have an internal alarm that goes off at mealtime? It’s been a while since I’ve been in elementary school, but I’m sure everything is still pretty structured.

She’s new here, new to me, so I bet she doesn’t quite understand how important my routine is. But she grew up with two hockey players—Harrison and Jace—so it’s hard to imagine she doesn’t know how regimented we are. Especially me. I’m a walking goaltender stereotype, but if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. My system works for me, and during the season, there’s no way I’m willing to change.

Credit where it’s due though. She seems determined to try and cook, even though it’s clear she’d have trouble boiling hot dogs. Well, it’s either that, or she’s devised an elaborate plot to give us all food poisoning. Not only would she no longer have to worry about kitchen duty, but she could really stick it to Jace.

That’s probably it.

She’s smart enough that I wouldn’t put it past her.

She turns ever-so-slightly, so I can see her profile. Her forehead is wrinkled with a scowl, her lips pursed like she’s concentrating way too hard, and she’s chopping away at something on the counter. I can’t see what, and I don’t care. I’m too distracted by her plump ass swaying to the gross country music coming from her phone.

“You just gonna stand there watching my ass, goaltender? Or are you going to get over here and help?”

I shift on my feet and weigh my options. I could stand here ogling those cheeks jiggling with each perfectly timed movement, imagining my dick nestled between them as she sucks on Mateo’s cock—and get stabbed by that big ol’ knife she’s wielding… or I could help her out and live to see her ass jiggle for another day.

It’s a tough call.

“Roman.” My name is a warning growl from her mouth, and it’s never sounded sexier. Another thread of my self-control snaps like a broken guitar string.

She’s Harrison’s sister. She’s Harrison’s sister. Unfortunately, no amount of repetition is helping.

My dick doesn’t give a shit whose sister she is.

Striding up behind her, I grip both her elbows, stilling the movement. “You’re going to sever a digit if you’re not careful, Charlie.”

Taking great care not to let my boner touch her ass, despite the desperate ache in my pants, I guide the poor carrot she’s been hacking back toward the knife, covering her hands with mine as I work the blade. Her hair tickles my face as we slice the vegetable in taut silence.

“Roman.” It’s almost a plea this time as my name falls from her lips on a sigh, and I can’t help but imagine her whimpering underneath me as we both watch my dick slide inside her. As though she’s reading my goddamn mind, she presses her ass against me. I swear if she keeps this up, I’m going to cut my own finger off.

Groaning and tipping my head back, I heave out a breath before biting my lip, hard, and counting to ten multiple times, as fast as humanly possible. It’s not working. Counting to ten is supposed to make you better, right? But it’s only driving me closer to recklessness.

I can’t break Jace’s rule.

I can’t get my face smashed in by Harrison.

I can’t fuck up my game, my team, my career over a girl, but Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t get her out of my brain. She’s always been Harrison’s little sister, a friend at best, but after seeing her naked yesterday, the word friend has left my vocabulary.

She brushes against me again, and the knife falls to the wooden chopping board with a dull clink.

Bracing both hands on the granite, I suck in a deep breath before drumming my fingers on the countertop. She turns to face me, smirking, caged in against the island.

The things I want to do to this woman.

A few of her auburn curls have escaped from her hair tie, falling across her forehead and dangling in her face. I should leave her and her wayward curls alone, but I can’t help brushing my fingers along her temple and tucking them behind her ear. Of course I can’t stop there, and I graze the back of my hand along her cheekbone.

I don’t miss her sharp intake of breath or the way she bites her bottom lip.

Touching her was a bad idea.

Sparks of electricity ignite on my skin, leaving me breathless. The intensity of her blue eyes as they hold my gaze gives me pause. Am I ready to break the trust I’ve built up with the guys? With Harrison? Do I need all the sponsors and multi-million-dollar contracts? I’m half a second away from throwing it all down the shitter, just to kiss this woman.

She glances at my lips as a pretty blush stains her freckled cheeks. I trail my fingers down her neck and tilt her face toward me, just enough so I'd barely have to dip for our mouths to connect. Her breath skims my skin, sending a shiver skating down my spine.

So close, she’s so fucking close.

It’s clearly an invitation, and I’m powerless at this moment. My hands find the swell of her hips, my fingers digging into her supple flesh as I’m hit with a raw, feral hunger that almost sends me to my knees.

Her gaze flickers between my mouth and my eyes as she nibbles on her bottom lip. A bottom lip I can’t wait to taste.

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