Page 20 of The Sweetest Risk

He looks down at me and his eyes turn dark when he sees that I am still wearing Dean’s jersey. In the midst of racing home to beat the insane traffic from downtown and needing some baking therapy, I didn’t take off that jersey. Granted, I didn’t think that Tristan would check on whether or not that I did. Dammit.

“I scored a pure hat trick.”

I cock my eyebrow up, trying to look tough while wearing an oversized green hockey jersey and a bubble-gum pink knotted headband. Tim Gunn would not approve.

Why did I agree to do whatever he wants? If he has his way, he is going to make me do something embarrassing in public. Or make me touch a spider–my absolute worst fear, after skating. I hate spiders. Almost as much as I hate this man standing in front of me. There is a devilish look in his eyes as he steps insideand closes the door behind him. Great. He is probably plotting something extra devious for me to do.

“All right, you win, Hot Shot. Since I lost, what do you want me to do?”

Avoiding answering the question, he moves past me and points towards the kitchen. “It smells great in here. Are you making cupcakes?”

“Um, yeah. For one of my coworker’s little girl’s birthday party.” I lock the door and watch as Tristan runs a finger through one of the frosted cupcakes and sticks it in his mouth. The way my mouth is probably hanging open, one would think that I am watching that scene fromBridgertonwhere the Duke is licking the damn spoon, because it is giving me the same stupid tingly feeling all across my body. No one should look that hot licking his finger clean of frosting. But of course, Tristan Lawson would. It’s a cruel joke from the universe that my enemy has to be so irresistible at times.

Before I can snatch the cupcake from his massive hands, he does something that stops me in my tracks. He licks around the top of the cupcake, disseminating any frosting in its wake. It paralyzes me and my face gets extra hot. Thank God it’s a little warm in here because of the oven being on for the past hour or so. I can definitely blame the oven. I need to blame the oven.

“Mmmm,” Tristan finally utters. “You’ve gotten better.”

“Is this the price? You stealing a four-year-old’s cupcake?”

“Not even close.” He places what’s left of the chocolate cupcake down on the counter and meets me halfway. My body is nearly flush against his. If I thought it was hot in my apartment before, it feels like an inferno now. “I figured since I scored three times tonight, you have to do three things for me.”

Oh God, here it comes. He’s going to make me streak or write on my face with a permanent marker a la Ross and Rachel in Vegas, or something equally embarrassing.

I sigh. “Okay, shoot. What do I have to do, Hot Shot?”

He licks his lips and for some reason, that small action makes me want to lick his lips, too. What is happening? This is Tristan Lawson. My enemy for the past decade. I should not want to lick his lips and discover what he tastes like.Shouldbeing the most important word.

I cross my arms and stick out a hip, hopefully giving off an annoyed and pissed-off vibe. I desperately hope that it covers up how turned on I am right now. “Ugh, fine, tell me what I have to do.” Before he opens his mouth I add, rather plead, “But please, if I can request no spiders. I am deathly afraid of spiders.”

He inhales sharply, raises his eyebrows, and inches closer to me and says, almost sultrily, “I can’t guarantee that, Cupcake. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

My eyes flutter at how close he is getting. He is popping my innermost personal bubble, and instead of pushing him away, I am just letting it happen because I do not have the strength to fight him. Not right now.

“That’s the problem, I don’t trust you.”

“Too bad.” His eyes are so dark I swear every ounce of hazel has escaped them. Then he pulls something out of his jogger’s pocket. I can’t quite make out what it is until he places this object in my palm. I unravel the piece of fabric and see that it’s a tie. I look back up at him and raise an eyebrow. “A tie? What is this for?”

“No more questions. Just do what I say.”

Well damn. I’ve never been ordered around like this before, but am realizing at this very moment how much I might like it. Although I am still confused, I nod. “Continue.”

He steps forward, erasing what’s left of the space between us. Then he grabs the side of my arms and presses me against the counter. I sharply inhale as I lock eyes with Tristan, tightly grasping the tie in my hand. My legs are buckling at the sightof this man. He has bulked up these past ten years and his enormous arms are now locking me on either side of me, his hands gripping the counter as if his life depends on it. My breath is uneasy, mimicking my insides.

“First, I need you to take off that fucking jersey,” he growls. To his credit, that is how this whole thing started. Thankfully, I am wearing a sports bra crop top underneath and don’t just have a bra on. Like hell I am getting completely naked in front of Tristan Lawson. I don’t care if my body is betraying me right now and desperately wanting the opposite to happen.

With the limited space between us, I manage to grab the hem of the jersey and attempt to take it off my body. It gets stuck on my knotted headband and I struggle with getting it up over my head. I hear a deep chuckle from the other side of the fabric and before I know it, the jersey is free and dropped to the floor along with my headband. Great. My hair is probably sticking up at all ends. Is this what he wants? To see me embarrassed? Because he is doing a great job.

As I raise my hand to fix my hair, Tristan’s strong hand grips my wrist and stops me. “Don’t. I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“All disheveled. It’s hot.”

Did Tristan Lawson just call me hot? I don’t understand what is coming out of that perfect mouth of his but I am notnotliking it.

“Okay, jersey’s off, Hot Shot. Happy? What’s two?”

He grins, clears his throat and says, “Put that tie around your eyes and prop yourself up on this counter. And make sure it’s tight, Cupcake. No peeking.”

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