Page 50 of Score on You

A teasing glint flickers in his eyes. “Are you just noticing?”

Fire blazes in my cheeks. “As if I could miss the colorful ink on your skin. I didn’t have the courage to mention them.”

“Until now,” he rasps.

“You make me brave.” I gulp as nerves threaten to bubble up. “It’s a new development.”

“That inner spark is shining through, sweetness.” He toys with my fingers that are once again weaved through his. “I’m honored to be the one fanning your flames.”

The smoky tendrils curling off his tone suggest that he’s referring to more than my newfound confidence. But I’m not sure how to broach the provocative context. Instead, I swerve back to where my interest often lands. Along with his willingness to talk about himself. There’s no resisting an open invitation like that.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

“I stopped counting years ago. There are at least fifteen combined to create this”—he points to the heavily-inked flesh on his right arm—“full sleeve design. The left one only has a half, but there are still plenty blended together. I have many others on parts not as visible.”

The potential of locating those alerts my belly to swoop and flip faster than normal. “Which one did you get first?”

“This.” He circles a hockey stick with a puck balanced on the wider end. “I added the jersey after the Trojans signed me from the draft when I was nineteen. Seems like ages ago.”

There’s longing in his revelation and those sad notes give me pause. I don’t want to pry. “Which is your most recent?”

Ridge smirks. “Roosters is written along my ribs. I included the cock den too.”

The urge to ask if I can sneak a peek dances on my tongue, but that would return us to inappropriate territory. “How long ago did you get it done?”

“After the bar opened, which was over three years ago.”

My brows lift. “Are you done getting tattoos then?”

“Nah, I have plans for another design. Already set an appointment.”

That intriguing strand tethers my concentration. “What’re you going to get?”

His chuckle is warm and gooey and very unlike him. “You’ll see once it’s done.”

“You won’t tell me?”

He shakes his head. “I’d rather show you.”

My smile wilts slightly. “I’ve heard that before.”

His focus slides to the arena center. “Should we go to our seats?”

I follow his gaze to see a countdown displayed on a large screen. A furrow creases my brow. We had half an hour not too long ago. Now only four minutes remain. “Time runs quick when I’m with you.”

“That means we make each second count.”

“Oh,” I exhale. “You’re being very romantic tonight.”

“Just tonight?”

I bite my bottom lip while forcing myself to hold his gaze. “No, it seems to be a regular occurrence.”

“Ever since I met you.” He winks and rises to his feet.

I’m struck still as he gathers our dirty dishes. After dumping them in the labeled tub, he refills my tea along with his water. My focus is fastened on his fluid movements. That leads me to appreciate how well his jeans fit him. The denim molds to his athletic build like the fabric was stitched just for his measurements.

He glances over his shoulder to catch me. “Like what you see?”

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