Page 4 of Goalie's Obsession

I slap his chest and push him out of my face. "What are you doing here, Walsh?"

"Ouch. Back to last names?" He shifts closer, if that's even possible. "And here I thought we had something special after our…" Those dangerous eyes drift down my body and my skin heats. "…special cup-winning celebrations in Vegas."

I snap my eyes at him, then to Emma who's humming to herself in an attempt to pretend like she's not listening.

I freeze, wide eyes warning Connor.

Vegas. Oh god. The V-word has been officially dropped in public.

Let's be clear: nobody is supposed to know about Vegas. Not Emma. Not Ethan. Not the entire population of Iron Ridge who haven't stopped partying since the Icehawks lifted the trophy.

Vegas was my one moment of weakness where I almost—almost—gave in to years of Connor Walsh fantasies. And trust me, those fantasies are extensive, detailed, and would make my brother have a coronary if he knew.

But I can't.

Not with him. Not with Ethan's best friend… or, former best friend? The whole mess is complicated enough without adding whatever this is between Connor and me into the mix.

But to this day, I haven't given in.

I've been a paragon of self-control.

Okay, maybe I've been a tiny bit flirtatious. And maybe I did let him kiss me. And maybe his hands went... places.

But I drew the line! Nogoodswere delivered, despite how desperately I wanted to rip that smug smile off his face with my mouth.

"We agreed not to talk about Vegas."

"Did we? Must've missed that memo." Connor's fingers brush my arm, sending sparks through my sweater. "You've been dodging my calls."

"I've been busy."

"Too busy for your favorite goalie?"

I roll my eyes, but my heart hammers against my ribs. "Connor, you're not my favorite anything."

Connor leans in, his lips grazing my ear. "Your pulse says otherwise, Lucy Lou."

The nickname rolls of his tongue like a dirty promise, and I hate how fast my body reacts.God…He knows what it does to me, knows exactly how to push my buttons and get me all riled up.

And God help me, part of me wants him to keep pushing.

Instead, I push against Connor's chest, trying to create some breathing room between us. It doesn't help that every time my hand makes contact with his solid frame, memories flash through my mind like a highlight reel of torture.

Truth is, Connor Walsh has been my personal kryptonite since the moment Ethan first brought him home during high school. I was just an innocent teenage girl back then, and suddenly there was this ridiculously gorgeous hockey player sitting on our couch.

What else was I supposed to do?!

For years, I told myself it was just a silly crush. The kind every girl gets on her brother's hot friend. Something I'd outgrow, like my obsession with boy bands or strawberry lip gloss.

But I didn't outgrow it.

And then Ethan left Iron Ridge.

Suddenly Connor was just... there. Not as Ethan's friend, but as himself. We'd run into each other at coffee shops, at Icehawks events where I was working or cheering the team on, at Emma's bookstore or at Summit Café on Saturday mornings.

We started talking. Really talking.

"Well, you're no fun tonight. So where is the bastard?"

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