Page 111 of Jaded

I lead the way through the press of bodies, keeping to the wall again, and he follows me back into the main bar area. It’s less crowded here, though the party’s definitely grown.

A guy I don’t recognize bends over a table in the corner, a rolled bill pressed to his nose, while the girl seated next to him taps a credit card against the polished tabletop. The bartender pretends not to notice as the man snorts the line of coke.

“Talk about no holds barred,” Olli mutters, and I opt not to mention that once, not so long ago, I might have joined them.

“Probably some of Everton’s friends.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “I don’t go to parties like this a lot, can you tell? I’m like some kind of pathetic rookie.”

“Honestly, it’s better.” I nudge through the door and into the hallway. It’s dark, cool, quiet, like a rush of stillness and solitude. “Trust me. It’s nice you’re not as jaded as the rest of us. Everybody else just wants to get fucked up. And then, you know, get fucked.”

He follows me down the hall. “Not you?”

“Me?” I laugh, tip my shoulder against the wall as we wait for the elevator. “I mean, in the old days, for sure. You?”

“Nah, never been my style.” He pauses, drawing me to a halt beside him. “So, is this something you would have done in the old days?”

I wince.Want to find someplace quieter? And then we find an empty room.

I pull him towards me, gently, like I’m afraid he’ll break.

“I haven’t done this for a long time,” I admit, my hands ghosting over his cheeks. The lightest snag of stubble grates my fingertips, like it’s been a day since he shaved. “And this is . . . definitely different.”

“Why?” He murmurs the words.

I huff. “Honestly? ’Cause I’m kind of afraid you’re gonna run away.”

“Me?” He pulls back, so I get a clear view of the way his brows arch in disbelief. “I’m terrified you’re gonna blink and remember you’re way cooler than me.”

“Cooler?” My brows tug at my forehead in confusion. “I’m a thirty-five-year old Zamboni driver and single parent. What about me seems cool?”

He chuckles. “I was referring more to the bad-boi vibe and tattoos . . . but yeah, when you phrase it like that, I do feel better. Thanks.”

I laugh too, and lean close—but the elevator dings and the doors part.

He tugs me after him and I barely get inside before my lips brush his. Beautiful lips. Lips that deserve so much more than a whispered touch. My fingers slide over his hair. And then I pull him close andkiss.

My eyes flutter closed. I think I’ve never kissed anyone like him, and not just because of his gender or height or the hardness of his body. I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anybody. I want to break down his barriers, soften him, mold him against me.

I kiss the line of his jaw, revel in the sharp hiss of his breath. My teeth nip his ear. Lips move down along the column of his throat.

“Oh, you’re really good at that,” he says, breathless, and I grin against the hollow of his throat, then straighten to kiss him again. This time, I don’t hold back. My tongue caresses the seam of his mouth, begging for entrance, and the little groan that accompanies the parting of his lips sends heat through me in an unexpected wave so strong I gasp too. My fingers tighten in his hair, tangle through the curls, and I step forward into him—

The elevator doors swipe open, jarring me back to reality. We’re in an elevator. Looking out into a thankfully abandoned hallway of the hotel we could possibly—likely—be sharing with other Dingoes players and staff. I might be certain I want more from him, but that doesn’t mean I want to share it with the rest of the team—or presume he does.

“Let’s get to my room,” he says, still breathless, like he reads my thoughts. “Behind a door that locks.”

“Right.” I weave my fingers through his again and let him lead me out of the elevator, down the hall. He fumbles in his pockets, like he’s trying to remember where he stashed the room key. Finally, his hand slams the scanner. The door clicks, and we push through.

Olli barely gets the room card into its slot on the wall to turn the lights on before I’m pulling him against me, using my shoulders to shove the door closed. Kissing him again. Tongues and teeth, opened mouths. Desperation, heat that surges through me, pools low in my gut. Want, need. His long, lean body curves to fit mine, so I feel him in all the right places, all the ways I’ve wanted to feel him since that first kiss.

So I feel the way his cock presses against the crease of my thigh.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” I fumble the words against his mouth between kisses. A smile tugs my lips, real and rare. “You’re just so beautiful—”

“You think I’m beautiful?” His forehead tilts against mine, and it’s just him and me. Me. Him.

And yes, he is beautiful. I tried so hard not to notice, to look away, but now I can’t stop looking. Noticing. “So fucking beautiful.”

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