Page 59 of Goal Line
“Okay,” he says with a nod that causes his light hair to fall forward before he reaches up with his other hand and brushes it back. It’s unfair that all he has to do to get a perfectly styled look is run his fingers through his hair. “Let’s talk about that.”
My laugh is awkward as I sit up on the bed, facing him, and my mind immediately goes blank, because Luke Hartmann is sitting across from me in nothing but a pair of jersey shorts, still smelling like sex.
Luke chuckles like he can read my thoughts, and all I canfocus on is his smile with perfectly white teeth sparkling between his full pink lips and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
Holy shit, get it together Eva.
But it’s no use, because when Luke smiles at me like that—like he’s remembering what I look like naked and enjoying the fact that I’m struggling to find my words—I can’t think of anything buthim. The way he kissed me like he wanted to become a part of me. The way he knew all the right ways to touch me. The way he made me come harder than I ever have, just from his fingers.
Of course he did. He’s had plenty of practice.
It’s been hard over the years to watch the women parade in and out of his life, never staying for more than a night or two. Luke doesn’t date during the season, and even though we don’t really talk about our sex lives, Iknowhe’s way more experienced than I am. It takes me a while to warm up to people, to trust them enough to be intimate. And the one and only time I let myself get carried away with a one-night stand...well, we know how that turned out.
“You’re still freaking out,” he asks, his eyes scanning my face like he’s searching for an indication of what’s going on in my head.
“I’m just . . . I’m . . . I . . .”
For the love of god, girl, just say something!
Luke leans toward me, and before I can even register what’s happening, he kisses me. It’s soft and gentle, his lips brushing mine in a way that has a breathy sigh escaping my lips.
He pulls my lower lip between his teeth, sucking gently, and I fucking melt. I’m a puddle for this man. In just onenight, I’ve learned that he can be tender with me when I need it, but can also take control of my body as if he knows exactly what I need and how to give it to me.
How does he know me as well as I know myself? Better than I know myself, actually?
Just as I lean forward, ready to deepen the kiss and see where that leads us, Luke slowly pulls back.
“What was that for?” I ask, desperate to know why he kissed me. Could he not help himself?
He gives me a smile that’s almost sympathetic. “Seemed like you needed something to calm you down.”
“And that’s how you calm me down?” Does this man have any idea hownotcalm my body is at this moment? How I only want more, every single time he touches me?
I told myself that we could do this whole marriage thing preciselybecausewe were friends and nothing more. What does it mean that we’ve crossed this line now? What does it mean that I don’twant to cross back, consequences be damned?
“You still seem worked up. Maybe I need to try again,” he says with a sly smile.
“If you try again, we’re going to end up with a repeat of last night—because nothing about kissing you iscalming me down.”
“I’m okay with a repeat of last night.” He fucking winks at me, like this is some sort of a game. And maybe it is, to him. I’ve watched him flirt with women my whole life, and it always looks a lot like this. The teasing comments, the subtle smiles, a wink here or there.
The realization that he’s treating me like he treats every single woman he flirts with, that I’m not special, that I’m justone in a long line of women in his life—it’s like a glass of ice water in my face. I was so damnwillinglast night, just like every woman is around him.
Fuck! Our friendship is special because it’s unique, because there’s no one else he’s allowed into his life like he’s let me in, and the same is true in return. And now I’ve gone and ruined it by acting like every other woman who has hopped into his bed.
I glance at the clock. “Christopher’s going to be here in less than an hour. I need to get ready.”
“You can’t skip it?” He sounds hopeful, and delusional.
“Luke, this is my biggest endorsement and the main reason I needed to be in LA this week. No, Icannotskip filming this commercial.”
Endorsement deals for figure skaters are nothing compared to what he makes as a hockey player. The handful of deals I have, and the prize money that Christopher and I have earned at major competitions this year, cover my basic expenses. The athlete-development fund for figure skating and my parents cover the rest. I have enough to get by, but it’s not like I’m going to retire rich.
Even winning an Olympic gold medal and landing more coveted endorsement deals, I’d still earn less in a year than Luke makes in a month. Not to mention, he could always fall back on his trust fund he’s never needed to touch.
I, however, have no such safety net. Which makes me a little annoyed that he’s asking me to blow off something that will contribute to my financial future, just so we can fall back into bed again. It feels like I’m a commodity, instead of a person whose future he’s looking out for.
You know that’s not his intention, I tell myself. And while,logically, I know that’s true, I’m definitely being guided by my emotions right now.
