Page 83 of Goal Line
Frat boy’s eyes widen, and he lifts both hands in the air as he steps back. “My bad,” he says. “I didn’t see the ring.”
“You didn’t fuckinglookfor a ring,” Luke nearly growls, his tone deadly in a way I’ve never heard before and like a little too much. “Maybe next time you want to talk to a beautiful girl, you just use your words and not your hands, yeah?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
LUKE
“You know...” Eva says as we step into the elevator after a nearly silent and very short cab ride back to our place. I’d been too keyed up to talk about what had just happened and didn’t really want to discuss it in front of the driver, either. “...that’s the second time you’ve used the whole ‘my wife’ line in the past few days.”
“Youaremy wife.” I keep my voice casual despite the way my body is still simmering with rage at watching that asshole put his hands on my wife.My pregnant wife.
“You know that’s, like, a thing, right?”
“A thing?” I glance down at her, and the way her cheeks are flushed and her big brown eyes are wide as she gazes up at me makes me relax a bit.She’s fine, I remind myself.She was never in any danger.
But my body reacted like that man was threatening her, and that fact has me a little worried. I kept my cool, but all I wanted to do was end him—and not in the fistfight kind ofway, more like I was wondering which of my brothers would be the best one to help me bury a body.
Preston. Most definitely Preston.
“Yeah.” Her tongue slides along her lower lip before she pulls it between her teeth, as though she’s trying to hide a smile. “It was kind of sexy.”
Taking a step closer, I lean in, resting one hand on the wall of the elevator behind her. “Yeah?”
She reaches up and rests her hand on my shoulder, her thumb tracing the line of my collarbone, and it takes everything in me not to pin her against the wall with my body in response to her touch. “You were awfully...possessive.”
I lean in a little closer and her hand falls to rest on my chest. My voice is low and raspy when I ask, “You like me possessive?”
That idea is dangerous, because I haveyearsof possessive energy just waiting to be unleashed. All that time I’ve watched her pursuing other guys, even the years I’ve watched her skating with Christopher, it left its mark in tiny cuts all over my heart.
I’ve always felt territorial about Eva, but I’ve just never had any right to feel that way...until now.
Her head is tilted back against the wall as she looks up at me, and I watch the way the steady beat of her pulse beneath her jaw increases the longer she stares into my eyes. Her tone is flirtatious when she says, “I guess I do.”
My other hand lands on her hip, but before I can close the distance between us, the elevator dings to let us know we’ve arrived at our floor. The door opens to the entryway that leads to the two suites on this side of the building, and we turn toward mine.
I don’t know what to do with this raw, almost carnal energy that’s burning me up inside. I don’t miss the way her nipples are hard and straining against the thin cotton fabric of her dress. I know she wears dresses most days because, with the way her body is changing, they’re what she’s most comfortable in. The way they drive me crazy feels wrong.
I’ve always tried not to sexualize her because that’s not what our friendship was based on, and she deserves more than that.
So instead of acting on the impulse to strip her naked right in my entryway, I head through the living room and into the kitchen. “I need some water. Do you want some?”
“Sure,” she says, and I hate the way her voice sounds uncertain and even a little worried. I can tell she doesn’t know what to make of my erratic behavior. One minute, I’m about to kiss her in the elevator, and the next, I’m walking away from her, claiming that I’m thirsty.
I don’t know what to make of it either, except I don’t ever want to take advantage of her in any way. And it feels like every time something has happened between us, I’ve instigated it.
The other night on my kitchen counter, I was the one who trailed frosting over her body and licked it off, working her up until she needed me as much as I needed her. Back in LA, she might have ground herself against me and claimed it was an accident, but I was the one who egged her on, practically daring her to keep going. At our wedding, it was me who kissed her—both times.
And now, I need her to come to me because that’s what shewants.
I fill both of our stainless-steel bottles with water andthen turn away from the refrigerator to hand one to her. But as she reaches for it, she gasps, pulls back, and plants her hand on her belly.
Her eyes are huge, but she doesn’t look scared or hurt, so I try not to panic as I set our water bottles on the counter next to her. “What’s wrong?”
Reaching out and taking my hand, she places it low on her belly, holding my palm flat against her. “Do you feel that?”
Against the pressure of my palm on her abdomen, I feel slight movements pressing back. “Oh my god, Evie. This is the first time you’ve felt the baby move?”
I don’t mention that I was getting worried because normally you can feel the baby move by twenty-four weeks. I’ve been telling myself that everything with the ultrasound was fine, so we know the baby is okay, but I’ve definitely been waiting for this milestone and worried that it hasn’t happened yet.
