Page 40 of Icing the Cougar
Every nerve in my body is on fire, like I might still be standing under that spotlight, even though the only lights here are emergency strips and the dying embers of the stadium. I blink, and every step feels like a reset, like the world is still trying to process what the hell just happened out there.
Jasper pushes open the heavy utility door and steps into a back hallway where the air is ten degrees colder. There’s nobody here.It’s just a cinderblock tunnel stretching forever and the two of us.
He keeps glancing at me like he thinks I might turn and run away. I feel his pulse in my own veins. We’re still moving, but it’s slower now, and the echo of our footfalls is louder than the entire arena was five minutes ago.
I stop walking.
He stops, too.
I step in and wrap my arms around his torso and press my face into his chest. His arms come up around me, slow at first, then with a force that makes my ribs creak.
He buries his face in my hair. “Did I fuck it up?” he asks with a muffled voice.
I laugh, breathless, but it’s only a little shaky. “Jasper, you could not have fucked it up harder, or better, if you tried.”
He exhales and his whole body goes soft against me. Then he pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “You sure?” he says as his eyes search mine.
I shake my head. “No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything except that you’re the most stubborn, brilliant, infuriating person I’ve ever met, and I want to—” I lose the words for a second. “—I want to keep trying. Even if it kills me.”
He grins, lopsided, relief spreading across his whole face. “You’re gonna outlive me. I’m pretty sure of that.”
The air is suddenly thin. Every feeling I swallowed for the last six months is fighting its way out. I touch the side of his jaw, rough with stubble. He leans into it, his eyes half-lidded.
He says, “Trin.”
That’s all. Just my name, but it’s the way he says it that makes my knees soft.
“Thank you,” I say, and mean it. “For not being afraid anymore.”
He shrugs. “I’m still scared as fuck,” he admits. “But I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”
There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable but loaded.
I lean in and kiss him. Not like a performance, not for the cameras or the crowd, but slow and deep. He groans into it, and I feel the tension in his arms go from nervous to something way darker.
He backs me up into the concrete wall, hands sliding down to my waist. His thumb hooks into the waistband of my leggings, and I feel a bolt of heat spike through my entire body. I break the kiss long enough to catch my breath, but his mouth is already at my ear, whispering, “We should probably get out of here before I do more than just kiss you.”
The urge to tell him I don’t care who sees is overwhelming, but I manage to laugh it off. “Where are we going?” I ask, just to hear the answer.
“Car. Unless you want to risk a maintenance closet,” he growls, and his hands tighten on my hips.
I let him lead. He takes my hand again, and we power-walk down the endless corridor. His stride is purposeful, but every few steps he glances over his shoulder at me.
The tunnel opens into the sub-basement of the stadium, which is basically a parking garage lit by cold LEDs and the low drone of security cameras. I spot his black BMW, perfectly angled into the nearest spot to the exit ramp.
We’re barely past the sliding door before I press him against the hood. He makes a surprised noise, then laughs low and wicked. “You’re dangerous,” he says.
“You love it,” I shoot back.
He doesn’t disagree.
We’re both breathing hard, not from the sprint but from the charge between us. I grip his face in both hands, tilting it up so I can really see him. His pupils are blown wide, and there’s a flush up his neck that tells me exactly where his head is at.
I run my thumb across his bottom lip, and he bites it gently.
He whispers, “God, I missed you.”
“You saw me yesterday,” I remind him, but he shakes his head.
