Page 83 of The Pucking Date
“Dragged straight onto the floor. Said I had rhythm. Claimed it was good for hockey footwork.” He nudges my knee with his playfully. “Once a week after dance class, I’d walk Aoife to her singing lesson. Next thing I know, I’m in front of a piano trying not to crack on a high G.”
“Southern teachers don’t mess around.” I laugh despite myself. “Here I thought you were just hockey and bad decisions.”
“Multifaceted is the word you’re looking for.”
“Or just full of it,” I deadpan, but I can’t help a smile dancing in the corners of my mouth.
He leans in, close enough that his breath ghosts acrossmy cheek. “What’s really bothering you, Red? That I’ve got hidden talents...or that they’re making you…wet?”
My pulse thunders in my throat. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I bite out, but the words feel thin. Wobbly.
His knuckles skim my cheek, then drift down. He presses them to the hollow of my throat, right over my pulse.
It’s racing.
“Tell me, darlin’,” his voice is a low drawl that slides over my skin, “if I slid my hand up this dress, right now…what would I find?” The hit is immediate, my cheeks on fire. He leans closer, lips near my ear, fingers grazing the inside of my thigh. “Would you already be soaked for me?”
“I’m…hot,” I mumble, weakly clinging to the lie.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, gaze locked on mine. “You are.”
His hand stops just short of the hem of my panties, his touch teasing my skin. I’m so turned on that all it would take is a light brush of his fingers against my clit to toss me over the edge. The space between us is so charged, I can’t think straight.
Then, calmly, like he’s got all the time in the world, he says, “You were jealous.”
It cuts straight through me, and I freeze. “That’s not—” I start, but he’s already shaking his head.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my words weak. “It’s not my business.”
He leans back, enough to look me dead on.
“Itisyour business, Red. When you sleep with a guy, when he’s been chasing you for months, showing up for you, making it clear you’re not just another girl, yeah, you get to ask. You get to feel something. You don’t need permission for that.”
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. His voice dropslower, not less intense, just stripped bare. “Don’t you ever sell yourself short like that. Don’t act like you don’t get to claim what’s yours.”
A pause. “You think I’ve been looking at you like that…touching you like that…just to turn around and fuck someone else?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
He watches me for a beat longer, then shifts, jaw tight. That glint of heat gives way to something heavier.
“I visited my folks this summer,” he says quietly. “My dad’s getting worse.”
The words land like a weight between us. I blink, the turn catching me off guard. “Your dad is sick?”
He nods, jaw tight. “Been coming for a while.”
The revelation hits me like cold water. All summer, while I was running from him, he was dealing with this alone. Guilt cuts through my desire, sharp and clean.
And something else takes root. Something softer. Something that makes me want to reach across the space between us and hold him still, even for a second.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe.
He shifts closer. His knee slips between mine, spreading my legs slightly. My skin burns under his stare, every inch of me too aware. And he doesn’t even need to touch me to know I’m already wrecked.
“That girl in the video? My sister Aoife. We grabbed drinks after I helped put her kids to bed.”
