Page 95 of Practice Makes Perfect
“That right?” Jake raises an eyebrow, clearly sussing out the unexpected dynamic between Linc and I. “Sorry, Em, I thought you were single and?—”
“All good, man,” Linc chimes in, his tone friendly but with an undercurrent of ‘back off’ that makes my pulse skip.
I’m still unable to form a coherent word, my mind still catching up to his arm.
Around me.
In public.
Squeezing tight.
Double squeeee!
“We’re teaching each other things,” Linc says. “Em’s helping me with French, and I’m helping her with… anatomy.”
I nearly choke on air.
Jake’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “No problem, man.” Jake backs away with a knowing smile. “Nice seeing you.”
Once Jake disappears into the living room, I turn within the circle of Linc’s arm to face him. “Anatomy lessons? Really?”
His mouth quirks up at one corner. “Was I wrong?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re stunning,” he counters, his voice dropping to a register that seems to vibrate directly against my skin. “That dress should be illegal.”
“The Pine Barren Fashion Police were busy, so I risked it.”
The smile that spreads across his face makes my knees weak—it’s genuine, reaching his eyes. “God, I’ve missed your mouth.”
“My… mouth?”
“The things that come out of it,” he clarifies, though his gaze definitely lingers on my lips. “No one else sees the world quite like you do.”
The compliment catches me off guard. Most guys comment on my appearance, not on the way my brain works. “ADHD. Makes everything more interesting.”
“Makesyoumore interesting,” he corrects, his hand still resting on my hip like it belongs there. “So, want a tour of the bedroom?”
Triple squeeee!
This time, my brain is left in the dust, and the word “yes” escapes my lips before my brain can catch up to what my mouth is doing. Linc’s eyes darken at my response, and he smiles like a kid at Christmas, and he takes my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine.
“Follow me,” he says, and suddenly we’re making our way through the crowded party.
I catch Lea’s eyes as we pass, and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. I send her a look that I hope translates to “I’ll tell you everything later,” though it probably more accurately reads as “Holy crap what is happening help me I’m dying.”
Linc leads me down a hallway, away from the noise and the eyes, and I try desperately to remember how to breathe like a normal human being. My hand in his feels both ordinary and extraordinary at once, like we’ve held hands a thousand times, but each time is still electric.
He opens a door at the end of the hall, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous spark in his eyes. Then we head inside, and I have approximately two seconds to register the art scattered around the room before Linc’s mouth is on mine.
His hands frame my face, gentle yet urgent, as he kisses me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. It’s not like our previous kisses. This one feels different. Desperate. Real. And when we finally break apart, I’m breathless, dizzy, completely untethered from reality.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you in the stands,” he murmurs against my lips, his fingers threading through my hair.
“That can’t be true,” I say. “You scored two goals. I think that requires at least some percentage of your attention.”
“I’m excellent at multitasking,” he replies with a grin that makes my heart flip in my chest. “Hockey doesn’t take much brainpower. It’s mostly muscle memory. Watching you, though—” he brushes his lips against my jaw “—that takes all my concentration.”
