Page 97 of Practice Makes Perfect
The admission hits me like a slap-shot to the chest. My heart hammers against my ribs, wanting to burst through and landright in her hands. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t try to take it back, and everything I’ve been fighting against—every feeling I’ve been denying—rushes to the surface.
“I’ve been trying so hard to stick to our rules,” I admit, the words scraping my throat on their way out.
A smile touches her lips. “How’s that working out for you?”
“About as well as my plan to give up sugar during hockey season,” I say dryly, and she laughs. “That’s why I bailed on you the other night. I was feeling too much, and worried that if I stayed near you, I’d do something or admit something that would blow our arrangement wide open.”
Her eyes widen, but she stays quiet.
Screw it. I’m tired fighting what I want. And what I want is her—not just in my bed, but in my life. I don’t want to be her sex coach anymore. I want to be her boyfriend. To claim her. To walk her to class. To kiss her in public. To bring her hot chocolate after late dance classes. To fall asleep with her in my arms.
I take a deep breath, stomach tight with the kind of pre-game nerves I haven’t felt since my first college match. “I vote to suspend rule number three.”
Her eyes widen slightly, hope flaring in them like fireworks in the sky. “Are you sure?”
I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry. “I have feelings for you. Real ones. The kind that make me want to punch soccer players who look at you. The kind that distract me during games. The kind that make me check my phone fifty times a day hoping you’ve texted. I understand if you want to say no, but?—”
“I’ve had a crush on you since Intro to Stats last semester,” she says, the words tumbling out of her so fast I almost don’t catch them.
“What?” I prop myself up on my elbows, giving us both a bit more breathing room. “Since last semester?”
She nods, and then it’s like a dam breaks. “I spent the entire semester trying to focus on asymptotic theory or whatever the hell Dr. Sullivan was talking about, but all I could think about was the way you chewed on your pencil when you were concentrating.
“You sat three rows ahead of me and slightly to the left, and I’d strategically pick my seat every class just so I could see you without beingtotallyobvious, because I would havediedhad you known. But every time you volunteered an answer, I’d get this silly little thrill.”
I stare at her, completely dumbfounded. This entire time I’ve been fighting my feelings, thinking they were one-sided, when she’s been crushing on me for months. Suddenly, I wonder if Rule Number Three waseverin play on her end of the bargain.
Her hands flutter nervously at her sides. “And then when Lea told me you were known for being good in bed—which, let me just say, is like the understatement of the century—I started having these fantasies about you.” Her cheeks flush a deep rose color. “Like, a lot of fantasies. Really explicit ones.”
“Jesus, Em,” I breathe, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.
“That’s why I asked you to coach me. I wanted to explore those fantasies with someone I trusted. I never expected to actually catch feelings, but here we are, and now I’m basically word-vomiting all over you because my brain is short-circuiting from both anxiety and excitement, and you’re looking at me like I’m?—”
It’s clear her mind is utterly racing, so I cut her off the only way I know how—with my mouth on hers. I kiss her deeply, thoroughly, trying to pour everything I’m feeling into the connection between us. When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard.
“I’ve never wanted anything more than you,” I tell her, my voice rough with honesty. “Not hockey, not the NHL, not anything.”
Her lips part in surprise. “Show me,” she whispers.
Those two words ignite something primal inside me. I kiss her again, harder this time, my hands framing her face. A groan escapes me when her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to send shivers down my spine. I trail my lips along her jaw, down her throat, lingering at that pulse point.
“Is this okay?” I murmur, my hands hovering at the hem of her dress.
“More than okay,” she breathes, and lifts her hips to help me.
I slide the dress up her body, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs, the soft curve of her hips, the lacy edge of her panties. I help her pull the dress over her head, revealing a black lace bra and panties, and the whole time she watches me with those enormous dark eyes that have haunted my dreams for weeks.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her hands reach for the buttons of my shirt. “I want to see you too.”
I help her with the buttons, shrugging the shirt off my shoulders and tossing it aside. Her eyes widen as they travel over my chest and abs, and the naked appreciation in her gaze makes heat pool low in my stomach. I’ve been with plenty of girls, but I’ve only ever been captured by one.
Leaning down, I press a kiss to her sternum, right between her breasts. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders, nails digging in slightly as I move lower, trailing kisses down her stomach. The muscles beneath her soft skin twitch and tense as I make my way to the band of her panties.
I glance up, finding her watching me with parted lips and flushed cheeks. The air between us is electric, charged withdesire and something deeper, something I’m no longer afraid to name. The way she looks at me—eager, inviting, trusting—sends a rush of anticipation through my veins.
This isn’t just another hookup.
