Page 20 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
I tighten my grip, too, my fingertips digging into his muscled back through his t-shirt.
All I want to do is pull him closer, press tighter to his incredible body, crawl inside his skin, and eliminate the last of the horrible distance keeping me from the safety the animal part of me insists we would find in his arms.
In his bed.
In his heart…
But that’s crazy.
I’mcrazyfor agreeing to hug him when I’m still suffering from trauma gratitude and post-sex-dream nipple tingling.
I’m about to pull away, to jerk myself back to reality, no matter how much effort it takes, when he whispers against the top of my head, “I’m scared. This is who I’ve always been. The game has always come first. Who the fuck am I without hockey? A clown with a broken family, four credits shy of a degree in digital marketing?”
“You’re a good man with a good heart,” I say into his shirt, squeezing him tight, willing some of my strength into his bones. “And you always will be, even if you never set foot on the ice again. And that’s no small thing in a world like this.”
He sighs. “Well…thanks. I try. But I’m also a smart-ass with a filthy mouth who will probably perform poorly in a corporate setting.”
I tilt my head back, my lips hooking up as I whisper, “Me and you both.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Why do you think I opened my own restaurant? I was sick of dumb corporate people telling me what to cook and what I could orcouldn’tsay in my own damn kitchen.”
“Dumb people are dumb,” he murmurs, his hand sliding lower on my back, dangerously close to my ass.
Heat floods between my thighs in response.
We should step apart. Right now. This hug has already lasted longer than any platonic hug has a right to. But he’s so worried and holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright, and I can’t seem to let go.
I lean in, my breasts flattening against his chest as I tip my chin up, moving my lips closer to his…
But instead of kissing me, he clears his throat and shifts away. “Better get that ibuprofen,” he says, his arms abandoning my body as he limps inside. “I’ll need it to drive my ass to the hospital.”
“I’ll drive you,” I say, ignoring the twinge of hurt at his rejection.
It wasn’t a rejection. It was just following the rules.
The rules webothagreed to.
“You sure?” he asks. “I mean, I know you have a lot to do, too.”
“No, I don’t,” I say. “I’ll text my dad, Elly, Charlotte, and my friends from the catering crew to let them know I’m alive, shoot an email to my insurance agent, and be ready to go in no time.” I glance down. “Well, almost ready. I should probably find something to wear that isn’t pajamas.”
“There should be some workout stuff in the guest room,” he says. “Mom loves her Lululemon.”
“Because she lives to traumatize you with see-through leggings?”
He shudders. “Ugh, don’t remind me. They aren’t see-through anymore, but when I was a kid, it was a bad scene. I still have nightmares about the time she showed up to pick me up from hockey and my youth league coach couldn’t stop staring at her ass.”
“Well, your mom’s hot,” I say. “Is she dating again yet?”
He shakes his head. “No, she’s still in the ‘all men are shitheads’ phase.”
I shrug. “Valid. I mean, not all of them, obviously, but I was just thinking that it’s a solid nine out of ten.”
“Probably.” He pauses, shooting me a mischievous grin. “But there’s always that one, that diamond in the rough. The one who didn’t kiss you because he promised not to, even though you were totally wanting a kiss…”
My cheeks go hot, but I’m fighting a smile as I say, “I hate you.”
