Page 86 of Wicked Minds
Slow and steady is the name of the game.
… Although, at this moment, I hate myself for that. The way he’s looking at me, I would love nothing more than to tell him to come over after I get off work.
“I’m working. I won’t be home ’til late.” I give his chest a light pat. “And I’m not ready yet.”
Something shudders in his eyes, but he quickly disguises it. “Of course. Sorry.”
Sliding my hand up his neck, I cup his cheek. “You don’t need to apologize. I like how badly you want me. I want you too. I just… this needs to be slower this time.”
I lean in, kissing him with light, unhurried strokes of my tongue, which he heartily returns.
“Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow?”
Smiling back at him, I nod. “I’d love that. Go celebrate with your team tonight, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Alright.” He gives me a final kiss before reluctantly letting me go, and I settle back on my feet as he turns to Royce. “Keep an eye on her tonight.”
Royce’s impassive expression says it all.What the fuck else would I do?
“Go play with your stick, hockey boy. I got this.”
“Don’t you have better things to do with your weekend than stalking me at work?” I tease as Royce pulls into the parking lot at Lux and puts the car in park. “It can’t be all that entertaining to sit and watch me all night.”
“More entertaining than anything else I’d be doing,” he retorts, leaning back in his seat and angling his body so he can see my face.
“Whatwouldyou be doing?” I question, too curious for my own good, as I find myself wondering what Royce King does when he’s not stalking me or exorcizing his demons in the ring. “Other than attending Logan’s hockey games.”
One shoulder lifts in a casual shrug. Too casual. And I tilt my head, watching intently as I patiently wait for his answer. “Nothing. I’d be in my room…”
“Drawing?” I push when he falters.
His response is a curt nod, the silence stretching between us until he ultimately confesses, “Weekends can be… hard.” I can see the physical cost of voicing those four words etched into the tight lines of his face, and I don’t need him to clarify to know he’s talking about the weekends he used to spend on the football field.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what happened. To hear his explanation. To finally understand the truth of what happened instead of hearing the accusing tone in my head from the girl in the library.
However, Royce is more shut down than I am. He physically recoils from putting his trust in another person, and I sense prodding at his wounds will only end up in him showing me his claws. I don’t want to force the truth from him, either. I want him to trust in me. To know that his secrets are safe with me, as I know mine are with him. And to earn his trust, I’ll readily put my curiosity on the back burner.
Just when I think he isn’t going to elaborate, and I’m about to suggest that we get out of the car, he admits in a strained, low voice, “I spent a lot of my summer at The Depot, numbing the pain with bloodshed and alcohol. But that first weekend…”
First weekend… my eyes widen when I realize he’s talking about the first game of the season since he was kicked off the team.
“I took on anyone who dared step into that ring. Even when my knuckles were a ragged mess, and I was so exhausted I could hardly remain on my feet. I fought until I could no longer lift my arms, and my legs gave out, and even then, I used words to ensure they kept driving their fists into my face.”
His face is solemn, cast in shadows as he stares absently out the window, lost to the memories of his past. “By the time Logan and Gray showed up, they had to drag my unconscious ass out of there. They’ve made it a point ever since to not let me go alone, and after Logan threatened to miss a game to babysit my ass, I promised I wouldn’t go on his game days.”
I very much believe Logan’s threat was genuine. As important as his hockey career is to him, his friends mean infinitely more. Logan is the sort of person who would set aside every one of his dreams to be there for those he cares about. Just look at how he’s set aside his dream of playing for the Penguins to be near Halston for me.
I guess that’s why I feel so protective of his aspirations. Why I want to be at his games, wearing his number and screaming his name—to ensure he knows that his dreams also matter.
Finally, painstakingly, his gaze slides to mine, tightened with anguish. “After Grayson pointed you out, coming here… tormenting you… it gave me the escape I needed and couldn’t otherwise obtain.”
“And now?” I ask thickly. “Do you only continue to show up because you’ve crowned yourself my self-appointed bodyguard?” My light teasing drains some of the heaviness from the air, and it does all sorts of things to me when Royce’s lips tilt up in the slightest of smiles. Knowing that I achieved that.
“I have to confess, my motives are not entirely selfless,” he purrs, pitch deepening as his eyes blaze with dark fire. Forgotten is his torment from a moment ago, liquid lust taking its place.
His dry charm is seductive. Sinful.Delicious,radiating temptation and promising unfathomable pleasure. I am left breathless and wanting when I murmur in response, “Oh?”
“How can it be,” he continues, each word laced with cunning intent. “When I know the entire time you’re on that stage, your eyes are on me?” Leaning in, his nose trails up the column of my throat, his breath like molten lava as it rolls over my skin, fanning the flames of passion he ignites within me. “Tell me, Ry,” he whispers, his words a sweet caress and a sinful promise. "When you’re up there, are you dancing forthem…or for me?”
