Page 51 of The One Night Dash
“Who says I want anything more than a One Night Dash?”
I pump a fist in the air and tell absolutely no one, “Confirmation: she wants me.” Then I turn back, lock eyes with her, and drag my tongue slowly over my bottom lip. “I’m gonna make sure we get so addicted we’ll need a twelve-step program. Step one: admit you can’t quit me. Step two: admit you don’t want to. Step three? We’ll figure it out in the meetings. When they make us sit in that circle, I’ll go first.” I lean in, voice low,my lips across hers, but not quite a kiss, just close enough to tempt. “Hi, I’m Dash, and I’m a Noelle-holic.”
Her snort breaks into a laugh she tries to smother behind her hand, but it’s too late; I’ve got her.
When she catches her breath, she narrows her eyes. “Cute. But if you’re a Noelle-holic, I’m calling your sponsor first thing tomorrow. Intervention, full lockdown. Step one: admit Dash Sterling is a walking red flag. Step two: remember that players don’t get lifetime contracts.”
“Ouch.” I clutch my chest, grinning like an idiot. “That’s cold. Almost Estella-level cold.”
She tilts her chin, lips twitching. “Maybe I’m not Biddy or Estella. Maybe I’m the girl who makes you sweat through every chapter before you find out how it ends.”
“Plot twist,” I murmur, dragging my tongue over my bottom lip again, slow and deliberate. “I like working for it.”
Joel clears his throat up front, steering us into the glowing circle of the hotel drive. The vehicle slows, tires crunching against the curb.
I glance at Noelle, still grinning. She’s flushed from champagne and laughter, hot and a sassy kind of sweet. She gives as good as she gets. And I’m not just hooked. I’m gone.
He eases the SUV to the hotel’s entrance and comes to a stop. I’m out first, bag of boxed pastries in one hand, her smaller hand in the other. She slides across the seat, heels clicking as she steps down. I reach back for the champagne and chuckle at the weight of the bottle.
“Guessing water’s gonna pair better with whatever we choose to eat in the room,” I tease, because it’s over half gone and I decide to leave it there.
She scrunches her nose,busted, and I sling my arm around her as we head inside.
The lobby gleams. The place is nice. Of course it is; it’s where Lauren and Louie would expect their guests to stay. I wonder how she does it? Has her own place, business, and can spend money on a place like this. It’s shit I will never stop thinking about, even though I don’t have to anymore. But I don’t pay for rooms—the team does—and when I booked this, I was still shocked at eight hundred a night for a king-sized room, not a suite. Would have sprung for that, but they were all booked.
Why am I letting my head drift to money, Lauren, and Louie right now? Strategy. Those topics are guaranteed boner killers, and I need them. Because with Noelle tucked under my arm, flushed and smiling, having no damn idea what she does to me, I feel less like a guy sneaking out of a wedding and more like a king who just found his queen. Which means the last thing I can afford is letting Excalibur make an early appearance. Or maybe it’s not Excalibur—hell, let’s call it Gungnir, Odin’s spear. Or Thor’s hammer. Pick your weapon of mass distraction. Point is, if I draw it too soon, I risk spooking her.
And, for once, it’s not about getting her in bed fast. It’s about pacing myself, keeping the blade sheathed until she knows I’m not here for just the fight—I’m here for the war. For her. For us.
So, yeah, I’ll keep thinking about Lauren’s smug face and Louie’s oversized wallet—anything to make sure I don’t blow the only other thing I’ve ever wanted to last, besides my hockey career.
We step into the elevator, pastries rustling in the bag, and I lean against the mirrored wall, meaning it when I say, “No expectations, Noelle. Just dessert and?—”
Her mouth cuts me off.
Soft. Urgent. Champagne-sweet. She kisses me like she’s in charge, and fuck it, she can think that because the shit you read about in books—that you never really wanted to read when youhad to—happens. The world tilts, and every nerve in my body lights up at once.
She tastes like bubbles of sweetness, her tongue darting against mine with this mix of heat and hesitance that shatters me. My hand finds the small of her back, pulling her flush against me, while the other grips the back of her neck like it’s an anchor to my reserves.
Her breath hitches when I nip her bottom lip, and the sound nearly undoes me. She smells so fucking good. Pure Noelle, sweet, and honest, and fucking hot.
The elevator hums, climbing. Floor four, floor five. I don’t hear the chimes; all I hear is her soft gasp when I angle her chin higher, the wet slide of lips and teeth, the little moan she tries to swallow down.
By floor six, my head’s spinning. By floor seven, I’m ruined. By floor eight, when the doors slide open, she’s gripping my shirt in both fists, mouth still fused to mine like she’s not gonna stop—thank God—and like she intends on dragging me straight through the hallway if I give her the chance.
And I will. Gladly.
She breaks our kiss and tilts her face up at me. “How did you know where I was staying?”
“Because I’ve got a room here, too. Fly out to Detroit at five a.m. to get my ass handed to me. That kiss, being here with you in that dress, worth it.”
Her brows lift, but before she can ask more, we step out of the elevator as the doors start to close, the world narrowing to just the two of us walking down the hallway.
“Your room or mine?”
THIRTEEN
NOELLE
