Page 50 of Desperate Pucker
“None for me. I’m not drinking tonight,” Ryker says.
“Oh, come on. You gotta,” Xander says.
“Yeah, come on, man,” Camden says.
Ryker sighs. “Fine.”
His gaze catches mine across the table. My tummy flips. The air between us feels different tonight. Not sure why.
I clear my throat. “I saw the point you scored. Well done.”
“Thanks.” He’s not smiling, but the look in his eyes is soft.
The server comes back with a tray of tequila shots and a bunch of lime wedges. Xander thanks him and hands them out to everyone.
“To St. George for the most badass slap shot in the league!” Xander hollers. Ryker rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a smile.
Everyone cheers and downs their shots. I drink half of mine and wince at the burn in my throat before sucking on the lime wedge. When I look up, Ryker’s staring at me.
“It doesn’t go down as smoothly as Coke, does it?” he says.
I chuckle and shake my head. “Nope.”
This is nice, joking around with him. Whatever awkwardness and tension between us the last time we talked has dissipated. Thank god. I just want us to be cool with each other.
Coach Porter and Abby stand up. “We’re calling it a night,” he says.
I smile up at Abby and tell her bye. When they leave, Ryker stands up and sits in the empty seat next to me.
He nods at my half-finished shot. “You gonna finish that?”
I shake my head.
He swipes the salt shaker from the table, licks the back of his hand, then sprinkles salt on it.
My eyes go wide at the sight of his tongue. I’m instantly reminded of our kiss in the elevator, the way he teased his tongue against mine.
Heat climbs up my chest as I watch him down the tequila and lick the salt off his massive hand.
I focus on his thick fingers, remembering how good they felt inside of me…how full I felt…
Heat gathers between my legs, and my clit starts to ache. When he looks at me, I clear my throat and look down at my napkin, pretending to fuss with it.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Just distracted by your tattoo,” I lie. I’m relieved at how steady my voice is, despite the flustered feeling swooping through me.
I nod at the menacing skull within the silhouette of a falcon in black ink on the back of his left hand.
“Does it have some special meaning?” I ask.
“Nope. I was a dumbass twenty-one-year-old who thought it would be cool to have a tattoo on the back of my hand.”
I snort out a laugh. His eyes brighten, like he’s enjoying this.
“I thought you didn’t want to drink tonight,” I say.
“A little bit of tequila isn’t gonna hurt.” He grabs a glass of water and takes a long pull. I glance at his neck, mesmerized by the long lines of his thick throat and the way it pulses when he swallows.
