Page 11 of Played
I bark out a loud crack of laughter. “You a whole-ass lie, Monica Beatrice Crawford! You don’t know one damn thing about hockey.”
“Damn, girl. The government name, though?” she mutters. “And ’scuse you. Idoknow a li’l something about hockey. But anyway, what does that have to do withhockey players? Have you seen him? Well, shit, yeah, you have. That muthafucka is make-my-pussy-a-ho-out-in-these-streets fine!” I crack up harder, and Noni’s laughter joins mine. “Seriously, babe. He’s like the only Black player on the team. You know we don’t fuck with hockey, for real. But for him? Well, shit, I’d just fuck him.”
“That’s ’cause you haven’t met his mean ass,” I grumble, eyes narrowing on the road in front of me. “He’s an asshole.”
“Um, babe, I hate to point this out, but you did—hold on a sec.” Low voices whisper argue in the background, and some shuffling fills the car. “All right,” Noni says, several moments later. “Sorry. I didn’t want to put your business out there in front of Minnie. I love her, but if she didn’t braid the hell out of my hair ...”
“And not charge you for it,” I add.
“That too.” She snickers. “But back to you. I hate to point this out, but if there’s one thing I’m going to do with you, it’s keep it real. You did read the man’s private journal. You didn’t really expect him to be happy and welcome you with open arms, did you? Hell naw. You’re lucky he didn’t have you thrown out of there. I mean, I don’t know what was in there, but I can just imagine, given everything he’s been through. And just from looking at him—which I have done, often, especially with one hand—he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who easily shares his feelings.”
“First, ew.” I scrunch my face. “Second, what would Shawn say if he heard you talking about this man like that?”
“Girl, please. Am I dead? No, really. Did my grandfather, the honorable Reverend Terrance Crawford, preach my eulogy and lead the congregation in ‘Going Up Yonder’ over my open casket? No? Well, then I can still look and appreciate.”
Oh, did I mention Noni is a preacher’s grandkid? Yep. And she lives up to the name.
Laughing, I shake my head. “And three,” I continue, “I agree with you. He had every right to be angry. And Itoldhis big head that. But I apologized over and over, and he was still rude as hell. And that made his ass ugly.”
“Now, bitch.”
I pull to a stop at a red light and lean my forehead against the steering wheel.
“All right, fine. Damn. He’s sexy as fuck.”
Her high-pitched laughter bounces off the roof and doors of the car, and despite the anger and embarrassment still taking up residence in my chest, I smile.
“I really can’t stand your ass,” I mutter, but Noni continues to crack up.
I lift my head, heaving a sigh.
There really isn’t any point in lying to Noni ... or myself any longer. Solomon Young might be an asshole, but he’s a gorgeous, insanely hot one.
Of course, I’d seen him on the news before, and then, for good measure, googled him before I finagled my way into the Pirates’ inner sanctum. So yes, I knew the left-winger—I have no idea what that really means—was easy on the eyes.
But nothing, and I meannothingcould’ve prepared me for the impact and power when he walked into that conference room. It’s been some years since I was that painfully shy, insecure girl. But in that moment, when his huge muscled frame pushed into that room with a mug on his face that would have a Ringwraith having second thoughts about leaving Mordor, I became that awkward preteen again.
Oh, did I mention I revert toLord of the Ringsmetaphors when I’m nervous?
And trust and believe, when that man looked at me with those stunning and gorgeous green eyes, I wasbeyondnervous. And tongue tied.
The pictures on the internet didn’t compare to reality. Eyes the color of spring set in a face of sharp angles, blunt edges, and lush curves. Against his warm light-brown skin, the green seems even brighter, more intense, magnetic. I found myself falling into that bright gaze.
Then he opened his mouth.
While those lips, surrounded by a short, thick, soft-looking beard, were a work of erotic art that had my thighs trembling and aching to be wrapped around his head, once he started speaking, I only wanted to choke him out with said thighs.
God, what a dick.
And not the beautiful, mouthwatering dick print pressed against his black track pants either. Take me to the cross, that man is bigeverywhere. And I swear—though it seems impossible with the anger toward me practically radiating off his huge frame—he washard.
I don’t know why I just whispered that inside my head. Like I was trying to hide the thought of his hard cock from my own self.
Probably because I have no business sitting here in my car, squirming in the driver’s seat, getting good and wet over that asshole ... and his dick.
Shit.
“Is he as big in person as he is in pictures?” Noni asks, breaking into my thoughts and plucking them right from my head.
