Page 132 of Playing the Pucking Game
“Are you serious?” I balk.
“It’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to go. Just never had the chance.”
“What do you want to see?” I ask.
“Are you kidding? It’s New York; I want to see everything.”
“I’m not sure we’re staying long enough to see everything. But I guess we can see what we can do.”
“We’re there for one night,” I point out.
“There are a lot of hours in one night.”
She narrows her eyes at me, silently demanding to know what I’m thinking, but I keep my mouth shut as plans begin to play out in my mind.
“We should go to bed,” I say.
“Talk about abrupt change of subject.” She laughs.
“We’ve got a long day tomorrow. We should get some rest.”
She mumbles her agreement and throws her legs off the couch. “This is going to hurt tomorrow.”
“At least you don’t have to train.”
“True.”
“Did you want a lift in the morning? Save taking two cars.”
She hasn’t wanted to even consider car sharing before. She doesn’t want anyone to see us together and jump to conclusions. But it’s stupid to keep driving separately when we’re going to the same place. And if someone has anything to say about it, then they can come and fucking talk to me so I can put them straight.
I’ve got morning skate first thing, which she needs to be there for, then we’re heading to the airport.
“Okay,” she agrees.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really,” she says, shooting her pretty smile my way.
“Okay then. My alarm is set for?—”
“I know what time you get up, Linc,” she interrupts.
“Yeah. I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll see you in the morning then.”
She pushes to her feet with a wince before lifting her arms over her head and giving me the pleasure of watching her do a full body stretch.
My mouth waters as her muscles ripple beneath the tight fabric of her leggings, and it only gets worse when her tank rides up enough to give me a shot at the sliver of skin between her waistband and her sports bra.
God, I bet her skin tastes so sweet.
“Goodnight, Storm,” she says on a yawn as she spins and begins walking away.
I tell myself to be good, but I can’t. My willpower just isn’t good enough, and my eyes drop to her ass, giving me enough of a fix to get me through the night.
“Fucking hell,” I groan, rubbing my hand over my semi. “Friends,” I muse to myself. “Just friends.”
