Page 150 of Break the Ice
“And?”
“I wasn’t sure I was going back, but I said I would, so...”
“Are you really certain you’re feeling up to tonight?” My dad’s a psychologist, my momma a psychiatrist, and I’ve picked up enough around them to know that physical respite is as important as mental rest.
“JJ—” He looks at me when we come into view of the press and some fans. “—I’m fine. I need some noise to get out of my head tonight. Okay?”
We spend a few minutes mingling, me more so than Eli. This is his least favorite part of the sport. I can sense his anxiety when he’s asked about his health and when he’ll be game fit again.
“It’s my sole focus,” he says, his eyes set firm somewhere in the distance. “I don’t want to let anyone down. Not the team nor the fans, and this feels like our year, so I want to play my part and make it happen.”
After a couple of autographs and photos we leave Dylan and Bruce to talk to the journalists and interact with the fans.
The elevator is waiting when I press the button, and we get in. The frown that the question from the journalist put on Eli’s face furrows deeper into his features. His stare is glued to his feet while I watch him.
This is the worst part of being a pro athlete. The expectations and the pressure they constantly tack onto our shoulders. I wish I could say something to ease the guilt I know he’s feeling for being benched.
“Eli…” I start, about to remind him that the reason we won tonight was because he pinpointed the weakness in Florida’s defense to Coach Hollinger when the doors ping open behind me and I pause.
Eli’s stare lifts, widening when he glances over my shoulder.
“Fuck.”
My pulse soars when I look over my shoulder to find the object of his stupefaction.
“Holy shit on a fuck stick.” I’m choking on my words while I take Finley in from head to toe.
My first instinct is to run over and whisk her away so none of theassholes making their way up here will get the chance to ogle her. Second instinct has me sucking in a deep breath as I press my hand to Eli’s back and usher us both toward her. My mouth is dry and my breath is sticking in my lungs like hot tar.
“Is that my jersey?” Eli croaks.
“Yeah.”
“You sent her my jersey?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
Pressing my hand flusher to his back, I feel him tremble all over. I don’t know what’s got me more worked up, the sight of Finley or his reaction.
“She looks too fucking good in it,” I say, my voice a deep rumble I don’t recognize.
“Yeah.”
“Close your mouths, boys,” Christina bursts out laughing as we come to a stop in front of them.
“Christina! Stop!” Finley’s voice is timid; her expression is pinched with trepidation. “I told you it was too much.”
“God, no,” Elijah blurts at the same time as I say, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
Goddamn!
Finley’s a vision with her curls loose and wild. Her blue eyes are lined black, making them appear even bigger, like cartoon princess eyes. Eyes that threaten to swallow me whole while her red-painted lips make my mouth water.
My hand fists Eli’s jacket as I try to ground myself when my eyes sweep down the length of his jersey. The hem hangs down to the middle of her leather covered thighs—thick and toned—that have my mind racing with images of what they would look like wrapped around my hips… Eli’s…
Fuck.
