Page 19 of Rookie Season
“You can practice on me, if you want.”
She looks up, our eyes locking. “I’m not afraid.”
It feels so damn good to stand close to her. I’m wondering what she’d do if I backed her against the counter. Lifted her onto it, my fingers digging into her curvy hips.
A loud noise like a grunt comes from outside the window.
She jumps, spilling half the contents of her mug on the floor and herself, plus a few drops on me. “What the hell was that?”
Not that I care about the spillage, because she’s tucked against my side. I tuck her closer behind me and peer outside.
Her hand is on my bare chest, her breasts pressing against me through her tank top. When her chin lifts, her gaze meeting mine, I’m aware of all the places we’re lined up.
I’m thrown back to this time last year—the hookup no one since has measured up to.
Probably because what I feel about her isn’t only physical. This woman who’s cool and confident and sexy, with layers behind the walls she keeps high to keep people out… All of it only made me want more badly to break inside.
The front door has us jumping apart.
“A storm is coming!” Chloe announces. She shoves the hood of her parka off her face and stomps snow off her boots onto the rug.
“You go for a hike?” I ask.
“More like a wade. It’s so deep. I went up to the road but no cars.” She shrugs out of the coat and adjusts her ponytail. “Coffee? Oh God, yes.”
Sierra’s already passing over a mug.
As if called by ESP, Brooke sticks her head out of her doorway at the top of the stairs. Miles is next.
Soon, the table is half occupied.
“I think I’m going to go for a run today,” Brooke volunteers as she claims a seat on the far side with Chloe.
“Good luck with that,” I say.
“Don’t go alone,” Sierra says from the kitchen as I take the head of the table. “We heard noises outside.”
“What kind of noises?” Brooke asks.
Sierra cocks her head. “It was probably Trista trying to score a look at Ryan naked.”
I snort.
The crew talks for a few minutes as I take a sip of my coffee. Damn, that’s good.
“I have some gift wrapping to do,” Nova volunteers, presumably for our secret Santa exchange later on. “Clay’s going to help me.”
“I’d pay money to have Clayton Wade wrap my gifts.”
“You couldn’t afford me.” Clay’s voice comes from the stairs, where he’s shuffling down them one at a time. He might play the old man, but he’s one of the most legendary players ever. Like Kobe or LeBron. Like them, he can say as much with a look as with a word.
Sierra’s gone back to the kitchen. That won’t do.
“We also need to get the tree,” I say as I shift out of my seat, my mug still in my hand.
I head for the kitchen, draining the rest of my mug on the way. The caffeine kicks pleasantly in my veins, the warm flavor dancing on my tongue.
I find Sierra bent over inside the open fridge. Her curvy ass is hugged by her shorts, her long legs pale and ending in bunny slippers.
