Page 9 of Facing Off
Most of them are confused.
I thought we would go back to your place, I’m told multiple times.Isn’t that what you want?
Is that what Iwantto want? Yes.
But is that what’s happening? Fuck no, it’s not.
After another failed hookup, I’m on Quinn’s porch with a six-pack of beer hanging from my arm. I ring the doorbell.
When he opens the door and sees me, he runs an abrupt hand through his brown curls. “Cap? Did we have plans?”
“Nope.” I weasel my way inside, lifting the beer above my head. “But please drink with me while I mope!”
“Um,” he says.
That’s when I look down and notice black boots.
“You have company,” I guess. “Shit.” I’m already backing away. “I did…not expect that.”
Since playing for the Vancouver Wings, I’ve never known Quinn to date. Which is why I’m retreating as quickly as I can. “Sorry, man. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Not on a date,” he says, waving me back inside. “Sonya’s here.”
Sonya. Is. Here.
The bane of my sex-deprived existence is in the building.
“Come in,” insists Quinn.
Like a blockhead who never learns, I follow him to the living room. Sonya’s sitting cross-legged on his couch, snuggled in her all-black sweatsuit. Dark makeup lines her lashes in a way that draws attention to her intense, hooded, transfixing eyes. Her hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and her mouth is straight with that usual unimpressed flat line.
“You,” grumbles Sonya.
I grin. “You.”
“Please be civil,” pleads Quinn. “You know my birthday is coming up.”
“That’s the only reason I’m here,” says Sonya. Looking at me, she explains, “He guilted me into coming over for game night so we can spend quality time together.”
I drop down onto the seat next to her.
“My condition was not to invite anyone else,” she emphasizes pointedly.
“But it’s for my birthday,” reasons Quinn, standing in front of us. “And it means a lot to have two people I careabout with me tonight here. I can’t believe it, and it feels like I’m dreaming…”
I look at my goalie. He’s really laying it on thick and giving her puppy-dog eyes, but it apparently works, considering Sonya groans, “Stop.” She lifts her pointer finger up. “One more game. That’s all I can tolerate.”
Quinn leaps to action. He brings an armload of boxes out, adding them to the pile he’s already amassed on the floor. With focused concentration, he’s parsing through each game, trying to pick the best one to play.
Taking a beer out of the pack I brought, I offer it to Sonya.
“Why not,” she breathes out.
The can opens with a hiss. Her throat moves as she takes a sip. The way my cock twitches over a simple throat flex, I’m so fucking screwed.
My own can of cold beer should help, but it does nothing to cool me down.
“A-ha!” Quinn pulls out a deck of multi-colored cards. “I found the perfect game.”
