Page 16 of Must Love Hockey
“Does it say: James has really immature friends?”
She shakes her head and smiles. “It says that your friends think highly of you. We only tease the people we love.”
“That is a really nice way of looking at it.”
Her smile warms me from across the table. She takes a bite of pizza, and then shemoans. Not just a little moan, either. But a lush, orgasmic noise that makes my body tighten with expectation. “Omigod this isheaven. I’ve beensoooohungry.”
Me too, beautiful. And I’m not talking about the food.
“And I’m not even afraid to eat this, because Nancy Elizabeth promised me I could.”
Aw, man. Suddenly, I want to bring her every meatless dish in Brooklyn, and then watch her eat it. I brace myself for another moan as another bite of pizza disappears in Emily’s lovely mouth. And, yup. There it is.
“Sorry,” she says with a giggle. “I’m usually a very polite eater.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry. Swear to God, politeness can be overrated.” That statement was brought to you by my dick, which is not feeling so polite right now. Maybe I have some kind of pizza-based food kink, because Emily is making this into a sexual experience for me.
Her eyes fly to mine, and we stare at each other for a long beat. So maybe I’m not the only one who’s having a really good time right now.
If only she’d ditch her boyfriend, we could spend weekends in my bed. Naked. Making love and eating pizza.
Down, boy. This is a casual, friendly dinner. At least it’s supposed to be.
But let’s be honest. I like Emily. A lot. And I intend to let her know that as soon as I can.
SIX
OOPS I SLIPPED
Emily
I don’t know how this happened. But I’m having more fun with James over a pizza than I have had in alongtime. I’ll admit that I started off the evening a little starstruck. Having the attention of a table full of famous athletes is pretty crazy.
But after a while, I sort of forget who they are on the ice. The more they needle James, the more I come to see them like a big, rowdy family of brothers. And “Jimbo” is the baby brother in this scenario—the one they tease and torture but love to death.
And I can see why. James is such a great guy. He tells me stories about his other big family—the Italian grandmas and aunts and his three younger siblings.
“Your house must have been crowded growing up,” I point out. “Maybe that’s why a locker room full of overgrown boys doesn’t bother you that much.”
His dark eyes widen. “I have had that same thoughtmanytimes. My job doesn’t require a great deal of skill. But I’m really good at tuning out drama and focusing on the task at hand.”
“That is a special skill, though.” I point out. I have the feeling that James underestimates himself. I’d hate it if his father convinced him that his job doesn’t matter.
The players probably worship him. And I don’t think anyone has ever listened to me as carefully as he’s doing right now.
Someone approaches our table. I look up to see that it’s Silas—the goalie. “All done here?” he asks, clearing away our empty dishes and balancing the pizza pan on his forearm like a pro. “Can I get you anything else? Coffee? Another glass of wine? Jimbo’s high school yearbook photo? Believe it or not, he used to use even more product in his hair. This is actually an improvement. We’re working on it.”
James just rolls his eyes.
“Dessert?” Silas asks.
“Sure,” I chirp. After all, I intended to treat James to a special meal. “What’s good here?”
“I’ll send you the chef’s special,” Silas says with a wink.
“What’s the chef’s special?” I ask after he walks away.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it, and I’m kind of afraid to find out,” James says with a sigh.
