Page 62 of Hard Hitter
“Exactly.” She removed the glass from his hand, took a sip and put it back. “Okay, incoming.”
Her hands landed at his shoulders. With sturdy pressure, she loosened him up. Then she began to work closer to his sore neck. He felt himself tighten up automatically.
“Come on, O’Doul. Not this again.”
“Sorry.” He sighed. “I’ll be a good boy.”
The next thing he felt was a single, soft kiss below his ear. “I know you can’t stand having weak spots,” she whispered. “Just work with me.”
Her breathy voice made his cock stiffen immediately. “Okay,” he said.
He closed his eyes and focused on Ari’s presence behind him. He listened for the soft huffs of her breath as she worked. And he paid attention to the warmth radiating from her body. He let himself remember that night in her hotel room. Both of them naked...
Everything above his waist began to relax, while everything below his waist began to firm up. He’d invented a new relaxation technique—Horny Meditation. He leaned into her touch, and bit by bit his muscles were smoothed into submission by the heat and friction of her touch.
“We’ll leave it there for now,” she said, patting his neck.
She sat down in the distant corner of the sofa. He had to stretch to hand over her drink. Ah, well. He pointed the remote at the TV and put on a late-night talk show. He drained his margarita and then lifted her feet into his lap. “Your turn.”
“Mmm,” she said as he squeezed the ball of her foot. “That is nice. But I didn’t strain anything tonight. Watching hockey isn’t very tiring. And the owner’s box has these warm Brazilian cheese puffs. I think I ate a dozen of them... Mmm.”
“What’s it like in the box with Nate Kattenberger?” he asked. He’d always been curious about that, and Nate in general.
Ari offered him her other foot with a smile. “It’s great. Some nights he gets all quiet and broody, but we can never tell if it’s the game or if he’s busy reinventing the Internet in that big brain of his. Tonight he was in a fun mood, joking with Becca and Georgia and taking bets. We only wager pretzels, though. Georgia won the pot by guessing that Leo Trevi would be the first to score. Then she screamed her lungs out when he did. Nate says he’s deaf in one ear now.”
“Sounds like fun. I guess I thought he’d be all crazy intense up there. He’s got more money invested in the team than the GDP of a developing nation.”
“Heisintense,” Ari said, leaning her head back against the sofa arm. “About everything. But so are sports fans everywhere. Walk past any sports bar and there are guys screaming at the TV. Do you feel like Nate is more entitled to his intensity?”
“Sure he is. He signs my checks.” He rubbed the arch ofher foot. “We’re all just hangin’ by a thread, babe. It’s not just you who worries about job security. It’s every guy on that team. Every day.”
She flashed him a sympathetic smile, and he felt it in his belly.
“What else does Nate do on game night?” he asked. “Is he superstitious? Does he carry a rabbit’s foot or rosary beads?” Hockey was sick with superstition. Every player had something—Massey took one specific route to the stadium on game night. Castro ate a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich before every game. (It had to be strawberry. Nobody knew why.)
“Let’s see. He turns off his phone during the games. Does that count? He seems like the kind of guy who never unplugs. Oh—and he never has a drink until the third period, and only if we’re losing.”
O’Doul snorted. “Bottoms up tonight, then.”
“The man can drink, too. And after four Scotches he’s still sharp as a tack.” Ari grinned.
“I’ve noticed that. Crazy.” He gave a giant yawn.
“You’re beat. Let’s go to sleep.”
“Sorry,” he said, scrubbing the uninjured side of his face. “I’m not a fun host. I’ll walk you home if you want me to.”
“It’s almost one in the morning,” Ari pointed out. “Let’s crash.” She got up and collected their empty glasses.
He came up behind her in the kitchen and gave her a little squeeze. Is this how it felt to be half of a couple? “Thanks for working out my kinks.”
She turned her head, amusement on her face. “Patrick, you are still full of them.”
Smart girl. She had his number. “Leave those,” he said, referring to the glasses in the sink. “Borrow anything in the bathroom. There are probably a couple of those airplane toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.”
Ten minutes later he switched off the lamp beside his bed and slipped between the sheets. Ari was already dozingon the other pillow, curled up in hisBrooklyn: FuhggeddabouditT-shirt. It had draped practically to her knees when she put it on.
“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered. She made a soft, indistinct noise of agreement. He leaned over and kissed her temple, just because he could.
