Page 12 of The Hockey Player and the Tutor
Brin rolls her eyes and allows her friend to guide her into the front of the house while I trail behind them.
Brin glances back at me with a gentle smile and a thrill whips through my blood.
It’s not even a little bit funny how badly I wish I could backtrack to that moment by her car and ask for a do-over. The way she looked up at me with those round blue eyes and long lashes, lips parting in invitation, I knew I wanted to taste her. I was instantly flooded with desire to press her against the car door and kiss the fuck out of her perfectly plump lips until she moaned out in need.
If I’d been on the ice playing hockey, my error would’ve been a missed shot on goal. A game-ending mistake.
So now I’m left with a semi hard-on the size of this mansion. At least it’s covered by the bags I’m carrying as I follow closely behind Lola and Brin who march in together, arms linked at the elbows, while I curse my stupidity.
Always take the shot when it’s given to you.
Unless I’m mistaken, Brin seems interested in me as much as I am in her. At least, those are the signs I’m reading when I catch her staring at me.
We enter the house and Lola takes off down the hallway. “I’m going to go check in with Stacy. I’ll meet you guys upstairs.”
“Okay. Don’t get lost,” Brin teases.
I take in the surroundings as I trail behind Brin up the stairs. “Jesus, this place is massive. I’ve never been in a house this big before,” I spout, mostly to myself as we traverse the huge curving staircase up to the second floor. When we reach the top, I peer over the banister down at the open foyer below. Then I look down the hallway in both directions where dozens of doors—some open, some closed—flank the elegant corridor. “Does someone actually live here? It looks like a museum.”
Brinly’s slight shoulders raise in thoughtful response. “I guess, but I don’t know when. The house was bought by Lisette Munds’s parents a few years ago and since then they’ve been slowly fixing it up to flip and put back on the market. But word is that it’s haunted…”
She whispers this to me when she stops in front of a closed doorway. Her hand reaches to turn the ornate old-fashioned glass doorknob and lifts her chin to look up at me with a soft smile. “This is our bedroom.”
A blush creeps up into her already rosy cheeks as if she’s embarrassed by the implication of what she just said. Like the bedroom is ours to “use” for other purposes besides decorating it.
The door opens to a large room that even seems a little creepy in the daylight. There are alcoves in the corners, a wood-trimmed fireplace in the center of the room, and what looks like a turret window. I don’t know much about architecture, especially the nuances of homes built in the 1800s, but it looks like something from every scary movie I’ve ever seen.
And it smells musty, with the wood paneling around the walls giving it a faint oaky scent. It reminds me of my grandfather’s cabin in the woods near the Allegheny mountains in Pennsylvania.
I frown, as the scent conjures up a sudden feeling of homesickness that I haven’t felt in a long time. I miss my family and the time I spent with my dad in his auto shop. Brinly seems to notice as she turns to me with a concerned expression in her furrowed brows.
“Are you okay, Preston?” she asks, reaching a hand out to touch my arm. “I was just kidding, you know. This place isn’t really haunted.”
I chuckle, placing the bags down on the floor next to hers. Our feet are separated only by a few inches and I catch a whiff of her lemony sugar cookie scent.
Because I love a good practical joke and have been known to be a prankster, I decide to play along with the haunted theme. With a lift of my brows, I widen my eyes in horror and open my mouth in a gaping O. I stare over her shoulder and point at something behind her with a shaky hand.
“Really? Then what is that behind you?” My voice goes up an octave. “Oh, my God, Brin. Watch out!”
“What?” she shrieks loudly and spins around, pressing her body into mine as she steps closer to me. I secure my arms around her middle and hold her tight.
I take a giant inhale of breath, my nose buried in her hair, feeling her warm body trembling in my arms.
A burst of teasing laughter bubbles up from my chest as I coo against her soft earlobe. “You made that way too easy for me.”
She huffs out in indignation and her tiny fist tries, but fails, to get a good punch into my thigh.
“Gah! That was so mean, Preston!”
Brinly struggles in vain to get loose, but I don’t release her. Not yet.
“I’m not mean, Brinly. I think you’re just gullible.”
This time as she wiggles and flails, I loosen my hold, rotating her in my arms so she’s facing me. She glares up at me with her best impression of a tough woman and pokes a dainty finger into my pec.
“I. Am. Not. Gullible.” She emphasizes each spoken syllable with a jab. I chuckle over her sweetness.
“God, you’re so sweet.”
