Hockey Halloween, page 23
He lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. “Yeah. I know. We leave for Dallas on Monday.” His grip on my hip tightens, his eyes flicking to mine. “I get it.”
“So… we need to be comfortable. With touching. With intimacy.”
His jaw flexes hard, muscles rippling under the skin like he’s waging a silent war with himself. I start to second-guess everything. Maybe I’m pushing too far. Maybe I should back off. I’m about to push away, but stop when his hand slides up, skimming along my hip… the side of my breast. Every nerve ending lights up.
If he looks down, he’ll see what he’s doing to me. The thin fabric of this dress isn’t hiding much, and my body’s broadcasting every secret loud and clear. A small, breathy sound escapes me, completely involuntary, completely revealing.
If he didn’t know before, he must now.
Is this where he stops? Where he pulls away and tells me we’ve crossed a line?
But instead, his hand rises to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, warm and steady. Possessive. Here we go. I tilt my face toward him, heart hammering. He leans in slowly, eyes locked on my lips, his breath warm and uneven across my skin.
“How’s this?” he murmurs, voice deep and rough with something that feels suspiciously like need.
My hands find his back, fingers curling into solid muscle. I press closer, and I know he can feel the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat crashing into his chest.
This is it. We’ve passed the point of no return.
“This…” I whisper, breath shaky, “…this is perfect. No one will question it.”
His lips drift closer, heat pulsing between us. “If we’re going to do this,” he begins. “We’re going to do it right. You know I’m competitive. I don’t half-ass anything.”
My breath catches. “What… what do you have in mind?”
His mouth is barely a breath away now. “Kissing,” he says, like a promise.
I shrug casually, even though there’s a storm raging inside me. “I mean… we should probably get used to it. Who knows if we’ll have to do it… out there.”
The moment the words leave my lips, his mouth is on mine. No hesitation. No warning.
Just heat.
His lips move over mine, slow at first, soft and searching, like a secret shared in the dark. My brain stutters, then shuts off entirely. When I let out the faintest moan, a groan rumbles low in his throat, and his tongue finds mine, tangling, teasing, tasting.
Holy God.
I shift closer, hips shamelessly pressing into him, needing more. Needing everything. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that I might be moving too fast. But if he gets uncomfortable, I’ll just claim total commitment to the plan. Method acting. Emotional urgency. Whatever works.
His hands slide down.
Lower.
Oh.
Both hands grip my butt, strong and possessive, and then he lifts me slightly off the ground, grinding into me. Okay, so apparently, I’m not moving too fast after all.
My hips roll against his, friction and heat driving me straight out of my mind as I practically dry hump him. Fine, there’s no “practically” about it at all. I am dry humping Gunther up against the damn sink like we’re in some kind of fever dream, and I don’t want to wake up.
But then swiftly, his lips rip from mine, and I’m suddenly awake. Wide awake. His hands clamp down on my shoulders, and he gently but firmly sets me back.
Cold air rushes between us.
No.
No, no, no—please tell me I didn’t just completely misread all of this.
I stare up at him, breath coming in short gasps, my heart pounding so loud I can barely hear.
Knock knock.
“How long are you going to be?”
A voice from the hallway.
That’s when it clicks.
The door.
The one I never thought to lock.
And that voice…Roman.
My brain catches up all at once. That’s why Gunther pulled away. Not because he regretted it. Not because he didn’t want it. But because—
“We’re about to be interrupted,” he mutters, voice hoarse as he swallows hard.
“Roman,” I manage to get out, sounding breathless as I glance toward the door. My body is still thrumming, my skin tingling, my dress—somewhere around my hips.
“We should probably go,” I say, trying to find my legs beneath me.
He nods, but neither of us moves. Roman’s knock at the door breaks the stillness, and I jump into action. I smooth my hair down with shaky fingers and twist the faucet, letting the water run cold as I press my hands to my flushed cheeks.
In the mirror, I catch Gunther adjusting himself, and a smile nearly escapes. I bite my lip, trying to keep it hidden. But the truth is, the sight makes me giddy because I did that to him.
“It’s not funny,” he grumbles.
“I wasn’t laughing.” I try to keep a straight face, but it’s hopeless. “Okay, I was. Totally was. Sorry. It’s not funny.”
The doorknob turns and Gunther shoots into action. “Hang on,” he calls out, reaching under his skirt to adjust himself properly. “A damn Wonder Woman suit. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking you wanted to win karaoke.”
“That’s a given when you’re singing with me.”
The compliment lands like a soft caress, and my heart flutters in my chest. Gunther’s always been so damn supportive of me, my career, my dreams. He’s never wavered even when my parents weren’t sure.
“Dude, hurry up.” Roman’s voice breaks through the quiet.
“We’ll be right out,” I say before I can stop myself. Dammit. Roman’s going to read into that. But then again, does it even matter?
A beat passes, then Roman’s voice, teasing. “What are you two doing in there, Gunther? Don’t tell me you’re…”
“Give me a second,” Gunther interrupts, trying to regain control of the situation.
Roman snorts from the other side. “A second? Sorry, Paisley, but if you want more than a second, I can help you out with that.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Gunther mutters under his breath, but there’s a softness in his voice, a flicker of something tender that curls around me and hugs tight. He looks at me with care in his eyes, soft and protective. “You good?” His words are simple, but the depth behind them is what makes my heart stumble.
I nod, swallowing against the sudden rush of emotion. “I’m good,” I say quietly, even though my pulse is still racing.
Gunther tugs open the door and steps aside, giving me space to leave. I step out into the hallway, only to catch Roman’s grin as he leans against the doorframe.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he says with a wink.
“Shut the fuck up, Roman,” Gunther snaps, shoving him into the bathroom, and slamming the door shut.
And then his knuckles brush against mine, warm and familiar. The tenderness on his face hasn’t completely faded, but now there’s something else there, something steely in his eyes. His teeth clench, and he asks in a low, careful voice, “You still want to go get your guy?”
I nod, heart pounding, but I don’t say the words that are burning on my tongue. “I still want to get my guy,” I say softly, leaving out the part that he’s the guy I plan to get.
Gunther
I slide my arm around her and pull her in tight. Acting possessive, like I want her, need her, is not the hard part. The problem is doing it while she’s trying to make another man jealous. A man she might actually leave with tonight.
Yeah, and there’s one more hard part.
It’s between my legs, doing a damn poor job of hiding just how not fake this is for me.
She presses into my side, her arm gliding around my back like it belongs there, and I feel the whole damn room shift. Heads turn. Eyes widen. Even his—Jaxon’s. He tilts his head, studying Paisley with something new in his gaze. Interest. Heat.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
This shit actually works?
“Okay, who’s ready to play?” Gina grins, waving the mic at us all. “It’s karaoke costume night, and the winner gets an all-inclusive trip to Aruba.”
“Seriously?” Roman pipes up as he strolls out of the bathroom, clearly refreshed and clueless.
“No,” Gina laughs. “But close. The winners get a romantic night at a cozy bed and breakfast in Vermont. Courtesy of Jaxon’s family.”
Of course, it’s from Jaxon. Because this night wasn’t complicated enough and if Paisley and I win couples karaoke, she’s going to want to take the guy who donated the prize. She’ll think it’s kismet or some shit. A sign. Meanwhile, I’ll be the guy in the Wonder Woman costume getting kicked in the heart.
“Who’s up first?” Gina calls, scanning the room.
Usually I’d be the first to volunteer—especially if there’s a spotlight involved—but I keep my damn mouth shut as Brighton lifts her hand.
Paisley turns to me, confused. “I thought you wanted to win this.”
I shrug, casual on the outside, imploding on the inside. What the hell am I supposed to say? Actually, Paisley, I don’t want to win because the idea of you sharing a candlelit breakfast with Jaxon in silk pajamas makes me want to punch a wall?
No. I can’t do that to her. Not if he’s who she wants.
But damn it, for a second—in that bathroom—I thought it was me. The way she touched me. Kissed me. That sound she made when I pulled her close, when our mouths met like they’d done it a hundred times before and never wanted to stop… That wasn’t fake. That couldn’t be fake. Because no one can pretend that kind of heat. That kind of need.
Unless, of course, you’re Paisley, who’s throwing herself into this role like she’s gunning for an Oscar. She’s got one goal tonight. Get her guy. And spoiler alert. It’s not me.
Fuck my life.
But honestly, I did this. I screwed it all up. I’m the idiot who went off with another girl in high school after she told me how she felt. I let her walk away thinking she wasn’t enough when she was already everything.
Now she’s using me to make someone else jealous. And maybe—maybe—this whole fake relationship thing is my shot to show her what we could be. That we make sense. That it’s us. All of this is under the guise of pretending, which means if it blows up in my face, I can retreat without losing her. That’s the theory, anyway.
“Hmm.”
Yeah, brain, I get it. She wants someone else.
“What’s that?” Paisley asks, her voice light, oblivious.
Shit. Did I just make that sound out loud?
I fake a cough. “Uh—just need a drink. Throat’s dry. Have to get the pipes ready if we’re singing later.”
She nods. “Same.”
As Brighton wails her way through a ballad, we slip into the kitchen. My hand stays planted on the small of Paisley’s back—not because I’m playing the part, but because I need to touch her. She gives Melanie a quick nod on our way through, and Melanie’s grin is Cheshire-cat level smug.
Figures. Those two were scheming earlier. Plotting this whole “make-Jaxon-jealous” plan. When I caught them whispering, I thought…God, I don’t know what I thought. That she was flirting with me? Interested? Turns out she was just drafting me in this ruse.
A ruse that seems to be working. Jaxon’s still watching like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t know existed.
“He’s watching,” she whispers, her voice low and satisfied.
I glance over at her, and there’s this look in her eyes. Hope. Expectation. Like she’s waiting for me to seal the deal.
Well, all right then.
Just before we’re out of view, I stop by the wall, spin, and pull her in close, right between my legs. Her breath catches. I’m not usually one for public displays of affection but screw it. If this is the game she wants to play, I’m going all in.
My hand moves up the back of her neck, fingers grazing that soft, sensitive skin just beneath her hair. Her shiver is immediate, full-body and unmissable. She tips her head up, and I swear, time slows.
Then that tongue.
That slow, pink sweep over her bottom lip like she’s daring me to kiss her.
Jesus.
She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
I dip my head, the brim of her witch’s hat brushing against my face as I lower my voice to a whisper. “You know…I think you cast a spell on me tonight.” She laughs softly, like she doesn’t believe me. I inch back and flash her a grin that tells her I’m not joking. “All I want to do right now is put my mouth all over you.”
Her breath catches, throat working as she swallows. And then, something flickers in her eyes. Heat. Real, scorching heat. Or maybe she’s just good at this little act. Too good. But I’m done playing it safe. Maybe it’s time to push, to see if that fire is for me.
“You know… to really help nail this,” I say.
She gives me that smile again, the one that punches straight through my chest. “Nail it, yes,” she says quietly. “But your mouth all over me…we can’t do that here. Not with everyone watching.”
I tilt my head, lips brushing her ear. “No, you’re right. Besides, doing it in private wouldn’t help your plan, would it?” I glance over her shoulder, right at Jaxon. “The point is to make him jealous, yeah?”
“Right.” One word. Soft. Barely audible. And laced with disappointment so thick I feel it in my bones.
Jesus, does she want my mouth on her?
Let’s find out. I close the gap and crush my mouth to hers. I kiss her like I mean it—because I do. My hands slide down her spine and pull her flush against the hard line of my body. I don’t care that the entire damn room is behind us, or that Brighton’s voice is still echoing through the speakers. The only thing I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears and the soft, addictive sounds she makes when I deepen the kiss.
She moans, and that sound lights me on fire. Her fingers dig into my biceps, her hips rocking into mine like she needs this just as badly. I grind against her, and her entire body arches. I’m gone. Completely gone.
“Get a room.” Roman’s voice breaks through the haze. I pull back, and turn just in time to see him wearing his signature smug look. But it’s not Roman I’m worried about. It’s Jaxon.
He sets his drink down. His expression tightens. And then, he starts walking toward us. Every instinct I have fires at once, half of me wants to throw Paisley over my shoulder and claim her in front of the whole damn room, and the other half wants to shove Jaxon through a wall.
Fight or flight?
Do I hand my little witchy woman over to him… or do I drag her someplace dark and private and make good on that promise to put my mouth all over her?
“Hey, Gunther. You’re up,” Brighton calls out.
She’s not wrong. I am up. In more ways than one. If I turn around now, half the room’s going to see the reason why I should never have worn spandex. But then I realize she means karaoke.
Right. Karaoke. Not this rising situation in my pants.
“I need a drink first,” I say, voice hoarse. “Someone else can go.”
Before Jaxon can make his move, I grab her wrist and tug her with me, straight through the kitchen and out the back door. The October air rushes over us in a chill, but it’s not enough to cool the fire burning through me.
She shivers. “What…what are we doing out here?”
“It was getting warm in there,” I say, keeping my voice casual while my pulse jackhammers in my ears.
She fans herself and glances skyward. The moon is full, big and silver, casting shadows across the yard like it’s conjuring magic. Or maybe temptation.
“You’re right, it was. Full moon… Big Bad,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
“Dangerous night,” I say, watching her chest rise and fall. “You know a wolf can’t control the beast when the moon is like this.”
“Beast,” she whispers, dazed, like she’s caught in some kind of spell. Her eyes flick over her shoulder, back toward the house. “Do you think Jaxon saw us leave?”
“He might’ve. I was thinking—”
“I was thinking too,” she cuts in, and that tight little note in her voice makes every nerve in my body go on alert.
I pull her close when another shiver rocks through her, and yeah, it’s cold, but I don’t think this is about temperature.
“You go first,” I murmur.
“When you said you wanted to put your mouth all over me…”
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
She swallows. “It might not be a bad idea. Even if it’s just in private. I think it could help.”
“Help?” Jesus. “Help how?” I ask, already moving. Her fingers thread with mine and I take the lead, guiding her down the flagstone path to the pool house.
“Make it easier to fake intimacy. For the crowd.”
Right. The crowd.
Jaxon.
“Before…” she continues.
I stop at the change room door, reach for the spare key hidden on the ledge. My hand shakes just a little as I slide it into the lock. “…before the ‘breakup’ later?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
I open the door and step aside, letting her walk in first. She does, and her steps slow in the dark. I grab the lantern, turn it on, and the small room is bathed in a golden glow. Her hair catches the light. Her skin practically shines. And I swear to God, it takes every ounce of strength I possess to tame the beast growling inside me.
“Cozy,” she whispers, taking two tentative steps toward the small sofa.
I follow, the thud of my heart syncing with the steady rhythm of her breath. When she sits, I drop to my knees in front of her. A soft gasp escapes her lips, catching in her throat, and that tiny sound shatters whatever control I had left.
Jesus. Am I really doing this?
I’ve spent years burying every want, every need, every damn fantasy I’ve had about this woman—my best friend. And now, now I’m on my knees, about to worship her like she’s everything I’ve ever wanted… because she wants someone else.
