7. Easily Goaded #2
His hand runs the length of my body, over the curve of my hips until it settles on my jaw. His thumb grazes my chin, the line of my lower lip, and my knees wobble.
“I like when you smile,” he murmurs. “And laugh. It makes me want to smile too.”
I don’t know what to say to that. He’s not at all being the man he lets the media paint him to be, or even the one he was last weekend. He’s throwing me off my axis, and I’m not used to the instability; my world is already so delicately balanced.
“Okay, so you’re twenty-five, five foot one, have a brother, played hockey for fifteen years, teach health and fitness, thrive on sarcasm and sass…” He pauses to grin when I bark a laugh. “What else? Did you play any other sports?”
My head bobs eagerly. I had a fairly privileged upbringing in that my parents had enough money to put us into the extracurricular activities of our choosing.
My dad still tells people I took acting classes and that’s how I got to be so dramatic, but in reality, I spent all my time playing sports.
I thrived with any physical activity, but hockey was by far my favorite.
Funny, when you consider that my love for the sport started with my brother strapping oversized goalie equipment to me and stuffing me in the hockey net in our driveway at four years old, where he proceeded to fire shot after shot at me until my mom ran out of the house, shrieking.
“Softball, soccer, volleyball—”
A howl of laughter quickly eats my words as Carter’s head lolls backward, and when the giant man drops his forehead to my shoulder, I frown.
“ Volleyball .” He gasps. “You played volleyball.”
My brows tug together. “Volleyball’s an incredible sport. I coach the senior girls’ team.”
“That’s amazing.” Is he crying again? “So cool, Ol.” He shifts back, wiping beneath his eyes. He’s fucking crying again . “I guess I’m just…” He cocks a knowing look. “You know…”
I step out of his hold so I can cross my arms. “No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.”
Laughter bubbles again, and all I can focus on are the dimples in his cheeks, the way his eyes sparkle. He lays a hand over his belly, and his entire body vibrates as he fails miserably to get a handle on himself.
“Can you even reach the net?” he chokes out.
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” Two hands on his firm chest, I give him a shove, and he catches my wrists. “I’ve got powerful legs. I did just fine; don’t worry.”
He hauls me into him as he takes his lower lip between his teeth. His hand sinks into my hair at the exact moment my fingers twine around the silky curls at the nape of his neck, and he hums. “Mhmm. Powerful little legs.”
“You’re incredibly annoying.” A shiver of delight steals my breath as his palm skates down my side, curving over my hip.
Carter cups my jaw, his thumb sweeping over my cheekbone as his half-lidded gaze drops to my lips. “And yet I think I’m winning you over anyway.”
My breath comes in a shallow burst. “I don’t like you.”
His tongue peeks out, touching the split in his bottom lip that’s almost fully healed, and my eyes track the movement. His breath is warm as it mingles with mine, and for a moment, I swear I can taste him. For a moment, I want more.
“You may not like me, but your body sure as hell does. The way your fingers are holding onto my hair for dear life right now tells me so.”
My eyes widen as the reality of our position sinks in, the intimacy, the two of us tangled together, his mouth an inch from mine. What’s worse, we’re still slow dancing to a song that’s ended who knows how long ago, while the rest of the dance floor is covered with people gyrating.
“Oh.” My hands fall from his shoulder, his hair, and I take a step backward. “Oh.”
“Hey.” He chuckles softly. “Come here.” His fingers lace through mine and he gives me a gentle tug, towing me over to the bar where he pulls out a stool and promptly sets me on top before taking a seat next to mine. “You’re about to spiral.”
“I’m not about to spiral.” I might be about to spiral .
“You’re about to spiral, Ollie. I don’t have to know everything about you to see that you’re the type of person whose brain is always racing, overthinking.”
“That’s not…” I tuck my hair behind my ear, gaze fixed on Carter’s hand, an inch from mine on the bar. “It feels like a lot of pressure.”
“What does?”
Everything. Pressure to give in, pressure to not give in. Pressure to fit the mold of all the women who’ve come before me, the ones that will come after me. Pressure to be different and unique while also fitting in.
With Carter next to me, everybody’s watching. Everybody . The fans at the arena, the sportscasters, his teammates here at the bar. Everywhere I look eyes are on us, watching to see what we’ll do next. I don’t know how to put it into words.
My gaze rises slowly to meet his, and somehow, he knows.
He tips his head in the direction of the door. “Wanna get outta here?” The second I open my mouth, he slaps a palm across it. “Not back to my place. Let’s go get something to eat.”
“I ate at the game,” I blurt.
“You did not, liar. Cara stuffed her face with half the snack bar, and you had one handful of popcorn. I had my eyes on you the entire time and I got shit for it after the game.”
“No, you didn’t,” I muse.
He chuckles, tracing the shape of my hand with his finger.
“Coach said, ‘We don’t pay you thirteen mill to make googly eyes at pretty brunettes. ’ ” He grabs my hands, pulling them to his chest. “C’mon.
Get something to eat with me, please. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy.
We can get fucking street meat for all I care.
It’s loud in here and I like talking to you. ”
Um.
“Please, Ollie. Please, please, please, please.” One gentle cheek poke for every please . He grips my chin, giving it a little shake. “Pleeease.”
“So annoying,” I grumble, swatting his hand away.
His chin hits his fist and he wags his brows. “Annoying or endearing?”
“Annoying, definitely.” My shoulders sag with a sigh, and as if he senses my defeat, Carter leaps off his stool, punching a fist through the air.
“ A-ha ! I’ve fucking cracked her!” He grips my waist, spins me in the air, drops me to my feet, and…peppers my entire face in kisses. His fingers lace through mine, tugging, before I have time to comprehend what’s happened. “I promise, Ollie, you won’t regret it.”
I have a serious love/hate relationship with the giggle bubbling from my chest, and I need to get a hang on it before I go anywhere alone with this man.
“I’m not going home with you.”
He holds up two fingers in a promise. “I won’t even ask.”
“Okay, well, I have to use the bathroom first.”
He pops a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’ll go get our coats.”
I pat my red cheeks with some cool water over the bathroom sink, trying to bring the fire brewing there down to a simmer.
It doesn’t work. I feel hot all over. My lady bits are excited, my vagina rubbing her metaphorical hands together because she thinks she’s getting some tonight.
It’s highly probable at this point. Carter got this far; he can definitely get further.
The thought is both terrifying and thrilling all at once.
It takes me no time at all to spot Carter when I exit the bathroom, given his size and his huge personality. He doesn’t have our coats yet.
He does, however, have a strawberry blonde with legs that go straight to heaven glued to his side, her glossy black nails raking slowly down his back.
He leans his ear toward her mouth as she presses up on her high heels, whispering to him, and my stomach involuntarily sinks at the smile he flashes her.
My near-mistake and flawed judgment sting like a slap to the face, and by the time I’m climbing into the back of a cab, he’s bursting through the door of the bar, hollering my name.
It’s too late. I sure as hell have enough self-respect to not stand there and subject myself to that playboy bullshit I definitely didn’t sign up for. He may not be going home with me tonight, but he’s going home with someone.
And quite frankly, who Carter Beckett sleeps with is of no importance to me. He can go fuck himself for all I care.