Chapter Ten
Moskins
In all honesty, I have no clue what the hell is going on. But I’m also not about to complain when I feel the warm flesh of the petite blond against me as I steady her.
My mood has been shitty since getting here, when some seventy-year-old tried blowing smoke up my ass as if my appearance was his idea when we both know it wasn’t.
One look at him, and I knew he’d never seen a game of hockey in his life.
He probably thinks we have quarters and touchdowns, not periods and goals.
Ashton made me play nice, force a smile, and shake hands while the man, whose name I had no interest in remembering, told me all about the schedule.
Probably to distract me from quizzing him on anything game-related, because there is no way in hell he knows who I am.
I’m pretty sure the douchebag called me Timmy.
His prattling on about what to expect pissed me off more. It shouldn’t have been my manager or him telling me what to do and where to go; it should have been the woman currently standing in my arms.
“Hello there, sweetheart,” I purr, watching as her face grows crimson.
When Emaly told me she was on her way with a surprise, I’d been expecting a cup of coffee or something for breakfast since Ashton rushed me out the door before I could make something to eat.
My stomach has been rumbling for the past two hours, and the meat stick Ashton produced from who knows where hardly did the trick to silence it.
Winter quickly straightens, putting space between us like my touch burns her.
Get in line, sweetheart.
“I don’t suppose you have a muffin or a cup of coffee, do you?” I ask, crossing my arms on my bare chest to cut some of the tension clearly coiled in her shoulders.
Her green eyes go to my abdominals that I’ve worked relentlessly to get. Growing up, I’d been a lanky kid and got bullied for my chicken legs and scrawny arms. If my bullies could see me now, they’d run the other way.
“My eyes are up here, baby girl,” I tease, gesturing her locked gaze upward until her red face darkens and she winces at getting caught.
It’s not the first time I’ve been ogled and certainly won’t be the last. I like her focus on me. A little too much.
“So…muffin? I have a secret sweet tooth, so I like chocolate chips in them. But I’d accept anything at this point. Even a dry-ass corn one.”
One of my eyebrows pops up when she gapes at me. Is she breathing? I’d hate to be the reason for oxygen deprivation that will inevitably kill her brain cells.
“No muffins?” I bemuse. “Coffee then? Can you speak, or have my abs struck you speechless?”
Once she realizes she hasn’t answered, she snaps out of her train of thought. “They didn’t put anything out for you? There was supposed to be something in your room. Bagels. Coffee. Fruit.”
She looks around, trying her hardest not to make eye contact with me in her search. It’s cute how she actively skips over the spot I’m standing in just to make sure her gaze doesn’t land on my exposed skin.
“My cock isn’t out, you know.”
She chokes on air as she flinches at the blunt statement. “That’s…good. You should probably keep that in your pants.”
I snort. “A lot of people would agree with you there,” I retort, walking over to the chair in the corner and sitting down to give her some breathing room. “Are you going to look at me?”
She doesn’t. “Are you going to put a shirt on?”
My lips stretch into a wide smile, and I slide a hand down the ripple of muscle covering my torso. “Do my abs offend you? I’ve been praised a time or two for them. Pretty sure they’ve won awards online. Once, a woman told me they were lickable.”
She’s still not looking.
Which only makes this more fun for me.
I study her for a microsecond. Her neck is slender and feminine. Soft. It would look good with my hand wrapped around it. “You’re quite the prude, aren’t you? Let me guess. You were raised in a covenant. I already told you that I don’t do—”
“I’m not a virgin,” she snaps defensively, finally meeting me with cold, offended eyes.
There she is. “My mistake.” I raise my hands in surrender with quirked lips. However, I have an odd sense that she’s lying. “They were doing test pictures when one of the puppies got a little too excited.”
Interest takes over the irritation on her face. “Excited as in…?”
I chuckle. “It peed on me.”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of her when I lift the white shirt I’d shown up in. It’s got a bright yellow pee trail across it. “Are they going to get you a new one?”
Is that look in her eye because she’s hoping they will or won’t?
“If my manager gets his way, he’d have me get a few shots like this before anybody delivers me something new to wear.
I’m sure a shirtless man holding puppies would stop people from scrolling away from an article about what a do-gooder I am. ”
Despite her best efforts, her eyes dip down to my chest, then further south. I flex, knowing damn well she likes what she sees. I may be cocky, but I’d like to think the hours I spend at the gym weekly earn me a right to be.
Winter rips her eyes away before walking to the opposite side of the room and putting as much distance between us as possible.
“It would get attention,” she relents, nodding.
“But I don’t think it would give the kind of vibes we’re going for.
Unless you think more women thirsting after you is going to solve your problem. ”
Is that jealousy I detect in her tone?
I rest my elbows on my bent knees and smirk at her. “Does the idea of women thirsting after me upset you, Winter?”
The sound of her name makes her top teeth dig into her bottom lip. “No,” she says with a bite to her tone that wasn’t there a moment ago. “But I’m not your wife. Maybe you should ask her.”
I swipe a hand over my mouth to hide my wavering smile. “What did you and my wife discuss on the way here? My nefarious ways? Is she writing a memoir titled Married to a Professional Man Whore? Is she prepping for a 60 Minutes interview to go over every way I’ve wronged her?”
Her glare is comical, but she’s silent.
I hum. “You’re right. That book title makes me sound like an escort. I get my taste for free. Perhaps I should charge for my services. What is your advice on that?”
Winter’s head shakes. “That’s called prostitution, and it’s illegal in all states.”
“Except for Nevada,” I chirp.
She blinks at me. “I’m not surprised that you know that. You’re disgusting, do you know that?”
I shrug. “I’ve been called worse.”
By my own family, even.
But I don’t like to think about them.
She deadpans, “I’m sure you have, Tommy.”
My jaw tics. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” she prods.
“Because I don’t like it,” I growl.
They called me that name.
I will never be Tommy again.
I do my best to calm my tone and change the topic to something safer. “You’re in a particular mood today. Now I really am curious what you and Emaly talked about.”
Winter pushes off the wall and stalks over to me with a deadly, narrow expression. “Are you really wondering why I’m in a bad mood after what you pulled? I worked my ass off to organize this event and all the others on your stupid apology tour, all to be told not to come.”
The smugness on my face drops when I see the genuine hurt lingering in her eyes.
It makes the pretty green color dim. “I had nothing to do with you getting taken off this project,” I say, softer than either of us expects.
It takes her off guard. “That was my manager’s doing.
If Ashton had come to me first, I would have shut it down before he ever went to your boss. ”
She scoffs. “You expect me to believe you?”
One word. “Yes.”
She rolls her eyes, and from this close, the mossy color has specks of gold in them. They’re beautiful and forgiving, even when they’re full of distrust. “Well, I don’t. If you were that pissed about me getting your number—”
I bark out a laugh, silencing her.
“Is that what you think happened?” I muse, studying her stricken face. It is. She thinks this is some sort of act of vengeance for Emaly passing her my number. “If anything, I’m upset you didn’t use it.”
She crosses her arms on her chest, and I can see how the movement pushes her tits up in her tee.
The curve of her breasts peeks over the V of her neckline, and I have no shame in admitting that I like what I see.
Her boobs may not be big, but they’d be the perfect handful—a perfect mouthful too. That’s all a man really needs.
“Stop staring at my boobs!” she snaps at me.
I slowly look from her chest to her eyes unapologetically. “I was just returning the gesture. You looked first.”
Her nostrils flare in irritation. “I wasn’t exactly expecting you to be shirtless when your wife shoved me in here.”
My lips curl up at the sides. “Feel free to even the playing field and take yours off. I’d love to see what’s underneath.”
Winter gapes at me, as if she’s actually shocked I would suggest such a thing. “I am not taking my shirt off. What is wrong with you?”
“That list would take too much time to go over, sweetheart.”
Her fists clench and unclench from where they’re tucked under her armpits. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your sweetheart. Or your baby. Or your anything. I’m Winter. Only Winter to you.”
It’s hot when she’s bossy.
My eyes drag along the front of her. From the bright purple color on her toenails that matches the one on her fingers, all the way up to her blond hair resting in loose waves past her shoulders. I flick the pink strands. “I like this,” I compliment. “New?”
She stands taller, touching the piece that my fingers brushed. “No. I hide them for work meetings to look more professional.”
My lips flatten. “Your boss has purple hair.”
“It’s a personal choice of mine. I want to be taken seriously so clients don’t think I’m incapable of handling my job.”
It’s a jab at my commentary during our first meeting that clearly still gets under her skin. “Why pink?”
“Because I like it.”