Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Cam
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck and met the eye of the slender man who looked at me like I was an oversized dog and he was a Chihuahua. He was smaller than me, but his posture suggested he knew how to bite if necessary. He held my gaze, giving me a silent warning before he brushed past and swept out of the office.
“Ms. Welling.” I dropped my hand down to my side with a slap of skin on denim. I tried not to look at her too hard, but I couldn't tear my eyes away.
She looked at home on that black leather couch. Her sweater today was emerald green. The shade made her hair look redder, and her eyes deeper blue. She wore very little make-up, leaving her freckles to decorate the pale skin of her heart-shaped face .
Her lips were pressed in a line as she looked back at me. Not hostile, but not welcoming either. I didn't miss the way her eyes dipped down below the waistband of my worn jeans. Her cheeks turned slightly pink before her gaze snapped back to my face.
“Did you want something?” she asked coolly.
You, lying back on that couch, writhing underneath me while I…
I cleared my throat and shoved the thought away. “I came to apologize. For the other night.”
“Okay,” she said simply. Her expression gave me little to work with. Was she accepting my apology or waiting for more?
“I was aggressive and out of line,” I continued. Now I was the one filling the awkward silence.
She nodded finally. “You were aggressive and out of line. Would you be apologizing if I didn't own your team?”
“If you didn't, chances are I'd never see you again,” I pointed out. “Can't apologize to someone if you have no idea who they are.”
“I suppose that's true,” she conceded. “If you never saw me again, would you be sorry for what you did? Or are you only sorry because of who I turned out to be?”
“Does it matter?” I asked. She wasn't making this apology easy. When I pictured in my mind how this would go, it was to give her a quick 'sorry,' and step back out of the office. I'd have this off my chest and wouldn't have to deal with her, except from a distance.
“I think it does,” she said. “There's a difference between saying sorry because you want to and saying sorry because you feel you have to. If I was some random woman you never saw again, would you have given it a second thought?”
I pressed my teeth together and rolled my lips a couple of times. “Probably not.”
“So you talk that way to women on a regular basis?” she asked.
I stared at her for a moment. “No. Yes. I don't… Fuck.” I scrubbed a hand over the stubble on my chin. “I usually keep my distance. I don't go around running into women.”
“Just me,” she said.
“Technically, you ran into me,” I pointed out. “Do you run into men and offer them a drink on a regular basis?”
“Just you,” she said. “But running into you was an accident. The offer of a drink was my way of making up for being a klutz.”
“So you want me to take you for a drink before you'll accept my apology?” That idea was more appealing than it should have been. I should turn and get the hell out of here right now.
“That wasn't what I was saying, but that's not a bad idea,” she said. “We got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we could try again. We might get off on the right foot this time.”
If she kept using the expression 'get off,' we were going to have a problem, in the form of a boner in the front of my jeans. Okay, that was more of a problem for me than it was for her, but she was going to witness it in all its blood-engorged glory.
“Do you know anything about hockey?” I blurted out. I cocked my head at her and silently dared her to admit the limit to her knowledge. She'd tied me in knots, it was time to return the favor.
She sighed and tossed a handful of papers onto the table in front of her. They slid across the surface and floated to the floor on the other side.
“I meant what I said in that meeting room. I googled a couple of you the night before, over wine with my sister. From what she's told me, I wouldn't have found much about you anyway.”
Now she was daring me to admit— What? That I hated social media with a burning passion? When it came to things I never wanted to deal with, it was right up there with having warts all over my dick. For the record, no, I never had warts on my dick.
I shrugged. “I don't feel the need to share my life with the world. It makes less trouble for the PR team. They don't have to worry about me posting photos of that night's puck bunny and having them go viral.” Compared to that, dick warts didn't sound so bad.
“Is that why you stay away from them?” she asked. “Because they want the publicity that might come from being associated with you?”
She hit the nail way too close to the head for my liking.
“Something like that,” I agreed. I pressed my lips together, hoping she'd get the hint that I didn't want to talk about it. “The guys think I should teach you about ice hockey.”
“Do they?” She stood and walked around the table before crouching down to pick the sheets of paper up off the floor.
My balls were quick to point out that her face was now at just the right height. I could almost feel her lips wrapped around me. Her tongue teasing me, cheeks inward as she sucked.
Shit. Quick, come up with some coherent response before she thinks you're a complete idiot.
“Yep. ”
That was more or less coherent. Go me. Yeah, sometimes I was my own cheerleader for the most dumbass reasons. Someone had to be.
“And what do you think?” She glanced up at me before tapping the edge of the papers on the edge of the table to line them all up.
“I figure, if we're getting a drink anyway,” I said slowly. “I could give you a few pointers.”
Yes please , my cock replied. I know exactly where to point .
Shut up , I told it. She's the boss, remember? She was also way too cute for my own good and probably hers. Was it too late to withdraw the offer of a drink, and teaching her about the game?
“You know what, maybe it's a bad idea,” I said. I took a couple of steps back, until I ran into the door frame.
Very smooth , I told myself.
“Maybe it is.” She placed a hand on the table and pushed herself to her feet. “Who would you suggest then? Nate? Zack? Or maybe Blake? They all seem nice enough.”
“No,” I said a bit too quickly. When she raised an eyebrow, I knew she had me well and truly trapped, and not just against the side of the door. How had I gotten myself into this position ?
“No?” she echoed.
“Nate is a player,” I said. “He thinks with the stick in his pants more than he does with one in his hand. I mean, the one for playing hockey, not… You know.”
She smiled at that, showing that one crooked tooth with all the perfect ones. The expression reached her eyes, brightening the room more than the sunlight that poured through the window.
“And the other two?” she prompted.
Her smile had faded too quickly. I wanted to see it again.
“Zack has mirrors in his bedroom,” I blurted. “He looks into them and asks who's the hottest player of all.” I had no idea if he actually did, but I was rewarded with a peal of laughter that sent a jolt of heat all the way through me. Even my cold, dead heart beat a little faster.
“And what about Blake?” She looked expectant, amused.
How was I supposed to top that?
I shrugged. “Blake lives at home. I don't know, but he probably sleeps in those pajamas with the feet attached.” I pointed down to my worn sneakers.
That drew another laugh from between her pillowy lips. “Maybe I like a guy who sleeps in footie pajamas.”
“You seem more like the type who likes a guy who doesn't sleep in pajamas at all,” I said without thinking.
“Like you?” Her gaze dropped below the waistband of my jeans again. Her cheeks turned flaming red. She looked back at my face, eyes wide, hand pressed to her chest, right over her luscious cleavage.
“I'm sorry. Now I'm the one who's out of line. I didn't mean to?—"
I pushed myself off the door frame and took a couple of steps towards her, my hand stretched out, palm raised toward her. “It's okay. I went there first. No harm, no foul.”
“Right,” she said uneasily. She swallowed hard. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was picturing me naked. And liking what she saw.
I should retreat back behind the red line. Get safely into my defensive zone and stay there. I should have come here with padding and a helmet on, stick in hand, to keep a safe distance from her. To keep her a safe distance from me.
Who was I kidding? She was better off on the other side of the city from me, not in the same room.
“So, about giving me pointers about hockey,” she said in a rush.
“My place,” we said at the same time.
That was followed by both of us saying, “Your place.”
Shit, could this get any more awkward?
“Shells?” I suggested.
“People will talk,” she replied. “If you like to keep your life private, that would be a bad idea.”
“For both of us,” I agreed.
“Right,” she said awkwardly. “We don't want people to assume there's anything going on between us when there's not.”
“No, there isn't,” I said. “If there was, I wouldn’t want people to talk about us.”
“Would you be ashamed of having a relationship with me?” Why did that seem to bother her so much? What almost seemed like hurt flashed through her blue eyes. Unless I imagined it. Yeah, of course I did. That made sense. No way would she be hurt by that for real. Probably.
“No, ‘course not,” I said. “But nothing is going to happen between us, so let's not give anyone the wrong impression. Right?”
“Right.” She blinked a couple of times. “Right. ”
She stepped over to the oversized desk and opened a couple of drawers before she found some paper and a pen. She wrote something on a sheet and folded it over before handing it to me. “My address and phone number. I trust you won't share this with anyone else. Especially guys who sleep in pajamas with feet.” She managed a watery smile. “You know where that is?”
I unfolded the paper and glanced at her flowery, but neat writing. “I can find the place.” Yeah, I knew the address. It was close to my apartment. Close enough that I could walk.
Not far for a booty call, my cock hinted.
Okay, that might have been the back of my brain. Apparently only the rational part of my mind was still keeping its pants on.
“Great. I'll line up a couple of replays and you can talk me through it.” Her tongue swiped over her plump lower lip.
I managed to tear my eyes away from her mouth and tuck the paper into the back pocket of my jeans. “I'll bring dinner.”
And no pajamas, I silently added. Not just because I slept naked, but because this was one thousand percent not a date. I'd explain a few things, then leave. I wouldn't even take a moment to look back. No way.
Now, if I could just convince the rest of myself of that.