Chapter 3
THREE
HANNAH
“Hannah.”
Brody stares at me, my name a warning.
“What?” I feign innocence and stand on my toes to grab two glasses from the cabinet.
Heat engulfs me from behind, his presence known before I can see him.
His firm chest presses against my back. Our hands brush when we both reach for the decanter of liquor.
“I’m talking about whiskey. What are you talking about? ”
“You know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing anything.” I pour us each a drink. There’s barely any distance between us when I spin, facing him, and his fingers graze mine when he takes the glass from me. “Lighten up, birthday boy.”
“Cheers,” he says, a deep and rumbly tone I feel all over my body.
We knock the drinks together and take a sip in unison.
His eyes never leave mine while I swallow, and when I bring the glass away from my lips, Brody lifts his free hand.
He brushes his thumb against the corner of my mouth where a drop of liquid sits. “That’s better.”
Holy hell.
I wonder if it’s scientifically possible to combust from a single touch, because I’m on the precipice of imploding.
I knew he was a large specimen of a man, but seeing his palm up close and knowing it could easily wrap around my throat nearly sends me into a tailspin.
I let out a laugh and move for the couch, sitting on the cushions. I pat the open space next to me, watching him drop his head back and stare at the ceiling.
“I shouldn’t.”
“Then don’t.” I shrug and sip my drink, turning to look out the window at the city lights twinkling below. “Makes no difference to me.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I notice him shift on his feet. He downs the rest of his whiskey in one swallow and sets the empty glass on a table before walking my way.
Brody sits beside me and lifts my legs so there’s room for him. He drapes my calves over his thighs, slings an arm over the back of the couch, then sighs. I giggle.
“What?” he asks.
I hide my smile when he rests his hand on my shin. “Nothing.”
“I don’t like secrets.”
“For a guy who was reluctant to come up, you sure look comfortable.” I laugh when he scowls. “It’s okay to have fun, Brody.”
“I have plenty of fun.”
“Let me guess: You play chess. Wait. No. You do the crossword puzzle in the morning. With a pen.”
“Both are good for keeping your brain sharp.”
“Which is important at your advanced age.”
“Fucking brat.”
He strokes his thumb up my calf, stopping when he gets to my knee. I shiver, embarrassed to admit the effect he has on me. It’s a blessing when my phone chimes to let me know the pizza is here.
“I’ll be back,” I say, standing.
The weight of his gaze is heavy on my shoulders on the walk down the hall. I smile at the doorman who hands over the cardboard box, and a pitstop in the kitchen has me rummaging through my junk drawer until I find what I’m looking for.
In the living room, Brody is in the same spot where I left him. He glances up as I approach with a burning candle placed in the middle of the pizza.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Your cake.” I hold it out to him. “Make a wish.”
“A wish.” His eyes stay on me when he leans forward, blowing out the candle. He pulls it out of the pizza, licking it clean, and I squeeze my thighs together at the sight of his tongue. “Done.”
“I hope it comes true.”
“So do I.”
“Happy birthday, Brody.”
“I don’t need any of this.” He takes the box from me and puts it on the coffee table. He reaches for my hand, tugging me back to the couch. “And it’s not going to get me to eat pineapple pizza.”
“I would say my plan has been thwarted, but not everything is about you.” I grab a slice and take a bite, moaning at the melted cheese. “You should have some.”
“Fuck. That sound.” Brody’s throat bobs. He scrubs a hand over his face and closes his eyes. “You’ve been distracting me all night.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“What is there to get, Brody?”
“We shouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Did I do something wrong?” I set the slice of pizza down, dusting off my hands. The shift in his mood is confusing. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, but I—”
“Uncomfortable? You could never make me uncomfortable.” His eyes blink open, and they’re darker than before. “You asked me what I do for fun, Hannah, and tonight it was thinking about all the ways I’d fuck you if I had the chance.”
“You want to fuck me?” I whisper. The world tilts on its axis. “Is this a joke? You don’t talk to me at team events. You don’t even look my way. I thought you hated me.”
I tried to not let it bother me when he didn’t acknowledge me at the team’s Friends and Family night last fall. I pretended not to notice when he walked past me earlier tonight during the on-ice celebrations and shook everyone else’s hand. He’s never been mean about it, but it still stings.
I’ve been operating under the assumption Brody Saunders couldn’t care less about my existence this year.
I guess I was wrong.
“I don’t hate you. This season has made it painfully obvious I’m attracted to you,” he says. “And I can’t do anything about it no matter how badly I want to.”
“What?” This is too much information to process after a couple of drinks. After his gaze shifts and he stares at me with white-hot intensity. The temperature in the room swells to unbelievably warm, and I’m a little lightheaded. “You like me?”
“I shouldn’t have told you any of that.” Brody shakes his head. “I should go.”
“Or you could stay and tell me more about the ways you would fuck me,” I blurt, emboldened by the way his eyes rake down my thighs. Hungry, aching. “If that’s what you want, you should do it.”
“It is my birthday,” he murmurs. A justification for why he should give in. The reasoning behind his decision.
“It is.”
“And I’ve been so fucking good this year.”
“I bet you have.”
Time stops.
I’m no longer breathing.
One minute, neither of us are moving. The next, I’m on top of him, straddling his thighs. Brody meets me halfway, a hand on the plane between my shoulders, the other under my ass. His fingers fan out over my backside, twisting the fabric of my skirt and giving it a tug.
“Hannah,” he growls, mouth inches away from mine. His teeth nip at my bottom lip, and warmth overtakes me. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty fucking sure,” I breathe out, lowering myself onto his lap.
He pulls back and scans my face, searching for any sign of hesitancy. When I give him a small nod, I swear he growls.
“Fuck it,” he says, losing the war with himself. A battle I’m glad to win. “I don’t give a shit anymore,” he adds, and his lips crash against mine.