Chapter 18
Eighteen
Colt
Laughter drifts down the hall and into the room, sliding over my skin like the softest silk.
Making me go hard…something that doesn’t feel great since I’m wearing a cup.
But I ignore it as I get to my feet, breezing by Lake, ignoring the storm cloud that’s Storm (kid’s going to earn that as his permanent nickname if he doesn’t get his shit together), and slipping out into the hallway.
She’s there.
My palms itch to touch. My dick twitches and I wince, adjusting it before I move down the hall to her.
She’s talking to Damon, who breaks off and lifts a brow at me. “Colt?” he asks when I don’t go away.
“I can wait.”
His eyes slant toward Kylie. “Go on. I’ll catch up to you—”
“Oh, not for you,” I say.
His brows fly up.
“I can wait until Kylie’s done.”
Now they nearly reach his hairline. “You can wait?” A beat. “Until Kylie’s done?” His tone has murder laced into it, no doubt about that.
“Damon,” she begins, setting a hand on her brother’s arm. “Don’t.”
A flickering muscle in his jaw, raging blue eyes—so much like his sister’s—locked onto mine. “Don’t what?”
“You know what,” she says quietly. Pointedly. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit. Damon.”
He finally looks at her and the moment stretches in long, taut silence.
Then he sighs and strides off, anger in each and every line of his body.
Fuck.
Well, that’s going to be a problem.
“What are you doing?” she hisses, moving over to me, her hand landing on my chest. The contact sears into me, reminding me of last night, of the touches and kisses I’d snuck over dinner, of her body close to mine when I walked her to her car and kissed her goodnight.
“Did you think I was going to hide us? Hide what we’re building?”
She pokes at my pec. “No, but we’ve had dinner a couple of times, Colt. We’ve kissed and spent some nights together on the side of the road—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she snaps. “Tell the truth? First, you tell my kids that you’re my boyfriend—something I should have confronted you about last night, but you distracted me with all your…wonderfulness.”
Her scowl is fucking adorable.
But I don’t think me kissing it off her lips would go over all that well.
“Maybe it wasn’t true then.” I tuck the strand of hair behind her ear, the one that always seems to get in her eyes. “But it sure as shit is true now.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. “You’re kidding me.”
“No. It took two years for you to talk to me, to touch me, there’s no way I’m going backwards now.”
“Well we’re not going into warp speed now.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes bug out of her head. “Why not? Why not?” She tosses her hands up and I can’t help it.
I smile.
She sees it.
“Oh, my God. You’re playing me.”
I’m not.
I want nothing more than to have her in my life permanently, as mine, not someone else’s. Just mine.
But I also like the fire in her eyes right now, the way she swats at me.
So, I can wait for her to come around, to accept that she belongs to me.
I can be sneaky and patient.
“Damon isn’t happy.”
“Like I said”—I touch her cheek—“I won’t hide what we’re building.”
She studies me for a long moment.
Then sighs and shakes her head. “Fine. But no more boyfriend talk.”
No fucking way am I agreeing to that.
“I’m serious! Damon could trade you or bench you or—”
“He won’t.” I brush my knuckles over her cheek, along her throat. “Not only is he too good of a GM to allow that to happen, he wants to see you happy, Teach. As long as I’m doing that, I’m safe.” I grin. “Plus, Coach would never agree to it.”
She exhales and it’s sharp and annoyed and…
Then her eyes go soft.
“Incorrigible.”
“You like it.”
“No more boyfriend talk.”
“Have lunch with me when I get back from the road trip.” We’re leaving tonight after the game and will be gone almost a week.
Her head tilts to the side, ponytail swinging. “I’ll have projects to grade.”
“I’ll help.”
“And steal kisses along the way,” she accuses.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“See?” She shakes her head. “Incorrigible.”
I lean close, my lips very near her ear. “And see?” I flick out my tongue to taste her, unable to stifle the bolt of arrogant pride that slides through me when she jumps, her hands settling on my shoulders, nails biting into my flesh. Drawing me closer instead of pushing me away. “You like it.”
She shudders. “Colt.”
“I have it on good authority that you may be able to turn lunch into dinner too.”
Her nails dig in harder.
My dick protests the confines of the cup and there’s nothing more than I want to do right now than drag her to the nearest dark corner and show her exactly how much I like the feel of her nails on me.
But…slow and patient.
And sneaky.
I kiss the delicate, adorable earlobe of hers then straighten. “So, Teach…lunch when I get home?”
A long pause, her eyes going from unfocused to sharp. They hold mine. Search mine. Then she nods. “Fine.”
“So gracious,” I tease.
She sighs, shakes her head as she shoves me in the direction of the locker room. “Get dressed. It’s almost time for puck drop.”
“Will you be watching?”
“Will you…” Her eyes flick down. “…make it worth my while?”
I wince, try to adjust myself unobtrusively.
But that’s nearly impossible.
Especially when her smile grows and she lifts on tiptoe, lips at my ear. “If you do…you might even be able to talk me into breakfast.”
Red hazes the edges of my vision.
My dick threatens to break in half.
And then she flicks her tongue out to taste my earlobe.
My hands drop onto her waist, drawing her against me before I realize what I’m doing, before I can measure her body language, her expression, her eyes for any sign of fear.
But even as I try to force my hands to open, to let her go, she drags her lips along my jaw, brushes her mouth over mine.
“Honey?” she murmurs.
“Y-yeah?” I manage to rasp out.
“Make it good enough and maybe we’ll revisit that boyfriend talk.”
Then she’s slipping out of my arms and I’m watching her saunter down the hallway…
Having the distinct notion that I’ve been out-sneaked.