Chapter 7 #2
Conrad rode to the game with August, so I drive us. And since there aren’t a lot of options at this time of night (and by unspoken agreement neither of us suggests MVP), I offer up my house.
“This is it,” I say as I lead him through the front door. I flip on a lamp in the living room and then turn to watch as Conrad steps inside.
He didn’t say much on the ride to my house. Which was fine because my head was still spinning from that kiss. I’m half convinced it didn’t really happen. If I took a puck to the head during the game tonight, I don’t want to wake up from my concussion dream.
Possible dream Conrad’s gaze roams over my small space. It’s a three-bedroom Craftsman-style home. Victor calls it a tuna can. I think it’s cute and cozy.
“I haven’t been home much this week,” I say, moving to the coffee table and stacking the papers and books into a tidy pile. I wasn’t expecting company, and it shows.
I face him, my breaths coming a little too quickly. He’s here, and I’m still in shock.
“I like it,” he says finally. Short and succinct.
“Thanks.” I move to the kitchen, mostly for something to do. “Do you want something to drink?”
I wince when I see the contents. “I have Dr Pepper, cheap white wine, or orange juice that might be past it’s ‘best by’ date.”
A hint of a smile pulls at his lips. “It’s been a long time since I had a Dr Pepper.”
I grab two and take them to where he lingers in the entryway, almost like he’s still considering calling off this redo date. “Okay, but if you hate it then you can never tell me.”
His lips quirk with another tiny smile. I offer him one of the cold cans.
His fingers wrap around it, pinky brushing mine.
I pop the top of my Dr Pepper. He does the same.
There’s something extremely erotic about watching a man open a can of soda.
Or maybe it’s just Conrad. Yeah, definitely the latter.
I wait for him to bring it to his mouth and take a sip. It really shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, seeing his lips press to the can and then his throat work with a swallow. That kiss has my body primed for more.
“Well?” I ask, taking a sip of my own soda.
It looks like he’s fighting a grimace. His voice is strained when he says, “I love it.”
“You hate it.” I gasp. A little of the heat coursing through me extinguishes.
“Uh-uh. It’s great.” He takes another drink, like he’s trying to prove his point. Except this time, he can’t hold off the look of disgust that flashes across his face.
“Oh no,” I whisper dramatically.
“It isn’t bad. Just a little sweet. I’m getting used to it now.” He takes yet another sip.
It pulls a laugh from me. “You really don’t have to keep drinking it.”
But I’m giddy when he does and that he’s talking—albeit he’s hating on one of my favorite things, but at least he isn’t completely silent.
I walk over to the couch and sit down. Conrad hesitates a beat, then follows me. He takes a seat on the opposite end, though my couch isn’t very big, so it still feels intimate. I cannot believe Conrad Shepard is in my house. Victor’s head would explode if he could see me now.
Neither of us speaks. I take another drink of Dr Pepper. I think I was too optimistic about the progress we were making. Maybe I should turn on some music or flip on the TV. As it is, I can hear the hum of the fridge. Which is admittedly noisy, but I’ve never noticed it this much before.
“Goon,” Conrad says.
The shock of him talking throws me off for a second, but then it’s what he said that I can’t make sense of. What were we even talking about before? We were quiet for so long, I’ve lost track.
He takes another drink without grimacing before continuing. “You once asked me what is my favorite hockey movie.”
I can’t believe he remembers that. I barely remember it. As in, I said so many things I’ve tried to block it all.
“And it’s Goon?” I ask, not able to hide my surprise.
He nods, and his smile is big and bashful. Frankly, it makes my insides flutter, and my heart rate speeds up. No person should walk around wielding that kind of power.
“Wow. This changes everything.” I lean away from him, pretending like I’m really put out. “Just one more sign that we could never work.”
“Then Miracle,” he says.
I grin, pulling closer to him now. “I knew it.”
“Come on, everyone loves Miracle. It’s a great movie.”
“Yeah, until you’re forced to watch it on repeat your entire childhood.”
“Brother?” he guesses. I shift a little in my seat and turn the soda can in my hands. I had hoped to avoid talking about Victor tonight.
“Yeah.”
“Did he play hockey too?”
“Yeah, he did.” Did. Does. They’re basically the same thing, right?
Conrad smiles softly at me. “And you?”
“Yep. My dad played in the minor league but got hurt before he could make it to the NHL. He had us in skates as soon as we could walk. I wasn’t very good, but I always loved the game. The running family joke was that I was the best cheerleader on the hockey team.”
His brows tug together. “That’s shitty.”
“No,” I say quickly. “They were only teasing me. And anyway, it was true. I was content to be on the sidelines as long as I got to be near it.”
“So you became a coach.”
I nod.
His stare falls back to my mouth and lingers there.
Is he thinking about that kiss earlier too? It’s basically all my brain can process. Which is unfortunate because it makes it hard to also come up with conversation topics.
He seems content to sit in silence, so I let myself get lost in the memory of his big hands on my face.
They were so gentle and firm at the same time.
Nothing about him is overbearing or possessive, but when he kissed me, I felt like he was in total control, and his intentions were crystal clear.
He wants me. I think I’m still wrapping my head around that. This gorgeous, shy man wants me.
My skin tingles with awareness. I want him too.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is low and apologetic. “I know I’m really bad at this.”
“You’re not as bad as you think.”
He quirks a brow as if he either doesn’t believe me or would like me to explain how I could possibly think that.
I set my soda on the coffee table and then angle my body to face him on the couch. The movement has my knee brushing against his leg. His gaze drops to the contact. I place my hands on his thigh. He tenses for a second, then without taking his eyes off me, sets his drink on the table too.
He’s into me. I can see that now, but I don’t know how to move us past this awkwardness.
“I have an idea,” I say. It’s either the best or worst one of my life.
He still doesn’t move as I lean forward, bringing my face inches from his. He truly is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Those blue eyes are bright and wholly focused on me. His Adam’s apple bobs.
“You like me, right?”
Conrad nods, stare dropping to my mouth again. It’s an intoxicating thing to have his quiet attention. There’s still so much I want to know about him, but I don’t need all the answers right now.
“Then how about we skip talking and you just kiss me again.”
I swear there’s a hint of relief on his face as he closes the distance between us.
His hands come to my face again, and his lips press into mine.
This kiss is less demanding than earlier, but goose bumps still pop up along every inch of my body.
My fingers rest on his hard chest. The heat of him seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt and that quick, steady thump of his heartbeat makes my own pulse race in unison.
“Talking is overrated anyway,” I say as I climb fully onto his lap. I try not to sit directly on his dick, but somehow manage to do just that. He lets out a pained groan as a throb pulses in my core. That was not intentional but wow.
“Sorry.” I shift, so I’m not rubbing up against him—though that’s exactly what I’d like to do.
“No. It’s . . .” His eyes close, and he groans again. His hands drop from my face to my waist, and he pulls me back onto his hard length.
I inhale a sharp breath and rest my forehead against his. A pleasant warmth pools low in my stomach.
“This isn’t why I came over . . .” His voice is rough and skates over my skin, sending another jolt between my thighs.
“I know.” I roll my hips as he sweeps his tongue into my mouth. I pull back. “Do you want to stop?”
He shakes his head. “But I should warn you that I’m probably not very good at this part either.”
A small laugh slips from my mouth. “Impossible.”
Then we’re kissing again. His fingers slip under the hem of my tucked shirt, and I slide higher on his lap. The thin material of my pants lets me feel every sensation as he slowly moves me over him. The ache builds, and our tongues tangle with a frantic edge.
Moments pass with us grinding and kissing and neither of us pushing things forward. I’m the first to break. Conrad is far more patient than I am. This isn’t what I imagined for tonight either, but now that he’s here and kissing me, I wish I had.
“I have condoms in the bedroom.” My mouth is on his again before he can answer, but I feel the slight nod of his head.
With some (a lot) of effort, I extract myself from his lap and stand between his legs. The way he looks at me is intoxicating, but he still says nothing.
I take one of his hands and pull slowly. “Come on, handsome.”
He does more of the work than I do, getting him to his feet. I walk backward as I lead him down the hall to my bedroom. My pulse races, and my heart is beating so fast with anticipation.
I don’t bother flipping on the overhead light, but there’s enough glow coming in from the moon that I can see the flush on his cheeks.