When she went straight for the kid, the fact that I had never seen her before made a little more sense. She must be related to Coach's old lady. That would explain the way her toned body made my dick twitch like Monte's girl's does—respectfully, of course. But as I really read her, analyzed her movements like I would an opponent's, something else reeled me in.
It was how her eyes never once lingered on anyone. A few dozen pros all gathered together and a puck bunny would foam at the mouth. But this fucking goddess beelined it for Cooper, then went straight to the bar, her independence evident, bravado clear.
Sort of like it is right now.
"You okay with this?" I ask, tracing her collarbone with the tip of my finger. Goosebumps spread up her neck, her lips parting as I follow them north.
"You're asking now that I'm half-naked in front of you?"
A lazy smile spreads across my lips. "Well, when I asked if you wanted to get out of here, I didn't exactly mean the lobby bathroom."Thoughthat didn't stop me from following her into the single stall like a goddamn puppy.
She turns her lips in and winks at me. "It's fine," she says, reaching for my coat. "I have to get back in there after, and there's apparently something I'm missing about doing it against the sink." My brow creases as she undoes my button. "Not like that, it's—just forget it. Come here."
She pulls me by my jacket, slipping her hands underneath the flaps at my shoulders. I let it fall to my elbows before I take it off and hang it on the hook that sits on the back of the door.
"So, you know me," I say, turning back to her. It's more of a statement than a question considering she called me by name, but there's no missing the despair in my voice.
Looking back and forth between my eyes, she studies me for a moment, unflinching.
No judgement.
No assumptions.
"Knowyou?" She shakes her head. "I understand who you are, but I wouldn't say Iknowyou."
My lungs fill with air for the first time in two days. Everyone has had even more to say about who I am in the last forty-eight hours. I'm sulking, going through a crisis, a disappointment, or my personal favorite—a total buzzkill. They're mad that for the next few months I'll be riding the bench instead of performing for them. They don't care aboutme.They don't evenknowme. And this total stranger might be the first to see that.
"What's your name?" I ask hesitantly, sliding my palms past her cheeks.
"Kiss me," is all she says in response.
Inching closer, our lips barely touch. "Tell me, baby."
With that last word, her mouth presses to mine.
I consider objecting, pulling away and insisting that I learn the name of the one person who hasn't mentioned my biggest regret. But when her tongue grazes my lips, asking for permission, my whole body melts into her. I open and allow her in, andholy fuck, this might be the best kiss of my life.
It's not even the way she tastes—although her mouth could easily be a delicacy—or the way she runs her teeth gently across my bottom lip, somehow knowing exactly what I like. It's how our mouths fall instantly into a rhythm like they're already familiar with one another. Like they were meant for each other. Like every other kiss either of us has ever had was just practice for this one.
The girl with no name drags her fingertips down the length of my back, and I arch into her, realizing I'm still wearing my clothes. Normally, I'd be naked in less time than it takes for a woman to ask how many points I scored in my last game. But this girl has me humming without an inch of my skin exposed.
Slipping my hands between us, I keep our embrace as I find my top button. In response, Mystery Girl places her palms over my knuckles and pulls back breathlessly. "No time."
She drags our hands, still wrapped together, to the waist of my pants, letting out a soft whimper as her fingers brush against my hard cock below it. "Just these," she whispers, her face still so close to mine that our heavy breathing mixes together.
I can't help the smirk that forms between us despite the fact that my dick thinks this is anything but funny. Most women either want the full treatment or are pissed if I do decide we're making this quick. They want the full show—the guy they've imagined. But here, I don't think I could be anyone else even if I tried. Luckily, she doesn't seem to care. And for once in this situation, I'm not calling the shots.
"You're bad, aren't you, Mystery Girl?"
She purses her lips, and I swear I catch a roll of her eyes despite how close our faces are. "Not bad," she says. "Well… maybe." She snickers, then wraps her hand around mine and brings it between her legs. "But right now I'm just more ready than anything."
She guides my first two fingers under the black lace, right between her legs, andholy shit.
She. Is. Drenched.
"Fuck," I groan, sliding them up and down her center. "Youareready, baby."
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
