“Some might say it was well-earned.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She exhales. “But it is hockey.”
“Exactly.” I wink and she smiles at me before she returns her focus to the vista in front of us. It’s dark, only a few lights glimmering in the distance, but it’s enough to outline the shadows of the trees, the border of the lake.
I know if we walked all the way to its edge we’d hear the soft lapping of the waves on the shore, if we dipped our fingers inside it would be icy cold.
“Tell me about the papers?”
She ducks her head and I know if it was light, her cheeks would be pink.
“Tell me,” I order, turning my body on the log so I’m facing her.
She nibbles at her lip but when she looks up at me, mischief is creeping back into her eyes.
“What?”
“I guess…” She sighs and turns to face me, mirroring my position. “I guess you showed me yours so I should show you mine.”
A flicker of heat in my belly, sliding down, wrapping invisible fingers around my dick and stroking.
I ignore it, know there’s no room for it, not right now.
Not when I have to give her something good.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I begin.
“Don’t I?”
“Baby—”
She presses a finger to my mouth, halting my words. “I’m a terrible grader. There.” She tosses up her hands. “I admitted it, okay? Every year—hell, every quarter, I have the best of intentions. I tell myself I’m going to stay ahead of the papers, give the kids their essays back on time, and it never fails that I find something ‘more important’ to do and the papers start multiplying.”
“They do that?” I ask lightly.
“Like bacteria,” she says in a mock-grumble. “Within twenty-four hours they start reproducing—one paper turns into two turns into four turns into sixteen. And then I’m overrun.”
My reply is dry. “I didn’t know they could do that.”
She grins up at me. “Didn’t you?”
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“What are these more important things?” I ask lightly. “The ones that cause your grading to start reproducing?”
Her grin widens. “Oh you know,” she says off-handedly.
“I don’t know.” A beat. “Hence why I asked.”
“Hence? That’s a big word for a big, dumb hockey player,” she teases, mimicking my earlier words.
I tug lightly at her ponytail. “Brat.”
She giggles. “Just channeling my younger sisterliness.”
If there’s anything I’m thinking about Kylie, it sure as fuck isn’t sisterly.
“Still, considering Damon is your brother, I don’t think you’re unfamiliar with hockey players using big words.”
