He always looks good.
But right now—smiling quietly, fingers brushing crumbs from the corner of his mouth, soft in a way no one else seems to notice—he’s unfair levels of gorgeous. I want to kiss him in front of everyone so they all know he’s mine, gorgeous.
My gaze drifts and lands on the bruise along his collarbone, just beneath the edge of his shirt. I gave him that before we left my place yesterday morning. And I plan on kissing it again once we get back to the hotel.
I smirk into my drink and take another sip.
Peter’s now mid-story, wildly reenacting hisgame-savingblock—which really wasn’t game saving with us up by three points, but no one calls him out—with ketchup bottles and way too much hand movement for someone sitting in a crowded booth. Eli laughs so hard he nearly snorts soda out his nose, and Blue’s already arguing about who really made the play.
But I barely register it.
Because Todd’s looking at me now. Not just glancing across the table butlooking. As though he can read my mind and knows how possessive I’m feeling right this second..
The corner of his mouth lifts, slow and knowing, like he’s daring me to do something about it.
And yeah, that’s a dangerous thought. Pretty sure it would ruin everything. So I do theonlything I can do without broadcasting it to the whole team. I slide my foot across to him under the table and nudge his shoe. He lifts one brow, the smile spreading across his face, and I can’t help the grin that answers it.
My heart is racing inside my ribcage and my palms feel a little sweaty, as though I’m a teen on my first date with a guy. It’s almost the exact same feeling, minus that slight feeling ofwanting to throw up I had back then. Now, it’s just excitement. Simple flirting in secret around everyone…
I lift my drink to take another sip and almost choke on it as his foot runs up my leg and his toed shoe runs over my inner thigh.
Daniel pats my back like I’m choking to death, not just trying to survive Todd’sentirely inappropriatefoot under the table.
“I’m good,” I rasp, clearing my throat and glaring at Todd across the booth.
He blinks, all innocent, like he didn’t just run the edge of his shoe up the inside of my thigh like heownsme and not the other way around.
“Sure?” Todd asks, still laughing like the smug bastard he is. “You went a little red there.”
“You try inhaling soda,” I mutter, wiping my mouth with a napkin and trying very hard not to rearrange myself in my jeans.
Peter’s already moved on, recounting his hit in the second period with the dramatic flair of someone auditioning for a movie role, but I’m only half listening.
Todd’s eyes flick to my mouth again, like he’s waiting for me to crack.
I won’t.
Probably.
Maybe.
“You’re evil,” I mouth across the table.
He shrugs one shoulder, all calm and collected. But there’s heat in his gaze now. Awareness. As if he’s not finished yet.
I sit back, trying to get it together while the guys start debating whether it was actually Blue who caused theoffsides call or if Daniel’s footwork is to blame. Everyone’s loud. Happy. Riding the high of a win. And I should be leaning into that, too—just one of the guys, laughing and talking shit.
But all I can think about is Todd’s foot. And the fact that we still have a hotel room waiting. And a bruise on his collarbone that I fully intend to revisit.
He catches me staring again, of course, and raises his brows like,What?
I smirk.You know what.
He doesn’t look away. God, I’m so fucking screwed. Not because I want him. That part’s obvious.
But because I think—No. Not here. Not now. Not when I’m still half hard from a shoe.
“Logan,” Eli says, snapping me out of it. “You gonna finish that?” He points to the last few fries on my plate.
