“You forgot one,” I say.
“I didn’t. You’re going to eat that one.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are, Shiv. Try it.”
I don’t know why, but his tone feels like fingers going down my spine in the most delicious way. Obediently, I stab the gross little thing with my fork and put it in my mouth. I freeze as soon as my mouth is closed. Oh. My. Fuck. Disgusting. Ew, what is that texture? I’m going to throw up. This isn’t the kind of event where I can spit it into my napkin, is it? I look at Dasan pleadingly.
He’s incredibly amused. Leaning closer to me, he says in the sexiest fucking voice, “Swallow, Shively.”
Okay, I’mpositivethat was flirty. My cock twitches as I do what he says. Where’s the water?! That was awful.
Dasan, still chuckling, slides a glass of water toward me, and I chug it. “Eat your chicken,” he says, and I watch him eat the other two mussels from my plate. Thank fuck he’s here, or I might have been stuck with gross things.
He makes the night bearable. Actually, he makes it pleasant. Dasan takes from my plates and adds things that I eat, which makes me wonder how he knows what I will and won’t eat. I try not to convince myself that means he pays attention to me.
He remains by my side throughout the rest of the night as well. In his company, I forget that I’m in an uncomfortable tux surrounded by people I don’t know. We talk and laugh, and I have to say, I enjoy myself.
It’s easy and comfortable right up until I realize we’re standing outside Dasan’s hotel room door. Whatever I’d been saying dies on my lips. My heart races as he opens it and steps inside. His eyes meet mine, and for a minute, we just stare.
“Want to come in, Shively?” Dasan asks, his voice low and smooth and sexy.
With everything inside me, I want to. But… That’s a really, really bad idea.
CHAPTER 2
DASAN UKIAH
I’ve always hadafeelingabout Shively Myers. From the moment I was traded to Winnipeg, a feeling in my gut spoke to me about him, though I’m not entirely sure what it’s been saying.
He’s a sexy man in his early forties with graying hair above his ears and striking blue eyes. He’s unfailingly neat and put together. The word “distinguished” comes to mind when I look at him.
The sides of his head are shaved short enough that it’s barely there but visible enough to see that it’s almost all silver. The top of his head is neatly styled in such a way that I imagine grabbing a fistful.
I almost always see him in a suit of some kind. Even when it’s practice or travel days, even if that suit is missing its jacket and without a tie.
Right now, as I stare at him standing outside my hotel room door, I see other things too. For instance, the little spots of white in the hair around his mouth. The way his hands are fisted together, as if he’s trying to keep himself from stepping inside. His eyes don’t leave mine. His breaths are quicker than usual.
He looks down the hall to his right, then his left. Meeting my eyes again, he swallows and shuffles backward half a step. Just when I think he’s going to walk away, he steps inside.
A rush of excitement moves through my body as I shut the door behind him. I lock the bolt then flip the extra doorstop, though I keep his eyes locked with mine the entire time.
I’m standing almost toe to toe with him. I’ve never realized that he’s a few inches shorter than me. Even though I’ve been in his company all night, I’m just now noticing this since we’re so close. His face has to turn up to look at me when I’m in his space like this.
He’s inside my room, so that means we’re on the same page, right? I should ask. Instead, I frame his jaw and neck with my hands and bring his exquisite lips to mine. Shively groans almost immediately, his lips parting.
That’s all the invitation I need to taste him. The first note I get is champagne, which is maybe a little concerning. Sighing, I pull my mouth from him and ask, “How much have you drunk tonight, Shiv?”
His pupils are already beginning to dilate as he looks at me a little dazed. He’s entirely moldable. I can feel it in the way he’s completely amenable to my touch right now. Waiting for me.
“What?” he asks, blinking himself back from wherever his mind had been.
“How much have you had to drink tonight? A bottle of champagne? Two?”
Shively makes a face. “Eh, no. I couldn’t stomach even a quarter of a bottle. I took only a sip or two from most of the glasses in my hand before handing them off.”
“What else have you drunk?”
