Our closeness makes his size seem even more intimidating as he towers over me; he’s so massive that anyone behind him, who might be looking our way, wouldn’t see me because I’d be hidden by his frame.
“Maybe I just wanted you towantto share your name with me instead of me assuming it.” Reaching out, he swipes my glass from my hand, glancing at the lipstick print on the rim. He lines it up with his own mouth before taking a drink, his eyes finding mine as he swallows.
I don’t know what the hell that was or why it made the room a thousand degrees warmer, but it felt like he was communicating a message—one that’s very clear as he slowly licks his lips before his teeth rake his bottom lip–he wants me . . . and he wants to taste me.
“Mmm,” he hums, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Delicious.”
It takes everything in me to keep my jaw from hitting the floor as his words swirl in my mind, repeating over and over. He knew damn well what he was doing and what he was conveying.
No shame. No guilt. No hesitation to break the well-known rule about not dating a coach’s daughter. One that he personally set for me in highschool, the same one I have no plans on straying from.
“I know,” I mutter sassily, taking my glass back from him, our fingers brushing together.
Holding on to his stare, I use the napkin I was fidgeting with and wipe the lipstick and his touch from the glass.
As hard as I try, I can’t fight the menacing smile lifting my lips. I would feel bad if Bates didn’t look like he was loving every second of it.
If anything, I think my stubbornness only made him like me more.
“Let me take you to dinner. My treat. You pick the place, or I can surprise you. Either works for me. Just don’t say no.”
I scoff, both shocked by his forwardness and the thought that my answer could be so simple.
Bates seems nice and warm, and he is clearly interested in me.
On paper, this is what I’ve wanted more than anything after my last relationship—to be seen and desired—like he’s making me feel. But—and it’s the hardestbutever—he plays for my dad.
My dad’s always forbidden me from dating any of his players—more so when I was younger, but I know the rule still stands. And if anything, the stakes have only gotten higher with the success of the Sinners.
He’s so close to achieving his dreams, and I know damn well that my soulmate isn’t some rich hockey player whose DM’s are probably flooded with romantic and sexual pursuits.
I spent the last year of my past relationship never feeling like enough. I doubt I can satisfy a pro hockey player. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. I already knew my answer before he walked over here, no matter how hot our chemistry might be.
Maybe a one-night stand wouldn’t be so bad?—
No. Stop that.
“Thinking long and hard …” Bates trails off, pulling me from my thoughts. His stare is still on mine, flickering to my cheeks as the burn deepens in them.
“You seem great, honestly. But I don’t date hockey players my dad coaches.”
His response almost immediately leaves his full, kissable lips. “So, what you’re saying is, I need to transfer teams, and I’ll have a shot?”
My eyes roll at his insane thought process and the loophole. “But you’re not, and you won’t.”
“I might.” He grins, his thumb brushing the top of my hand that’s holding my glass.
Jesus. I had no idea we had drifted so close to one another.
I’m craning my neck back to look up at him, even with these heels on. The angle is intoxicating. I know with a simple stretch of his arms, he could encompass me completely.
His aroma hits my nose, and without thought, I breathe in deeply.
“You’re cute.” I reward his persistence with a compliment. “But the answer is still no.”
He clutches his heart, his face contorting with agony. Although the grin that appears on his lips a moment later shows little of his pain. I think he’ll be just fine, handling my rejection.
“How can I convince you that I think we’re soulmates?” He presses as I take a sip of my wine.
