My mouth waters.
The back of my neck starts to sweat.
And a visceral feeling of life pulses through me, reawakening me in a way I never fucking saw coming.
“N-nice to meet you,” I say, hating that I stumbled over my words.
She releases my hand and returns to holding her iPad to her chest. “I was hoping I could borrow Halsey for a second.”
“Sure.” Posey slaps me on the back. “I’ll catch you in the locker room, man.” He moves around Blakely and says, “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” she says sweetly before turning toward me. “Do you mind coming up to the VIP suite with me?”
I swallow hard, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth and my palms sweating. “No, that’s fine.”
“Great.” That smile reappears, and my mind immediately commits it to memory. Blakely’s smile would give Julia Robertsa run for her money. Beaming . . . radiant . . . yet delicate, like she reserves it for certain people. “Let me lead the way.”
Her heels click against the concrete floor, and I attempt to keep my eyes level as I walk behind her, but they greedily betray me as they fall south, right to her heart-shaped ass.
Fuck . . .
With a harmonic sway, she steps one foot in front of the other, and with every shift, her dress curves around her tight, shapely ass. Gently sculpted lines, plump cheeks, the perfect ass to hold.
Or spank.
Yes, the perfect ass to spank.
Jesus, what am I even thinking?
She glances over her shoulder, giving me just enough time to avert my eyes as she says, “I just have a few things for you to sign if that’s okay? I considered bringing them down here, but I figured this might be easier. At least for me.” She winces. “Maybe not for you.”
“It’s good,” I reply, reminding myself she didn’t retrieve me to stare at her ass.You’re in a professional setting, you fucker, remember that.
She falls in step with me so we’re walking side by side. When we reach the elevator that leads to the VIP level, she asks, “I’m not messing up your pregame routine, am I?”
“No.” I shake my head, place my hands in my pockets, and stare at the floor. If you look at the ground, you’re not leering at her.
“Oh, good. I know how superstitious players can be.” She leans in close and whispers, “Are you one of them?”
I lift my eyes to hers, and fuck me . . . she’s so beautiful, it’s impossible not to stare.
Those eyes, I’ve never seen anything like them before. So light with barely a blip of color but so lively at the same time.There’s an energy in her irises that has tapped into a part of me I thought was nonexistent.
That died the night my twin brother died as well.
“Superstitious?” I ask just as the elevator opens. I hold the door for her, and she steps on first before I follow her. “Not really.”
“That’s good. Then I don’t feel that bad pulling you away from the locker room.” The elevator starts moving, and she asks, “Is it true that Levi Posey has to eat a bologna sandwich before every game?”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the elevator wall. “There’s always a stack of bologna in the players’ cafeteria for him.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a grown man eating bologna. But he kills it on the ice, so he should keep doing what he’s doing.”
The elevator doors open, and I block them as she exits. I follow closely, and we make our way down the hallway, past a few suites, and straight to the VIP suite that overlooks center ice.
She props the door open for me, but I quickly grab it and gesture for her to lead the way. She smiles sweetly and, as I follow her, I notice how long her legs are. Even with heels, I’m still taller than her. She’s much taller than every other woman we’ve walked by, but that doesn’t prevent her from wearing the shoes she wants, which makes her calves look insane.
“Right over here,” Blakely says as I lift my eyes again, refraining from staring.
