“Think you could wait and watch it later?” Owen asks me hopefully.
“You could watch Blades of Knight instead,” Colton snickers. I assume that’s one of the movies Owen’s dad, a famous Hollywood actor, starred in.
“Fuck off,” is Owen’s response, before he adds, “They knew their stuff, but I’m not sure how much actually made it into the movie. Though if you need to know about going pro and stuff, I can probably get you in touch with some of them.”
I look to Noah, eyes wide as I’m about to freak out that he told them about my book. I don’t think I expressly told him not to, but it was very heavily implied.
“They know I taught you some hockey basics, because they’re assholes and don’t think I’m competent enough to teach any other subject,” he assures me, but his eyes promise that he hasn’t mentioned the book. Or so I hope.
“And skating, which is very much his skillset,” David adds.
* * *
“Want to wait for them and watch something else tonight?” Noah asks once we’re alone.
“We can wait,” I agree, trying not to smile at the idea that I’ll be back for another night like this. “Should you be going to Slapshots too?”
“Freshmen only,” he argues. “We do a fundraiser calendar with player profiles, and they keep forgetting about their interviews, or bailing, so they scheduled them at night in a bar with the promise of pitchers of beer.”
“Sounds illegal,” I point out.
“Better than what they drank when they tried to do it here. What movie?”
“You choose.”
Noah scrolls through the top options, then casually says, “I think my laptop is still logged into Izzie’s account upstairs, we can watch Code Name: Violet.”
I assume this is a movie, but it doesn’t ring any bells.
“Trying to lure me to your bedroom?” I want to sound teasing and confident, but my heart is pounding in my chest, and I am achingly aware of everywhere his hand is touching mine.
“Didn’t think I had to trick you.” He cocks his brow with a hint of concern.
“I want to be here,” I assure him.
“I’m happy you are.”
* * *
Noah puts a bunch of pillows against the headboard, then sets up his laptop. It seems to be a spy movie with superpowers, but we don’t even make it past the backstory before he tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him instead of the screen.
“Can I kiss you now?”
He stares at my lips while wetting his.
Instead of answering, I lean forward and kiss him.
I’m hurried yet tentative, because most of my makeout sessions were stolen moments at summer camp, but as my nerves settle, I find that Noah is in no rush to bring things further. He seems content to kiss me, slow and sensual, his tongue tangling with mine as heat pools between my thighs. I moan, which would be embarrassing if he didn’t make a similar sound before pulling me closer, not the least bit demanding, but still setting my every nerve on fire.
One of his hands is cupped behind my head, his thumb caressing my neck, while the other is on my hip, steadying me. I have no idea what to do with mine, but bunching them at my side feels silly, so I rest them on his chest. Which is a terrible idea, because his chest is all muscle and my hands have a mind of their own as they travel down, exploring his chiseled abs through his shirt. I reach the hem and hesitate, biting my bottom lip in a way that makes Noah groan, so I take a deep breath and run my fingers along his stomach.
“I’m sorry.” I pull back when he hisses. “My hands are cold.”
“Relax, Peaches.” He laughs then kisses me, which effectively turns my nerves to jelly. “Let’s warm these.”
Noah brings my hands to his chest, then wraps his around them, placing a gentle kiss on my exposed knuckles, which shouldn’t heat them, but it does.
“I’m fine.” I struggle to find my voice. “I just meant, because you…”
