I bite down on my bottom lip as I try to picture his tattoos. I’ve seen many shirtless images of him online, so I know he’s covered in ink. But real life is very different from pictures on a screen, even if they are professional ones from underwear shoots and the like.
Now, I’m not saying that I’ve spent time studying those images of Everett in only a pair of tight boxer briefs, but I’m also not denying it, either.
It’s not until we’ve come to a stop at the dock and I rip my eyes from Everett that I realize someone is waiting for us to help moor the boat.
Everett throws him the ropes before he turns to me. The second our eyes collide, a breathtaking smile spreads across his face. And when he holds his hand out, I’m powerless but to slip mine into it.
He climbs up first before helping me and checking that I’m okay once I’m on solid ground.
I smile up at him, once again fighting the desire to feel his lips against mine and his hands sliding over my body.
“You’re pretty good at this dating thing, huh?” I tease as he leads me to his car.
“Who’d have thought it?” he laughs. “I thought my only skills with women lay in the bedroom.”
“Or a club wall,” I quip.
“Yeah,” he muses, pausing to reach for the passenger door for me. “I think about that often. It was hot.”
“Uh huh,” I agree, my cheeks heating.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve got myself off now with the memories on repeat.
The air between us turns so thick it’s almost impossible to drag in the air I need.
“We should do it again sometime,” he rasps.
Desire twists up my insides.
“Yeah, maybe,” I mumble. It’s not going to happen, no matter how much I might wish it would.
“You’re right,” he states. “Next time, it won’t be a rushed moment against a wall.”
My breath catches, and he leans closer, ensuring every breath I take is laced with his scent.
His lips brush my ear, and I only just catch my needy whimper before it spills free.
“And I’ll spend all night worshiping every inch of you.”
I lose the fight, and my whimper escapes a beat before he pulls back, taps me on the butt, and tells me to get in.
38
BEATRICE
It’s easy to forget the identity of the man I’m on a date with when it’s just the two of us. Until he mentioned that I didn't like his hockey persona, I’d pushed aside the fact that he’s a famous professional athlete. But the second he grabbed a baseball cap from his glove compartment and pulled it low over his face as we began walking down the promenade not so long ago, everything came crashing back down.
Our date has been perfect. But now, I’m achingly aware of how private it’s been. He planned it all so there was minimal chance of being recognized and photographed.
Unease twists my stomach.
Does he not want to be seen with me?
Everett Donnelly on a date will be hot news, no doubt.
But if—when—we’re spotted together, it won’t only be him being talked about. It’ll be me, too.
Right now, to Everett and those who are in my life, I’m just Beatrice Walsh. But to the world…
