“I bet that’s fun to watch.” I notice Harlow scanning the arena.
“You’re searching for girlfriends and wives of the players, aren’t you?” I state with a flat tone, yet feeling a grin break out.
Her head tilts side to side. “Guilty.”
“Most of the away team’s wives or girlfriends aren’t here. They tend not to travel with the team. As for Seattle, they’re most likely up in a box on the other side of the arena or maybe watching closer to the ice, though I haven’t seen them appear on the screen.”
She chortles a laugh. “Just look on their social media and I’m sure you can solve the mystery.”
“Probably.”
“Hey, Stone,” she affectionately says my name.
“Hey, Harlow,” I return the sentiment.
“Thanks for arranging this. It’s been fun.”
“Funfun? Or fun as in you’re now a fan and will be turning on the game when your schedule allows?”
She gives me a short laugh. “Probably the latter, to be honest. Just need to find someone in Florida who will join me to watch with wine in hand.” My arm loosens and drops. I don’t enjoy that thought. Harlow pinches my arm playfully. “As in a friend. Maybe one of the girls from my Zumba class or something.”
I blow out a breath, relieved, but she raises another point. “I guess I live in Lake Spark, so I won’t be much help.”
An awkwardness comes over us. “Right.” Her T is tight. “We don’t live near one another. Not even close.”
Fuck distance.
And fuck the crowd for erupting into celebration because Seattle just got a goal. The noise completely ruins any hope of discussing a tiny practical matter between Harlow and me, because I’m cursing the referee’s decision on that play; the forward should have totally had the ref on his ass. I’m enjoying my time with Harlow, but hockey is hockey.
* * *
Walkingdown the hall of the hotel, Harlow surprises me. She brings her fingers to mine to interlace so that we’re holding hands.
I’m completely gone.
This is saccharine, yet I’m all in. The thought of pushing her against the wall and slipping my hand up her thigh until I feel her heat and sliding along her slit… I’ve tucked that thought behind a wall in my head, hoping it will eventually come to fruition.
We approach her room, and I assume this is where I bid her good night.
“I’m happy we got out of the hotel and played tourist before you made me a hockey fan,” she tells me.
“It was a great day.” And I feel the pull toward her even stronger. “I should probably let you head to bed since you have a morning flight back to Florida.” I’m choosing the safest option to round off our night.
But she surprises me when she yanks my fingers closer to her.
“Sleep in my bed again.” A wry smile doesn’t falter on her lips. She wants this.
I swallow, reminding myself that I have to keep it down a notch from how I want to touch her, lick her, and make her moan. The willpower and desire to fulfill her wishes overpower me, which is why it doesn’t take long for me to answer. “Yeah, sure.” I’m trying to be casual about this, but I was hoping that she would invite me in. I mean, we’ve done it already.
Her smile turns to a beaming one before she turns to swipe the keycard.
I follow Harlow into her room, and when we arrive in the middle, she turns sharply to face me, nearly running into my chest.
“There is one more thing,” she mentions.
“What is it?”
A smirk appears on her face as she takes a sensual step forward and plants her hands on each side of my face. “Kiss me again,” she whispers.
