I slapped his chest, rolled my eyes, and grew serious again. “To answer your question, I tried to keep going, but my heart was no longer in it.”
He held my chin. “Because of the accident?”
My eyes widened. “How do you know about that?”
“Google.”
“You Googled me?”
“Yeah. You didn’t Google me?” He raised an eyebrow.
My lips pursed. “Yeah, but only to confirm you were on the hockey team and weren’t just making it up to stand against that wall.”
“You didn’t believe me?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “That was a blow to my ego, you know.”
“I figured,” I said. “You couldn’t have beenthathurt. You ended up coming home with my roommate that night.”
“I only came home with Marissa because I knew she was your roommate.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I wanted to see where you lived,” he said. I stared at him and waited for him to tell me he was kidding. He didn’t. “I wanted to know more about you.”
“So you thought, ‘Let me find out more about her by fucking her roommate’?”
“No.” He shot me a droll look. “I was never going to do anything with Marissa. Nothing happened between us.”
“I know,” I said. “But you let a girl sit on your lap at a party the following night.”
His lips spread into a slow smile. “You sure you weren’t interested in me, Lyla James?”
Ugh. I pressed my lips together and stared at his chest. I was grateful not to discuss the accident or soccer, but talking about this while I looked at his perfect body wasn’t any easier. No wonder every woman wanted to fuck him. The thought instantly soured my mood. Oh my God. Why was I doing this to myself? And why did I even care? I was being ridiculous.
“What are you thinking about?” He tilted my chin up.
I shook my head, still staring at his chest.
“Lyla.”
My eyes snapped to his. “I’m not thinking about anything.”
“You may not want to admit that you were curious about me from the beginning, but I was really fucking curious about you, and I watched you closely and often,” he said, searching my eyes. “I know every scowl, every frown, every hidden smile. I even know the ones you’ve never graced me with.”
“No, you don’t.” I scowled.
“I know your tells, Lyla James. Every single one of them.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, tilting my head a little more, so we were just a breath apart. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s really nothing.” I met his eyes. “I was just thinking that now I understand why all these women want you so badly.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Just looked. No smile. No frown. Nothing to give away what he was thinking. I waited; I was good at that. He brought his hand up and cupped my face, his expression softening as he searched my eyes. “Why are you thinking about that? None of them had me the way you do.”
“No, but they still touched you.”
“They didn’t mean anything.” He kissed my lips softly. “You think I like to think about anyone who touched you before me?” He gestured his head at the framed photos. “You have a framed picture with some guy, and I had to tell myself that whoever he is doesn’t matter because you’re with me now.”
“His name is Luke,” I said, looking at his chest again.
His muscles tightened. “I don’t want to know.”
