“And you’re not?” I counter softly and reach back and start to close the door.
“Leave it open,” Declan says, tension apparent in his voice. “It’s… it’s too hot in here with it closed.”
Yeah, the room has no windows but it’s notthathot. He just doesn’t want to be alone with me. I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended. Did that kiss ignite things inside him again like it did for me? Well, the truth is the feel of his lips on mine didn’t ignite anything so much as fan the flames that never died. I’ve longed for Declan since I knew what longing was. He was the first person who ever sparked a fire in me.
I leave the door but tap it lightly so it’s only ajar not wide open. As he drops into the chair behind the desk, I walk over and perch my ass on the edge of it instead of using the chair. I like the position it gives me, looking over him. From here I can see the way his plain white t-shirt clings to his rippled torso. The way his jeans press against his crotch as he spreads his legs wide. Most of all I like how much he doesn’t like me sitting here.
“We have chairs.”
“Don’t feel like using them.”
“This is a business meeting,” Declan reminds me and folds his arms across his muscled chest. “Would you sit on the desk of your coach?”
“I did once,” I reply without hesitation. “I knocked a guy out and when he hit the ground his blade sliced my thigh open. There was no space in the medical room, so I had to get stitched up in the coach’s office.”
“When was this? During that line brawl with Vancouver?” He’s too stunned by the story to realize he gave away a very important fact. He’s been watching my games.
I nod. “Yeah. So many guys were banged up and so I dropped gear and sat my bare ass on the coach’s desk while they stitched me up. Seventeen of ‘em from here to here.”
His eyes move to watch my index finger make a line midway up my thigh from the front to the inside. Then I slowly move my hand away, grazing it up toward my cock which is starting to wake up — fast. His eyes follow and hover on my crotch so I’m not sure if he even hears me where I add. “I’ll show you the scar, if you want.”
Declan blinks and suddenly stands up. “You wanna sit there, fine. So let’s get down to business. This day with the Cup thing. Terra briefed me and it’s turned into quite the production.”
“It’s the Stanley Cup. It’s a big deal.”
“I know that. And don’t get me wrong, the fact that you want me… my family’s restaurant to be part of it is an honor,” Declan replies and grabs some papers from the desk. He holds them out to me. “But I’ve spent all afternoon fielding calls from the publicist for your old team and the one for your new team and some Cup coordination guy from the league’s head office and everyone is acting like they have a say in this. And no one is on the same page, by the way.”
“Everyone kind of does have a say in it,” I tell him and reach to take the papers from him. I scan his neat, precise all-caps handwriting. He’s right, everyone is making demands. I smile when he has the word ARSE written next to the name of the head of public relations for my prior team because Carl LaMarcheisan arse. “But I’ll get Aspen to handle all of them and she’ll be your only point person, is that better?”
“Yeah. That would work.” Declan nods and brushes his hair back from his forehead. It’s a move he used to do in high school too, when he was vexed about something. I used to take it as the signal he needed a good blow job. “We still have a business to run here, so I can’t devote all our resources to planning this. I want it to go well though.”
“Yeah, me too.” I nod. “I think it will be good exposure for you guys.”
“I want it to be good for you Abbott, not for us,” Declan replies, and I can tell by the way he snaps his pretty lips shut after the words leave his mouth that he didn’t want to confess that to me. But he has so he inhales loudly and adds, “I know this is like every hockey player’s dream come true. It may never happen again, so I want you to be happy with the day.”
He steps away from the desk, and me, and starts pacing in the corner of the tiny room, over by the white board that has the weekly staff schedule on it. I realize Declan is doing what Declan does - trying to make space between us, not just physically but emotionally. So I let him, steering the conversation back to business. “I remember a few months ago you had an advertising team from Boston in here because you were looking for exposure. I think this will be good for that. And better than anything they could do because it’s organic.”
“Yeah, this is the exact kind of thing that I always wanted for us,” Declan admits. He stops pacing. Our eyes lock. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head and man, do I want to touch him right now. Every fiber of my being is aching for it. “I really did grow up in your restaurant.”
“In more ways than one.”
Did he just go there? All on his own?
I stand up and kind of lean over the desk. “Remember when we used to tell your mom we were doing homework together in here?”
He nods. “You fucking told her it was biology homework.”
“I could have said anatomy.” I grin and he grins back. It feels so good to smile with him.
“Thank God you didn’t. My face turned seven shades of red as it was.” He laughs.
A voice explodes the sexual tension filling the room like a grenade going off. “One Nor’ Easter for ya!”
Nova pushes the door wide open and drops a tray in the middle of the desk. She looks over at Declan. “And one for you, because I haven’t seen you eat today.”
She turns to me and points to the two bottles next to the lobster rolls on the tray. “The root beer is for Deck. The water is for you because I know you’ve got to maintain that hockey ass.”
