“I didn’t even think of that.” Dove nods slowly. “That would be so embarrassing, and potentially dangerous.”
“How about you, Mav?” She lifts her chin, dropping her head back against the chair to look up at me. “What’s something you hate?”
I consider how easy it would be to lift my hand and slide my thumb along the line of her jaw, thread my fingers in her soft hair. I think about bending down and pressing my lips to hers, and my insides turn into…
“Jell-O,” I say roughly.
Dove shifts around crinkling her brows. “Jell-O? Explain, please.”
I huff a laugh, glancing over at my cousin, whose eyes are gleaming as he watches us. I know he approves of this.
Even though he drives me crazy, Knox has always been my best wingman. Yeah, he gives me shit about carrying a torch for Dove for so long, but he has always supported my feelings. He told me if I hadn’t called dibs, he’d probably have a massive crush on her, too.
He is also full of shit. As a star quarterback, Knox always has plenty of girlfriends. I can’t imagine him waiting five seconds for anyone, let alone years.
He’s always pushed me to tell her how I feel. The problem growing up was Dove and I lived three states away from each other, and all my time was consumed by hockey. Now I’m practically a world away.
How could I tell her something like that and then basically disappear? It doesn’t make sense to me.
Of course, it only provoked him to come here and try to push the envelope.
“It reminds me of being sick,” I say, doing my best to recover. “It doesn’t taste real, and what’s it even made of?”
“Horse hooves and buttholes.” Knox stands, slapping me on the chest. “Bet I can do more pull-ups than you.”
“Wow.” Dove puts her mug on the counter, holding the back of her hand under her nose like she almost did a spit-take. “Since we’re on the subject.”
“He’s pretty apropos of nothing.” I follow him. “He also knows who’s stronger.”
“A lot’s changed this year.” Knox whips off his tee and jumps up to grab the bar I installed in the hallway leading to my bedroom. “Count ’em.”
“Ooo, yay!” Dove runs over to the sofa, getting on her knees and propping her elbows on the back of it. Her hands are under her chin, and she bats wide eyes at us. “Did it sound like I was complaining just then? Take off that shirt, Mav. You’re up next.”
I blow air through my lips, pretending to be annoyed, but the truth is, I don’t mind showing off my body for her. I’ve worked hard for this physique. I kill myself every day out on the ice, and I’m aware of my effect on women.
I’d like to explore my effect on Dove.
Leaning against the couch beside her, I cross my arms as I watch Knox pulling up on the bar. His muscles flex, and okay, he’s got the Bradford bod, too.
Dove glances up at me, speaking softly. “I don’t like Jell-O either.”
I bend my knees, resting my hand near her elbow. “It’s not good.”
“It really is made from horses’ hooves.”
“So gross.” I huff a laugh.
“Fifty,” Knox shouts, doing a little dismount before walking over to push my shoulder. “Beat it.”
My eyes are still on Dove’s, and I roll mine as I rise, taking off my T-shirt.
I don’t miss the way her lips press together or the wayher blue eyes slide down my torso. I give her a quick wink before jumping up and grasping the bar in both hands.
Knox might get on my last fucking nerve sometimes, but my wingman got it right this time.
15
DOVE
