She sighs but tilts forward. I could move my hand now, but I don’t. I like the way the heat of her radiates into me too much to let go.
“Like this?” she asks, glancing at me over her shoulder. The dim lighting over the bar coupled with the way she’s nibbling her lower lip and waiting for my approval causes all kinds of scenarios to run through my head, not a single one of them PG.
“Good,” I cough out. “Just don’t muscle it.”
“Says the guy who throws his body in front of frozen rubber discs for a living.”
“Those frozen rubber discs just paid for your drink, sweetheart,” I say. The unfamiliar teasing tone catches me off guard, but when amusement flickers in her eyes, I go with it.
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Eyes on the table,” I tell her, thumb brushing over her knuckles before I can stop myself. “See the shot? Corner pocket.”
She squints down at the cue. “The one that looks approximately seventeen miles away?”
I hum. “Trust me.”
Rather than argue with me, which I’ve learned is an enjoyable hobby for this woman, she nods resolutely and takesthe shot. The ball moves, hitting nothing until it bounces off the side. At least it didn’t knock a striped ball into a pocket.
“Could’ve been worse,” I say.
She straightens and turns to me. “Wow, such high praise.”
Lips twitching, I lean in and lower my voice so only she can hear. “Compliments will help me convince everyone I’m into you.”
She huffs. “First, I was being sarcastic because ‘could’ve been worse’ is definitely not a compliment, so please work on that,” she counters. “And second, I think the way you bent me over the pool table was a highly effective way to convince people you’re into me.”
Not knowing what to say, because I’ve never encountered a woman who feels more like a force of nature than a person, I just stare, my heart thudding heavily against my sternum.
“Speaking of which,” she continues, completely unflustered as Tyler takes his shot, “What’s your PDA approach? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
I frown. Why would she care? “That’s more of a forward and defenseman thing than a goalie thing.”
She peers up at me, her expression matching mine. “What?”
“If you’re asking about my approach during the power play, nothing really changes for me. I’m more alert for breakaways, but if the puck is in the offensive zone for a while…”
She blinks at me rapidly, like she’s confused.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I grunt. “You’re the one who asked about PPA.”
“I most certainly did not. I asked you about PDA. As in public displays of affection. Not whatever the hell PPA is.”
Oh, well, fuck me.
“Power play assist,” I say, dragging a hand over the back of my neck.
“Okay, well, I’m glad you have an approach for that, but if I’m being honest, I don’t particularly care what it is.”
“When are you ever not honest?” I mutter to myself.
My shot is an easy one, but I take my time chalking the cue, hoping the flush in my cheeks fades before I have to turn back around. It’s not that I haven’t thought about Kennedy inthatway. I definitely have. I’ve thought about her in plenty of ways—thighs spread while I taste her, heels digging into my back as I thrust into her, breasts filling my hands as she rides me. I just hadn’t thought about the implications of it.
I take the shot, pocketing the ball, and Kennedy claps for me, completely unruffled by our conversation.
“So?” she asks, poking me in the chest.
“So what?”
