“His mom’s amazing,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so strong. Not once did we talk about what was happening, and at one point, I forgot where we were. Until we got kicked out, of course.”
“Should I be worried that you met Zeke’s mom before mine?”
I reach my hand out, hoping he gets the memo. He does. He steps forward, but instead of his hand meeting mine, it finds a dip in my waist. And his body fills the space between my legs.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Even if his mom did try to set us up.”
“Sounds like Elise.”
“So, when am I gonna meet your mom?” I wonder.
“If she comes to a game, then soon. If not, when the hockey season’s over, we can drive down there for a weekend.” His thumb grazes my cheek, running over my scar. Goosebumps form along my arms. “I still have to meet your parents.” He kisses me. “Which will have to wait until after playoffs.” Another kiss. “Because Cam might get a little confused if I meet them for no reason.”
“You’ve already met my parents,” I reply. “You’ve been to our house before.”
“Yeah, but only as a little punk who played hockey with their son. Not as their daughter’s boyfriend. It’s completely different.”
A smile curves his lips as he tilts my head up to kiss me again. He hooks his fingers around the loops of my jeans, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter, and I feel a sense of Déjà vu. Except we don’t stop kissing. Instead, my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to me. His tongue runs along the seam of my lips and then breaks right through it. And as his tongue meets mine, a raspy groan sends a vibration through his body.
My fingers slide under his shirt, capturing the warmth of his body, and then he surprises me when his hands do the same. Dipping under the hem of my shirt and gripping my waist. We’ve made out… we do it often, and every time it’s better than the last, but tonight. This feels different. It feels sexually charged, and I think if he said we should go to his room, I’d want to. There’d be no hesitation this time. Maybe I should—
The microwave beeps. His teeth give my bottom lip a small tug before he pulls back. The warmth of his body leaves mine, but my body still feels hot. He grabs my food out of the microwave before tossing it onto the counter.
“Damn.” He shakes his hands out. “That’s hot.”
“You think? I can see the steam rolling off it from here,” I reply.
“I knew the food would be hot; I just didn’t think the plate would heat up with it.”
He uses a towel as an oven mitt to carry the plate. He carries it toward the coffee table and tilts his head as if to sayfollow me. He sets it on the table and then walks past me, heading back to the kitchen.
“What do you want to drink? Water? Soda?”
“I’ll take a soda,” I reply.
I sit on the floor in front of the food because it’s closer than sitting on the couch. I throw my hair up to get it out of my face because with the fan blowing above us, there’s a good chance it’ll end up in my food.
Declan jumps over the back of the couch instead of taking the few extra steps to walk around it, and the second his ass hits the cushion, he looks at me, a look in his eyes that I can’t decipher, as he hands me my soda.
“What?” I wonder, checking my shirt to make sure I didn’t already spill pasta sauce on it.
“Your hair is up.”
“I didn’t want it to get in my food,” I say nonchalantly.
“I’ve never seen your hair pulled back,” he begins. “I like it. It suits you.”
I guess I never thought about the fact that in public, my hair is a shield. And even though I spend a lot of time at Declan’s, which is private, I just got so used to wearing my hair down around people other than my brother.
“You do that a lot.”
I realize I’ve zoned out and have no idea if he said anything after it suits you.
“Do what?” I ask.
“Zone out… overthink.” He smiles. “I honestly think they might be the same thing.”
I raise an eyebrow as if to sayI don’t know what you mean.
