“Not my shirt to hand over I’m afraid, lover boy.” Tori pulls me out of memory lane with her declaration.
I shrug. I’ve stopped caring about the shirt. And the more Penelope stares at me like she wants to sever my carotid, the angrier I get. “Did my part. Got the shirt to you. What you do with it is up to you.”
Tori flashes a savage grin. “Tell yourbuddyit’ll make great kindling for the fire pit in my backyard after the game.”
Ouch. That’s harsh. “That’s cold. Ice cold.”
“I’m a complex woman.”
Seems they both are.
Penelope is incredibly interested with thenothingcurrently going on behind me on the ice, though she’s glaring at it now, instead of me. She’s staring so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole ice pad melts, and my guys can’t play.
“I’ll say.” With one last, lingering gaze at Penelope who is now actively avoiding meeting my eyes, I stand upright and leave.
What the fuck just happened?
I make my way to an empty seat at the top of the section behind her and pull out my phone.
Tate: You really going to pretend like you don’t know me?
I stare at the message for a full three minutes of a four minute penalty kill before I press send. No matter how hard I stare at the back of her head, it doesn’t make her react. Worse than that, it takes her a long while to even slide the phone out of her pocket and read the message.
Yup. Still her number.
I know I can’t assume that, especially since it took so long from the time I sent it to the time she read it, but I’m choosing to believe itisher number, and sheisignoring me, and she reallydidwant laser beams to shoot from her eyes and slice me in half.
Fuck.
Instead of watching the game like Penelope is and studying the opposing players like I always do, analyzing my friends in real-time instead of a playback recording, I’m distracted.
No. I’m not distracted, I’m fucking obsessed.
Those kisses we shared were mind blowing. All-consuming. The way her body sagged against mine, the way small tremors rolled through her, the soft, small moans that fell from her lips when my dick got hard against her body as we kissed.
Fuck. Fuck. And fuck again.
My cock’s as hard as a steel bar in my dress pants, pressing against the seam of my pants leg, aching for release.
The number of times I fantasized about Penelope after that party was probably criminal. My dick wedged between her huge tits, her sucking my cock in that perfect, feisty, musical mouth of hers, fucking her until neither of us could do anything but suck in heavy gasps of air.
I look to my left, wondering where that grumbling noise is coming from, but it turns out, it’s fuckingme.
My mind is everywhere but on this goddamn game. Okay, not everywhere, or even anywhere, it’s on one very specific person who seems to be staring at her phone screen, but I can’t tell for sure since she’s got her back to me.
The rest of the game passes by in a blur. It might not, it might pass by at a snail’s pace, I wouldn’t know, because I’ve been thrown back to that Halloween party a year ago. I dressed up in that annoying as shit ghost costume, and she had a huge fucking taco on her head.
I remember damn near every detail about that night, down to the haunting sound of her voice as she serenaded the room with her version of Landslide by Stevie Nicks.
She had no fucking clue how captivated everyone in the next room was. Conversations stopped, someone turned off the background music, and people ambled in from other rooms to listen to her sing. Did she even notice? No. She just let the music take her over as she belted out the most gorgeous melody.
She was clueless, standing there, eyes locked with mine as she gave me the most beautiful gift of letting me listen to her sing.
I haven’t played that song since I met her.
And here she is.
She didn’t transfer schools. She’s been right here this whole time.
