“Yes. Why? Is this about the play the other day? Cause you almost had it.”
“I fucking did not. I fell over trying to do a stupid trick, losing us the game and making myself look like a complete fool.”
“Is that why we’re out here, so you can tell me how that was all my fault?”
“No, we’re out here because you decided to chug a pitcher of beer in front of the entire room, including our coaches.”
“Umm, you know—“
“Don’t tell me you didn’t do it. I saw you,” I say, stepping a little closer.
“I wasn’t going to say that. I chugged it.”
“And you think that’s okay, the night before training, to be getting blind drunk at your captain’s fucking birthday party?”
“Do I look drunk?” he asks, and I step even closer, narrowing my eyes as I sweep my gaze up and down his body. He’s relaxed against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in defiance, and smirking with those fucking dimples. Urgh.
“You look like trouble,” I say, and one eyebrow picks up.
“I am definitely trouble, but the real question you should be asking yourself is, do you want . . . trouble?”
He glances at my groin, and my cock fucking twitches.
“What?”
“I want to be here more than I want anything else in this world. I want to be in the NHL. I want to be on this team. But more importantly, right now at least, I want to be here, in this alley . . . with you. I want all of it,” he says, and then he reaches forward, grabs the waist of my jeans, and pulls me against him. My hands press against the brick either side of him, and he holds me there, my lips so close to his, and his breath sweet and warm, tempting me forward. But he doesn’t want this. Not really. Does he?
“Luka, I . . .”
Before I can say another word, his mouth is on mine, and the world disappears.
Chapter fifteen
Luka
Reidpullsaway.
“I can’t,” he rasps, and my stomach drops. “You’ve been drinking, you’re not thinking—“
“It was non-alcoholic.”
“What?”
“Kirkston dared me to chug a full pitcher. I wasn’t going to do that if it was real beer. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
His palm comes up to rest against my cheek, and he brushes his thumb lightly over my bottom lip. It’s not exactly secluded out here, but against the wall we have some cover from the shadows. I lean into his touch and slide my hands around his waist to his back and pull him closer.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I repeat, peering up into his deep brown eyes. “I know exactly what Iwant.”
“And that is?”
I spin us around and press my hands against his chest, shoving him back against the wall with anoomph.
“I want to know how you taste,” I say, and then I push up on my toes and kiss him again.
This time, he doesn’t pull away. His large, warm hands grip my waist as his tongue fights mine for control. His stubble scratches deliciously against my skin.
Just like I imagined, he’s sweet, almost like honey, the scent of his earthy cologne filling my nose and heightening the flavor of him.
