Page 54 of Wynter

And seeing my girl upset has me frowning, too. “What’s not to get? I’m an open book. Ask me anything you want to know.”

She seems to hesitate, and then nods. “Fine. Why did you fly away, Leith?”

I rub the back of my neck, searching for the right words.

“Why didn’t you ask for my number? Why—”

“I got your number. From the side of your van.” I recite the digits, so there’s no question in her mind that I was going to call. “Could have gotten it off Screech, but still recited it the entire flight home.”

“Then why didn’t you say goodbye? Or call?”

The last question’s the easiest, so I start there. “Was going to call you yesterday after practice, but your ice block told me you had dinner plans.”

“You still could have called.” My girl pouts.

I shake my head and reach up to play with a strand of her hair. “I always play fair, baby. And he asked you out first.”

“You could have asked me out, too. Why didn’t you? Why did you fly away?”

I think back to that night, and how much I wanted to take her in that van. And when I realize I can’t have her—not here, on the skate rental floor—I shift. Into a bee. And I’m really—really—starting to hate fucking Wilson.

Wynter crosses her arms in front of her chest—and thank the chameleon she’s got that jersey over her coat, or I might keep shifting till I explode. The kind of explode where I overheat and cream my cup like a thirteen-year-old kissing his crush. Not the French teacher, thank fuck. And definitely some other thirteen-year-old, not me.

“I’m still waiting for an answer, Leith.” Wynter frowns.

I do the bee thing and buzz. Then shift. And blurt out. “I’m so turned on my cock hurts.”

And that is definitely not the best way to romance my girl.

Wynter’s cheeks flame. Her pupils dilate. And her eyes drift down, just as I shift… into a reindeer, of course. Fucking hell in a hockey net.

“I can see that,” my girl says. And then she snickers. While looking at my stick. Or, to be fair, Dulka’s stick. Definitely his fault my girl’s laughing.

And that’s when my mouth makes a sound. Like a woman’s shriek, a pig’s squeal, and a dog’s whimper, mixed with a six-year-old playing the recorder.

Wynter jumps back and only laughs harder.

“Fuck,” I curse the moment I shift back. And then wonder if I should cut down on cursing around my girl. Bad enough I want to fuck her every chance I get when we haven’t even been on a date. “I meant puck.”

Wynter grins. “Stop trying to distract me, Leith. I want to know why you left.”

“Because you turn me on.”

“You flew away, in the middle of our date, because I turned you on?” Wynter asks. And hell if her calling it a date doesn’t make my stick even harder.

“Pucking powers mess me the puck up when I’m turned on.” As if to prove my point, I shift—into the Yeti from the stands. At least Yetis can talk, unlike reindeer and bees. “That’s why I kept pucking up mid-game. When I get sexually frustrated. Puck!”

“I can’t take you seriously when you keep saying puck.” Wynter snorts, then belies her words by turning all serious and frowning at me. “I still don’t get it. If you’re into me, why leave?”

“Because you deserve more that a quick fuck on the ice. Or in the back of your van.”

I swear her pupils dilate at my words. And hell if my girl wanting me doesn’t make my shifting go haywire. Bee. Reindeer. Yeti. Bee.

“How about in a skate rental shack?” she asks, and that’s it.

I turn into an ice block that nearly slams into her, it’s that big. And hard. And fuck, I want her so bad I might explode. Can ice blocks explode? And would icicles shoot out of my nonexistent cock?

“Baby,” I growl when I shift into a form that can talk. Some random guy from the stands, I think. “If you keep talking like that, I won’t be able to hold back.”