Page 27 of Off the Post

Soren crouches next to me at the same moment I bend over and our heads collide, clunking solidly together.

“Ouch!” “Oof,” we say over one another. Soren rubs a palm across his forehead.

How am I botching this up so badly? The poor guy already has a hazardous job where head injuries are common, and I come along and give him a concussion when he’s least expecting it.

“I’m such a klutz. Here, forget about the water. Are you okay?”

I kneel next to him and, without a second thought to what I’m doing, reach out to where I clocked him and massage my fingers along his temple.

His mouth carries a hint of a smile, the perfectly full lips pulling at the corners. I’m completely engrossed in what it might feel like to have him brush his mouth against mine ever so slightly… the space between us growing smaller… him crowding me against the back of the desk… lowering his strong, capable body over mine… capturing my mouth with a hard, needy kiss...

The sound of Soren’s throat clearing has me blinking rapidly, and I suddenly realize what I’ve done and where my thoughts have gone. But instead of pulling away, my gaze stalls on his lips.

“Hallo, Ali,” he greets with a quirk of his eyebrow. The way my name rolls off his tongue—so low—triggers a flurry of butterflies to take flight in my belly.

Honest to God, I’ve never been so captivated with the sound of my name being said. I’d be content to listen to him say it on repeat for days. Maybe it’s the way he accentuates the syllables or maybe it’s his masculine presence that stirs me up and makes me squirm.

Whatever it is, The Wolf brings about a delicious buzz of electricity that surges riotously within my body.

I search his expression and his eyes flicker with something unreadable.

Is there a spark of interest? Because I sure feel one.

On the other hand, he could also be wondering what the hell is wrong with me and is just trying to locate the nearest exit to make his escape.

Determined to shake this whole situation off rather than make it any worse than it already is, I wave my hand and begin to push myself up to my feet. But he’s faster than me, grabbing my elbow to assist me up.

Pheromones are a freaking crazy thing. At just the slightest whiff of his bodywash and aftershave, I can feel my nipples pucker with an urgent desire to be touched.

My inappropriately sexy thoughts have become a liability and are clearly causing serious damage to my mental equilibrium. I run my finger over the line of my eyebrow to resist the temptation to touch him and cause any more emotional wreckage.

“Well, then,” I finally spit out, returning the water bottle to my desk and closing the door of my tiny workspace. “Please have a seat. Can I offer you something to eat or drink? Coffee? Water? Red Vines, perhaps?”

Although our offices are small, we do have a well-stocked employee kitchen, where we always have loads of free snacks and drinks. In fact, Sam, our IT guy, loves Red Vines, so all the foundation’s Costco deliveries include a big vat of the sweet licorice.

“Nein. Thank you.” He offers a short, curt chuckle.

Pull yourself together, girl.

But I’m too painfully aware of his presence to act casually. He’s taken a seat across from me, legs open and knees falling to the sides. And in a flash, my memory awakens to the YouTube video I watched on repeat this past weekend, the one that a fan took of The Wolf during his pre-game warm-up in front of the net.

Holy mother of joy.

That entire stretching routine was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a man do. And then it was just me and my trusty vibrator that night as I imagined Soren hovering over me, curling his hips with a thrusting precision that goalies do. Pelvis tilted and angled so, as he pressed his hard, throbbing dick into me, I would scream out his name…

“Is that you and Tanner?”

I blink hard. I’m already back in my chair and my thumb is unconsciously stroking my bottom lip. I drop my hands to my lap and give myself a stern scolding because, HELLO! Completely inappropriate.

My eyes grow wide and my attention whirls toward the framed photo on my desk, which he picks up to examine more closely.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.” My voice breaks with huskiness. “We were both twelve that summer—he’s only six months older than me—and our dad had taken us on summer holiday up to Banff.”

I smile at the memory. It is truly one of the last beautiful times the three of us spent together before my dad passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.

“My dad would take the two of us camping somewhere different every summer. This picture was taken just after we summited, and we were arguing over who got there first. Tanner and I completely failed to notice this gorgeous backdrop and the lake behind us because we were fighting. Our dad told us as much, and he took the picture as we both turned to look at the same time.” I stare at the photo and see our flushed faces looking victorious over the completed adventure.

“Who won?” Soren asks with a small smile.