Page 34 of Off the Post

“Well, I’m not familiar with that type of danger,” she says, lifting her brilliant blue eyes to me as we continue up the sidewalk. “But I did live in the Bay Area for several years, and those cable cars are no freaking joke. Come to think of it, neither was the fog. Sometimes it was so dense you couldn’t even see your hand right in front of your face.”

To demonstrate this, she waves her free hand in front of my eyes. The impulse is too great. I snatch her hand and wrap my fingers around her delicate wrist, raising it to my mouth and planting a kiss in the center of her palm.

The sound of her breath hitching is like fireworks. Our eyes connect and I pin her with the full force of my longing. I see the heat I feel reflected within her eyes, along with a promise of something more.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this pull toward another person. My body vibrates and comes alive around her in a way I only experience when I’m out on the ice protecting my net. It’s fierce and throws me into a game where I’m not familiar with all the rules.

Ali tilts her head to the side, drawing her lower lip between her teeth like a dare. Goddamn, I want to follow through.

“You know… I’ve heard many things said about The Wolf since I’ve been here.” She crinkles her nose in amusement and counts, one finger at a time. “Intense. Ferocious. Savage.”

I nod. “All true.”

Ali takes a step closer until only an inch of space exists and goes up on tiptoe, holding onto my shoulders to meet me in the eye. Her sweet, bubble-gum-scented breath seems juxtaposed to her fearlessness. I draw in a ragged breath, my heart hammering under my ribs.

Her voice is breathy and laced with honey. “But I didn’t know you were a romantic.”

What am I supposed to say to that? I’m not a romantic by any stretch of the imagination.

She has no idea how close I am to relinquishing the hold I have on my savage desire to flip her over my shoulder, slap her ass, and drag her back to my den, where I can have my way with her.

Yet she shows not even the slightest hint of fear or hesitation as she presses her lips lightly against mine. It’s gentle and brief, like a whispered prayer. A small peck of gratitude. Before I have a chance to deepen the kiss and return my own sentiment, Ali hops back, dropping her hands to her sides, and smiles wistfully.

“Now I know. But there’s more to unearth in here.” She pokes my chest with a finger before turning to walk ahead of me, leaving me rooted to the sidewalk, staring after her in confusion. Then she looks back at me and says with a flirtatious wink, “Don’t you worry. I’ll get it out of you. But first, lunch.”

I clear my throat and take the two strides to catch up with her, then we continue toward the restaurant—side by side, hand in hand.

It’s the most content I’ve felt in years.

But unfortunately, that kiss will only serve to taunt and torment me throughout our lunch date. Because now that I know how soft those lips are and how sweet they taste, my thoughts have accelerated into devouring something far more satisfying than pad Thai.

I’ve never been a man to take things slow.

But with Ali—for Ali—I want to slow things down. Prepare for what comes next. I can’t fall for her, for all the obvious reasons.

I need to figure out how to squash my desire. Ali’s amazing, a ray of light, and Tanner’s sister. She’s completely out of my league, and I can’t risk ruining my relationship with my teammate for a short-term fling that will end the minute she realizes how little I have to offer her.

17

Ali

I may have misjudged the moment when I kissed Soren.

It was a stupid and impetuous thing to do. But I was helpless to stop myself after he immediately protected me, pulling me into the safety of his body and away from that idiot driver.

I was filled with an energy that sizzled down to my toes. I’d never experienced that type of intense physical reaction to another human being before.

So I did what I had to do. I kissed him.

Fat lot of good it did me because now things are awkward between us.

Per Soren’s request, we were seated at a table toward the back of the restaurant, and a dark-haired server has already been by with glasses of water and to take our order.

Now, Soren sits across from me and obsessively fidgets, looking uncomfortable in his own skin. He fiddles with his silverware, adjusting and realigning the fork, spoon, and knife with precision, and pulls slightly at the edges of the cloth napkin.

When we first sat down, he also flipped around the bottles and shakers on the table to all face the same direction and in some order only obvious to himself.

All the excitement that surged through my veins from the kiss outside has now drained into a worry that I was too pushy. His eyes have even dulled to a low flicker, and his expression is now indecipherable. I obviously misread things on our walk here. I now feel like a fool for all the flirting that clearly isn’t reciprocated.