AN HOUR LATER, Rory’s had two beers. His smile is a little brighter, his laugh is a little louder, and his hands roam a little more freely over me, smoothing over my back, resting on my waist, and giving my thigh quick, firm squeezes.
His nose presses to my temple as he takes a deep inhale. “Jesus Christ,” he murmurs.
Something about his low voice sends my hormones crashing through my system, demanding horny things.
My mind flicks to him on my bed in just his boxers.
“Are you drunk?” I whisper, giving him a teasing grin. “No,” he laughs against my ear. “Just tipsy.”
“Lightweight.” I have a stupid grin all over my face. “You have the alcohol tolerance of a Pomeranian.”
“Don’t bully me, Hartley.” He nips my earlobe and my lips part. “It makes me hard.”
I’m laughing, but I’m also flushing. His hands tighten on my waist, and one slides down to my hip. Then lower, resting on the crease where my hip meets my thigh. His thumb strokes, and the breath whooshes out of me.
So. Freaking. Hot.
“You’re drunk.” I can barely get the words out, I’m so turned on.
“I’m not.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “I just think you’re really, really pretty.”
I turn away, smiling and blushing.
“And smart.” His stubble scrapes my cheekbone as he presses another soft kiss to my skin. “And you smell good.” Another kiss, this one on my
jaw. “And I like the shape of your lips.” Neck kiss. “And tits.” I shudder as he groans against my pulse point. “You’ve always had perfect tits,” he whispers in my ear.
I’m lit up, buzzing as arousal swirls at the base of my spine. “Stop acting drunk or I’m going to take advantage of you.”
“Promise?”
I laugh. “I’m going to ask personal questions and find out all your secrets.”
He stares down at me with that smirk I want to kiss off his mouth. “When have I ever not answered one of your questions?”
I blink, thinking. He’s right; he always answers my questions.
“How many times have you jerked off thinking about me?” I ask with a challenging smile. He’ll never—
“Too many to count.” His eyes flare with heat, and his eyebrows lift once. See? his eyes say. “After the FaceTime call.”
Our gazes hold for a beat before I turn away, stomach swooping and dipping. His arm is heavy over my shoulders, a warm, comforting weight.
“I couldn’t help myself, Hartley.” His lids fall halfway as he grins with whatever memory he’s replaying. “The noises you made just—”
“Burger and onion rings.” Jordan sets a plate in front of him and I pull back and clear my head with a deep breath.
“Thanks, Jordan,” Rory calls after her before he takes a huge bite of his burger, closes his eyes, and lets out a guttural moan of pleasure.
“Holy shit,” he groans, and I wonder if that’s what he would look like if I were kneeling between his knees, running my tongue up and down his cock.
I look away, shoving the image from my mind, but I’m forced to sit here, watching and listening as Rory basically comes in his pants eating this burger.
“Onion rings,” he says with reverence after he eats the first one, shaking his head.
“Yeah.” I steal one and dunk it in ketchup. “They’re good, huh?”
“Mhm.” He looks down at his food, pausing. “I shouldn’t be eating all of this. It’s inflammatory.”
I think about my mom, and how she never lets herself eat dessert. She has a sweet tooth, but she’s so terrified of gaining weight that she won’t even indulge in half a slice of birthday cake.
My fists clench under the table thinking about that. That she feels like she isn’t allowed, that she doesn’t deserve it.
“It’s okay to enjoy food.” I rest my elbow on the table, leaning on my palm, watching him. “And one burger isn’t going to end your career, Rory.” He stares at the burger like he doesn’t believe me, like he thinks this one burger is going to get him kicked off the team, and I wonder who the fuck put that idea in his head. Sadness pinches me in the ribs, and protectiveness
wakes up in my chest.
He eats another onion ring and groans again, and my face heats. “Can you groan less sexually?” I mutter, and he just laughs.
“What would you be if you weren’t a hockey player?”
We’re walking down my street, and Rory has his arm draped over my shoulder, holding me close. Darcy and Hayden were trying to get everyone to go out dancing, but the second the group left the bar, Rory pulled me in the opposite direction, toward my apartment. His tipsiness has worn off, but the evening is cold and he’s warm, so I’m letting him tuck me against his body.
We walk half a block before he answers. “I don’t know. I’ve wanted to be a hockey player for as long as I can remember.”
We pass under the big maple tree outside my apartment.
I think about his assists tonight and his exuberant grin. “You were incredible tonight.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as our eyes hold. “Would you still think that if I didn’t have the highest scoring average in the league?”
There’s something in his eyes that breaks my heart. “I don’t like you because of your stats.”
“So you do like me.” The corner of his mouth tips up, and his eyes lose that vulnerable look. He tucks my hair behind my ear, grazing the shell. “Invite me up.”
Energy crackles in the air between us. If Rory comes upstairs, something’s going to happen.
I don’t care, though. If I reach deep down, beyond all the scarring and scratches I’ve endured from Connor, I want Rory to come up.
I like him. I don’t want to, but I do. Panic rises at that thought, but I shove it away.
“Okay,” I say instead.
