Page 126 of The Grumpy Defenseman
Enough.
My hand found hers.
“Good.”
Her gaze dropped to my mouth.
That was all it took.
I pulled her in slowly enough that she could stop me and close enough that I knew she would not.
The kiss started soft.
That lasted about two seconds.
Then her hand slid into my jacket, her fingers curling in the fabric at my side, and my body forgot every reasonable argument for restraint.
She kissed me in the middle of downtown San Antonio with people walking past and music somewhere behind us, and I let the whole world exist around it without trying to step out of frame.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark.
“Take me home,” she said.
My hand tightened around hers.
“Yoursor mine?”
“Mine.”
I nodded once.
We made it to the truck without running.
Barely.
The drive back to her apartment was quiet in a way dinner had not been. Her hand stayed on my thigh for most of it, light enough to be decent and steady enough to ruin me.
At a red light, I looked over.
She was already looking at me.
“Green,” she said.
I looked back at the road.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I drove.
Fast enough to feel her hand tighten once on my leg.
Not fast enough to earn a ticket.
By the time we reached her building, every nerve in my body had gone tight and focused. She unlocked the door with hands that were not as steady as she wanted them to be. I noticed. She noticed me noticing.
“Do not look smug,” she said.
