Page 24 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
My jaw tightens at the memory of holding the smallpink thing in my hand while she looked at me with those wide blue eyes, pretending to be innocent.
Bullshit.
Peyton knows exactly how to provoke me.
The problem? I don’t think she realizes how close I already am to snapping.
I exhale hard and head upstairs before I do something profoundly stupid.
Back to my space. My personal solitude.
The loft feels quieter and colder than the rest of the cabin tonight.
I walk straight toward my dresser and yank it open harder than necessary before grabbing the first hoodie I see.
I shut the drawer, then glance down at it. Dark navy fabric. The Avalanche logo across the front. It’s going to be huge on her.
The image of Peyton wearing it slams into me.
Wearing only my hoodie. Bare legs. Messy blonde hair. My hoodie swallowing her whole while she wears those black panties underneath it.
“Fuck.”
I grip the sweatshirt tighter.
This woman is going to kill me.
By the time I head back downstairs, I’ve managed to get myself somewhat under control.
At least until I knock on the bathroom door.
“Yeah?” Her voice is softer now. Warmer.
I stare at the door for a second. Even though I know she can’t see through solid wood, I hold up the hoodie slightly. “You need this.”
There’s a pause. “Come in. I’m decent.”
I open the door... and all coherent thought leaves my brain.
Peyton stands there in navy flannel pajama pants and a fitted tank top, blonde hair falling around her shoulders.
And then she reaches for my hoodie.
The oversized Avalanche sweatshirt practically swallows her whole the second she pulls it over her head.
My hoodie. On her.
Jesus Christ.
Something dark and possessive twists low in my chest.
Mine.
The thought hits so fast and hard, it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
Peyton glances down at herself before looking back up at me. “What?”
I realize too late I’ve been staring. Hard.
