Page 8 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
No... unless my teammates find out.
I don’t know what the hell makes me tell her to behave. Something seems to possess me, making me say things I normally wouldn’t.
But, goddamn, the heat in her eyes nearly made me grab her and kiss the hell out of her.
After I shut the passenger door, I discreetly adjust myself in a crowded airport parking lot. With a teenager struggling with our luggage by the trunk.
I’m snapping at a teenage kid I don’t even know because I’m sexually frustrated.
Even though I beat off that morning in the shower while thinking about?—
Stop. It.
I feel bad enough that I give the kid an autograph.
I suck in deep breaths of fresh air, getting myself under control.
But the second I slide into the Escalade, her scent hits me like a hammer to the skull. Vanilla. Warm skin. Coconut shampoo lingers in the heated air between us.
It’s everywhere. Inside my SUV. On the seat beside me. Wrapping around my lungs like a problem I should’ve never brought home.
Even worse, she asks why I told her to behave.
I can’t tell her the truth. That it just slipped out of me. That her proximity makes it hard to think straight.
It’s like something possesses me, making me say and do whatever it wants.
Instead, I use the classic distraction strategy—deflect by asking a question. I turn it on her.
She doesn’t let it go.
I figured she wouldn’t.
When she keeps pushing, I blurt out the truth before I can stop myself.
“It means, stop fighting me when I’m trying to help you.”
Shit.
Why the fuck did I say that?
But the way she looks at me makes it hard to regret it. Her blue eyes soften. A soft, angelic smile curls her lips. And the way she blushes makes me want to do things to her I shouldn’t.
Calm down.
I catch her looking at her ankle, sadness and pain mixing on her expression. And I can’t fucking stand it.
“Prop it on the dash,” I say.
I can’t believe I tell her to do that. I never let anyone put their bare feet on the dashboard.
Worse, after she complies, I say, “Good girl,” like a male lead in a romance book.
Christ, I’m losing control.
Coffee.
It’ll make it all better.
