Page 37 of Tough Call

Oh, hell. His kiss was as soft and tender as the way he cradled my neck between his hands. The way he gently slipped his tongue past my lips and made sure I knew nothing except the way he was delicately tasting me—how I didn’t melt like the snowflakes on our shoulders, I had no idea.

Soft and sweet or not, it left my knees shaking as much as his harder, more demanding kisses always did. Though this kiss was subdued and tender, there was still no shortage of desire and heat simmering beneath the surface. No, there wouldn’t be any sex tonight, but this wouldn’t be the last time we touched.

And the next time we did touch, this man was going to fucking wreck me.

Yes? Please? As soon as possible?

When he broke the kiss, a ragged breath escaped my lips. I met his gaze, and I found all that desire and heat in those eyes.

“Last night in town.” He licked his lips. “I don’t give a damn if I can sit comfortably on the plane.”

A shudder nearly knocked me off my feet. “Jesus…”

He laughed, a thin cloud of vapor rising between our lips. “You like that idea?”

“Uh-huh. Very much so.”

He brushed his lips across mine again, then let me go. “Won’t be long. I’ll see you soon.”

“You will. Absolutely.” I touched his face just because I could. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Oh, that smile was perfect. The sweet boy from my youth. The sexy man who had me tongue-tied and trembling.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and he kissed me once more, as if to make sure I didn’t have any balance left for the rest of the night.

No, I had no clue what this was, where it was going, or where I wanted it to go.

All I knew was that I didn’t want it to stop.

The semifinal game between Latvia and Sweden was wild. People joked that you paid for the whole seat but only needed the edge, and they weren’t wrong—I spent most of this wild ride on the very edge of my seat.

It was intense and there was a lot on the line. Whoever lost this game would play Czechia for the bronze medal in the final while the winner went up against Team Canada for gold and silver.

Nobody on this ice wanted to play in that bronze game. They were fighting hard, and it was easy to see how both teams had made it into the semifinals. Latvia’s offense was slightly weaker than Sweden’s, and Sweden’s goaltending mostly made up for the cracks in their blue line.

It was a wild, intense game that had the crowd roaring and booing with every shift in the action. When Sweden finally scored near the end of the first, the noise was deafening. When Latvia answered thirty-three seconds later, the crowd went so wild, my ears rang for the remainder of the period. I needed that intermission just to catch my damn breath.

And even if the game had been a grind, I’d still have spent the whole thing breathless because of number forty-one in carmine red and white.

It was just as well we hadn’t fucked last night. The orgasm I’d had in the shower while thinking about him had nearly made me black out. Madars probably would’ve killed me. And when we were in the same bed in a couple of nights, he still might kill me.

What a way to go, I thought as I watched him heading back to the bench for a line change.

I grinned to myself. It had been way too long since I’d been this ridiculous over someone, and I couldn’t get enough. This wasn’t love, but I loved the way it felt. I loved the way my head spun whenever I saw his face or even his number. I loved how a smile from him on the Jumbotron could make the world tilt, and a smile directed at me from across a table in a restaurant could make my heart melt.

I loved how when he skated past me during a stoppage, he glanced my way and gave me a little wink.

I’d miss him like crazy when I went back to Canada and he went back to Switzerland, but then I’d have notifications to keep my pulse racing. We could text and FaceTime. Hell, we could sext and have racy FaceTime calls. And then this summer, we’d meet up in Spain and find out exactly how much sex the human body could withstand.

Fuck yes.

I shivered in my seat. Was it the off season yet?

Unaware of me fantasizing like a dork, the players continued battling it out. Sweden managed to score two in rapid succession, but Latvia tied it up with five minutes left in the second. The whole place was vibrating with adrenaline and excitement; either the third period would be more of the same and they’d go into overtime, or someone would tilt the ice and take the lead.

Or maybe they’d tilt the ice in the remaining minutes of this period, which Latvia seemed hellbent on doing.

Their fourth line had managed to hem Sweden into their own end, and they’d kept cycling and shooting, cycling and shooting, until Sweden’s skaters were visibly exhausted. Then, one by one, Latvia’s skaters peeled away for a line change.