Page 116 of Off Limits: The Firsts

My eyes drag over every seductive inch of her before returning to those eyes of hers. “You’re a hard one to miss.”

“I doubt that, considering half the women in this bar are showing about ten times more skin than I am.”

“You don’t have to show skin to be sexy, Dekk.” My voice deepens and lowers with the words, and once again memories flicker to the forefront of my mind. Tangled bodies and unattached hearts. “We both know that.”

She clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “You look good too.”

“I look like something the cat dragged in. My cheek is sore from that stick I took to it. I’m limping like an eighty-year-old man from my knees hurting so bad . . . and I’m just all-around exhausted. This beer doesn’t help with that, but you being here does.”

Dekker

I stare at him. At his dark hair that’s a little long, a little shaggy, but fits the man as a whole. At his bright blue eyes that look too closely, and his five o’clock shadow dusting across his jaw. Sure, his cheek is red from the hit he took, but there’s something about him that makes you stare.

And savor.

All man, all arrogance, with a hint of boy beneath the surface who’s living out his dream.

And he knows me way too well.

This beer doesn’t help with that, but you being here does.

I choose not to acknowledge it.

I opt to ignore how it tugs on those feelings that seeing him—and talking to him—have drummed up.

The ones I feared would rear their ugly head when my dad told me who my client to win was.

“You do look a little rough around the edges,” I say, because it’s so much easier to notice the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his posture than to admit the punch in the gut I felt the minute I laid eyes on him. As always.

“Candor always was your blessing and curse,” he murmurs as he shifts in his chair, and I take in the abrasions on his knuckles from tonight.

“It’s why I’m good at my job. I know when to coddle versus when to push.”

He chews the inside of his cheek as he surveys the members of his team on the other side of the bar. “So who are you here to push?”

“What’s going on with you?” I ask, pushing his comment to the side and his need to know why I’m here. “Things good? Life outside of hockey good?”

He purses his lips and lifts his brows, but it’s there for the briefest of seconds—a stutter. Was Dad right? Is Hunter’s behavior of late unrelated to him simply being an asshole?

“What is it, Hunter?” I ask, reaching out to put my hand on his arm, sensing something is bugging him.

But his rare drop in his guard is replaced almost instantly. He makes a show of removing my hand, as he stands and places his own on the back of my barstool. My breath hitches as his fingers sweep ever-so-subtly against the skin on my neck. Chills chase over my flesh and I hate the visceral reaction my body has to it—to him. It’s as if I still want him even though I know the havoc he’d wreak on my system.

He leans in so the heat of his breath feathers over my ear for the second time in this conversation, but I stand my ground and don’t move. “How about I’ll tell you what it is, when you tell me why you’re here. And I know you won’t do that . . . so my secret’s safe for the time being.”

I stare at him, at the cocky smirk that quickens my pulse, and shake my head. Now is not the time nor place to proposition him about KSM. I knew that coming tonight. I thought I’d hate him on sight after how we left things. But, no. It’s not hate I’m feeling. It’s lust.

“Hunter. I—”

“Ah, if it isn’t the Ice King and the Frigid Queen,” Katzen, the LumberJacks goalie says as he stumbles over and hangs an arm on the back of my chair where Hunter’s just moved his from.

“Hey, Katz,” I say but my eyes go right back to Hunter.

“Drunk as always,” Hunter says and presses his palm against Katz’s chest to push him back.

“Fuck yes, I am. We won. You rocked. I got a little playing time.” He laughs at his own joke considering as their goalie he was protecting the net, saving goals left and right, the entire game. “And shit—you are looking mighty fine tonight, Miss Kincade,” he slurs as he draws out the word Miss.

The muscle in Hunter’s jaw ticks, and I shake my head to try and stop him from acting on whatever darkness I see in his eyes. With his recent antics, I’m not exactly sure I trust he won’t use force to move Katz away from me.