Page 45 of Rookie Moves

“Can I kiss you?”

His nostrils flare as he huffs out a breath and drops his gaze to the floor. Raising my hand, I place my finger under his chin and lift his head until his eyes meet mine.

“I guess,” he whispers.

“You guess?” I tease, inching closer until my mouth ghosts over his.

“I mean, it’s the least you can do after making me mad at you.”

“Is it wrong that it kinda turns me on that you were jealous over me?”

“I wasn’t jealous,” he argues, trying to appear grumpy, but the way his eyes have become all hooded and his pulse flutters in his neck gives him away.

Closing the small gap between us, I capture his lips in a slow kiss. His hands find my sides, fingers bunching the fabric of my T-shirt. I cradle his jaw with my palms and run my tongue along the seam of his lips.

Colby parts his lips, greeting my tongue with a gentle caress of his own.

I’m sure Colby doesn’t need the extra practice when it comes to kissing because he’s proven over and over he knows what he’s doing, but I can’t stop. His kisses are addictive.

It’s been almost forty-eight hours since I’ve tasted him, and I’ve been going out of my mind to have my mouth on him again.

Is it normal to want to fuse your mouth to your teammate’s and suck on his tongue every day?

Doubt it.

But I don’t care.

We’re both panting for breath when we finally pull apart. Colby’s cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy with desire, and it takes some real restraint not to haul him into bed and kiss him some more while our clothes are in a pile on the floor.

I take a purposeful step back to give him some space. I don’t want to ignore the fact that he came up here upset, but I don’t want it to put a damper on our night. It was a misunderstanding. A miscommunication. I haven’t so much as looked or thought about another person since the night of the Hockey East championship.

Colby’s silent as he glances around my room. It’s nothing special by any means, but it’s bigger than his. When his eyes land on my guitar, his brows lift a fraction in surprise.

“I didn’t know you played guitar?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. I started learning in the third grade. My brother bought me that guitar for my sixteenth birthday.”

“That’s cool. I had no idea.”

“I don’t really talk about it.” I shrug. “My dad has always told me it’s a pointless hobby, so I guess I’ve learned to keep it to myself in case anyone else had the same thoughts.”

Colby frowns. “The more I hear about your dad, the more I don’t like him.”

I choke out a laugh and rub the back of my neck. “As shit as it sounds, I’m starting to realize I feel the same way too.”

Colby runs his fingers down the neck of my guitar. I move around him to close the door, clicking the lock into place. I lean back against it and watch him take inventory of my possessions.

The photos pinned to a corkboard on my wall. The random collection of frog ornaments on my dresser.

“What’s this about?” he asks, lifting up the small ornament of a frog wearing a top hat.

“That’s Piper’s doing. The first birthday present she ever got me was this frog holding a hockey stick.” I walk over to the dresser and point it out. It’s no bigger than an inch. “Then every birthday and holiday, she would buy me another one. Now it’s become this thing where whenever she goes somewhere and she finds a frog, she has to get it for me.” I let out a chuckle, looking over the ridiculous ornaments that mean more to me than any gift my parents ever got me. “I don’t even like frogs.”

He grins widely. “I’d like to meet her one day.”

The thought of Colby and Piper becoming friends has my heart swelling in my chest. There’s no doubt they would get on because they’re both so focused on being the best they can possibly be, but also, it would be good for Colby to meet someone else who is genuine and safe.

Maybe when I’m back in Arizona and I’m unable to keep an eye on Colby, their paths might cross, depending on where Piper gets drafted in June.