Page 15 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
I’m flattered. For real. Which is nuts because I have all kinds of women telling me how fucking fantastic and hot I am every time I go out. But she’s real. A true fan. She shows remarkable restraint for a woman who’s professed to want to jump my bones—not in so many words.
“So now you know. My deep dark secret. I hope you’re not mad. I promise I’m not some weird stalker.”
“No, I’m flattered,” I say. “I can see you have your crush completely under control.”
She gives me a rueful smile, her green eyes amused, her demeanor more relaxed and her face as expressive as ever.
“Is that the only reason you volunteered? You sure it didn’t have something to do with ambition? Wanting to do well—”
“That goes without saying.”
I laugh. “Of course.” We’ve both finished with our drinks and our bear claws were demolished long ago, so we have no more reason to sit at the table and the staff is starting to give us looks like they want to dump us out of our chairs.
“I guess we should go,” she says. She sounds as reluctant as I feel. We leave and walk the last couple of blocks huddling together against the cooling air.
I walk her to her apartment building and stand outside the door with her. Her awkwardness is sweet. And hot. And even though I shouldn’t, I want to kiss her.
“We’re going to have to kiss sooner or later,” I say, addressing my conscience as much as I am her, and moving in close. She nods, her breathing is shallow, small puffs clouding the air. “It’s better we do it for the first time when we’re alone like now. It would be too awkward in front of an audience.” I’m convincing myself along with her.
She leans in so that her body, overly clothed as it is, bumps against me. My hand automatically goes to her face, to touch the soft warm skin of her cheek, sliding down to her chin as I lower my mouth close to hers, watching her. She stares right back at me, eyes intense green, pupils dilated, lips quivering.
“You don’t mind?” I whisper into her mouth, breathe her in, testing her resolve.
“No.” she swallows. “Kiss me.” Her whisper is rough and desperate and ignites me, so I press my mouth against hers, taking it easy and slow. No tongue, no hard pressure, only banked desire and curiosity.
She’s electrifying, tender and sweet and real, with very, very soft, pliable lips, and a shy tongue she knows exactly how to use, darting and caressing, opening me up. I groan as she plays with my tongue like we’ve known each other before. Maybe in my dreams. With my eyes closed, I picture a different Vivvie. Then I back up, because this is the Vivvie I need to keep at arm’s length and my cock is starting to take notice again. Why hadn’t I noticed the sexy plumpness of her mouth before?
“Sorry,” she says immediately, her blush pretty, her eyes glazed and contradicting her words.
“No you’re not, Vivvie.” I like saying her name, shortening it, making it familiar, my personal version of her. “Let’s not start our relationship out lying to each other. Or to ourselves. It’s bad enough we’re pretending to the rest of the world. The only way this thing is going to work is if we’re totally honest with each other.”
She nods, solemn. “You’re right. The kiss was . . .” She bites her lip and I’m staring too hard at her kiss-swollen mouth.
“Hot,” I say. “The kiss was fucking hot.”
She smiles. The most angelic little smile I’ve seen—probably since I was thirteen years old.
“You have a way with words,” she says, her smile turning less angelic. I laugh.
“Are you mocking me, Vivvie?” She gives a nervous titter, and the sound, coming from not a shy place, but a reserved, private place, gives my dick a bounce.
Some guys walk by us on the sidewalk and one of them makes a lewd comment. I put an arm around her, keep her out of the way, stare him down. He backs off, muttering “Sorry.”
After they pass by, I say, “I should let you go inside. I have your number now. I’ll text you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. But I will.”
She smiles, tentative, like I have something to prove. I do and I don’t. I have to prove that I’m good for my word, but I really don’t need to call or text her because we’re not in a real relationship. Only pretending like we are.
The line is already getting blurry and we haven’t even gone out yet. Fuck.
It’s early to be getting home after a game. Based on past history, it’ll be awhile before Aiden is back, if at all. Not bothering to turn on the television, or even to have my usual late-night snack, I head for my room. For bed. Because I’m all of a sudden anxious to have my way with little Vivvie—in my imagination if not for real.
Stripping down, I ignore the warning blare that doesn’t quite penetrate my consciousness and concentrate on imagining penetrating my pretend fiancée as my cock takes over the decision making. Choking up on my throbbing organ, the excitement is off the charts and jerking off is too easy, too wild.Why question a good thing?
It doesn’t take me long to figure out the answer to that question as I’m falling into my post-orgasm coma.
Because you’re going to be spending a lot of fucking time with the real life Vivvie—and you can’t touch her.
