Page 22 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
She meets my eyes and they’re screamingyes, please, loud and clear. We make our escape and find the limo out front.
“What about Ham?” she says.
“He can find his own way home. He had no business inviting himself on our date anyway.”
She smiles, but has a worried look, so after we get inside and I plaster myself up against her, holding her with one arm, I take out my phone and leave a message for Ham.
“Satisfied?” I ask.
“That was decent of you.”
“Guess you’re the kind of girl to keep a guy honest, aren’t you?”
She seems flustered. “Sorry, but I—”
“Relax, I meant it as a compliment, Vivvie.”
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t mean it. You can count on me for that much.”
“Except when we’re lying to other people,” she points out.
“Ouch. True, but not my fault. We have fu—Mary Delaney to blame for that.”
She laughs.
“What?”
“I don’t care if you swear,” she says. “I have three brothers. Remember?”
“Yeah. And they all ought to be beaten for swearing in front of you.”
She reaches a hand up to touch my face, making everything go still except my racing heart because her touch is hot and tender and exciting. Then she says, “Anyone ever tell you how sweet you are?”
My brain short circuits because the answer is fuck no, no one in their right mind would ever accuse me of being sweet. But I can tell she’s not pulling my leg, that she means it. I cover her hand with mine and damn it my hand is shaking, as I remove her hand from me. But it’s too late because I feel like I’ve been branded.
She looks away and I clear my throat.
Searching my mind for something neutral to talk about, I tell her about the stick boy’s cousin and the hospital visit. Then I automatically ask her to join me.Fucking shit. Of course I do. Though being around her is as uncomfortable as it is energizing. Which is odd. Really odd.
“I’d love to go to the hospital with you. It’s the least I can do. Do you always do so much volunteer work?”
“I try.” The look of admiration in her eyes makes my dick swell with undeserved pride. “It’s part of the job. Don’t get too impressed.” If possible, her eyes light up brighter and her face goes soft as if I’ve just rescued her favorite kitten.
“Do you have kittens?”
She laughs. “What a left-field question—yes, I do.” Then her face falls. “Why? Are you allergic to them?” She starts brushing at her dress as if trying to rid herself of stray kitten hairs.
Covering her hands, I say, “No. It’s okay. Just a wild guess. Kittens suit you.” I manage to leave it at that, though she gives me an appropriately puzzled look. The limo stops then and we’re at her door.
Relief, quickly followed by tension in the form of my leaping dick, takes hold as we get out of the car. No way am I not walking her up the steps after she slipped earlier coming out. Besides, my leaping heart and leaping dick are both angling for a soul-searing good-night kiss.
“It got cold,” she says and I can hear the nerves in her wobbly voice. That calms me, returning me to my previously suave self. I can handle this. A good-night kiss and then I leave.
I’ll go home to jerk off in the privacy of my bedroom.
We reach her door and she looks up at me, pausing, silent and studying. Her face is so open and transparent, simultaneously softening my heart—wait, what heart?—and hardening my dick, because I can read her mind and it’s waging an epic battle, trying to decide whether to be naughty or nice, whether to invite me in or to say good night.
