Page 23 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Reaching down for my conscience, bypassing my sorry dick, I press my forehead against hers and say, “I need to get going. Do you mind if I steal a good-night kiss?”
The explosion of confused emotion in her eyes tightens my chest as if my tux has turned into a vise. She’s thrilled and disappointed, and hungry as her lips part. I touch my mouth to hers as if I need to breathe her in to relieve the tightness, as if her kiss is my cure. The moist warmth of her, the earnest murmurs from deep within her as I delve inside and she invites me with no holds barred, conspiring to intoxicate me and rob me of all but a tiny crumb of sense as I take a final nibble, allowing our lips to part.
Backing up a step, I hold her a moment longer, but my hands are vibrating, so I let go.
“Good night, Finn,” she says. She opens her door and slips inside without looking back. Gathering myself, because I don’t know where I’ve gone, where my head is, I stand there outside her door for a few beats. Breathing in the cold air deep and hard, I swear at fate and the sky, still and dark, blurred with city lights.
How can I possibly be so attracted to Vivvie fucking Frost of all women? It must be some fucking sick trick my head is playing. Mary’s gotten into my head by forbidding me from having her. Now of course she’s all I want. Vivvie is the proverbial fucking forbidden fruit. And I’m such a perverted son of a bitch that I’m having a hell of a time leaving her alone because she’s forbidden.
What the fuck made me think being fake engaged to Vivvie would be good for my concentration on hockey?
I need to get over this obsession fast.
