Page 92 of Devious Obsession
I look down at the dark-blue fabric.
Right.
Forgot about that one.
Violet glances at her phone, typing something. “Grey said to meet them at the pub on the corner of the stadium.”
“Oh, good.” Willow hooks her arm through Thalia’s.
My phone goes off.
Steele
Stay.
I meet the girls’ curious gazes. I realize I automatically took a step back.
“Um, I’m going to meet up with you in a few minutes…”
Violet snorts. “You’ve got our numbers. Text if you need anything.”
Right.
They head away from me, and I lean against the wall. The door doesn’t open for some time—long enough that I guess there must be some other exit for the players. Or maybe I’m just completely in the wrong place.
But eventually, the door opens and Steele steps out. He has his skates slung over his shoulder, and he drops his bag to the floor. He’s got a bruise forming on his cheek, and a split lip that probably contributed to the blood he spat on the ice during the game.
Without a word, he comes in close and cups my jaw, tipping my head back. His brown eyes burn into me, and for the first time, I understand what a fucking smolder is. I squeeze my thighs together, and a blush works its way up my neck.
His thumb sweeps along my lower lip, and then he leans down. He stops a hair’s breadth from touching me, his lips hovering over mine.
“Did you enjoy that?” he whispers.
I nod. My nose brushes his, and he exhales.
“So did I.” He smirks and rises. He takes my hand. “Come with me.”
I follow him through the lower level of the stadium, to the large gates where the Zamboni recently drove through. The ice is clean, free of any skate marks. The Zamboni itself sits against the wall, and I automatically pull toward that.
“They seem fun,” I say absently, running my hand over the wrapped side. It has the Devils’ mascot on the side and some advertising about tickets to home games. “To drive, I mean.”
He raises his eyebrow. “Well. Hop on up.”
I purse my lips, waiting for him to crack a laugh. When he doesn’t… who am I to object? I set my purse down, and he sets down his bag and skates beside it. He follows me to the little step-up ladder, his hands gripping the railing on either side of my body while I climb up.
A little thrill goes through me when I sit in the driver’s chair.
“How does it look?”
“Giant,” I murmur.
“This would be an apt time for a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.” Steele climbs up after me, stopping on the top step.
I run my hands over the steering wheel, the levers beside the chair. I have no idea how to drive it, and I don’t think I’m destructive enough towantto do it. Not on my own like this anyway.
“What are you afraid of?” Steele asks.
I meet his dark gaze. He’s not as… loud, I guess, as I was expecting. Like even though they’re coming off that win, and the energy is still simmering inmychest like a live wire, he seems quiet. Contemplative.
