Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Right. Well…”
I didn’t want to hear the rest. No excuses, no regrets. The fastest way to shut him up was to do exactly what he implied shouldn’t have happened at all.
So I pulled him toward me and pinned him against the wall. Shock immediately gave way to a menacing glare. I had less than two seconds to explain myself, and I had to make it good.
“I don’t want to hear sorry. We can talk all fuckin’ night if it makes you feel better, but it doesn’t change a thing. I’m still gonna want you.”
He clenched his jaw and grasped a handful of my shirt. “You don’t know what the fuck you wa—”
I shut him up with a rough kiss…all heat and desire, zero finesse.
Fireworks exploded in my brain, like some kind of internal signal that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Maybe Nolan felt it too.
He softened the connection and sank into it, pushing his tongue between my lips. And if possible, the fire burned hotter than ever. I sucked his bottom lip between my teeth, roaming my hands down his sides, resting them on his hips before squeezing his ass and dragging my cock alongside his through our joggers.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “You’re hard.”
Nolan shoved my chest. “This isn’t—we can’t do this. Not here.”
He was right. This wasn’t the time or place.
But at least he hadn’t said it was a bad idea.
I nodded. “I think we need to do it, though. Don’t you? We can’t act like it’s nothing when it’s definitely something.”
He raked his hands through his hair and sighed heavily. “This was easier when I hated you.”
“You don’t hate me.”
“No, I don’t,” he whispered. “But you have to tell me what you want. Be specific.”
“I want you.”
“That’s not specific enough.”
Okay.
I swallowed hard, my heartbeat reverberating in my ears like a helicopter during takeoff.
“I want to touch you.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.” I caressed his earlobe, ran my thumb along his jaw, and rested it on his lower lip. “I’m burning up from the inside, out. I’ve been trying to play it cool, but I’m having a hard time convincing myself this is a fluke. It’s not a fluke, Nol. It’s a twenty-year itch, and we need to fucking scratch it.”
He let out a shaky exhale. “Maybe you’re right.”
Relief flooded my veins. “Come to my place.”
Nolan frowned. “Now? I’m—I’m supposed to be at the diner soon.”
“You’re the boss,” I reminded him.
“I…yeah.” He nodded, his eyes darkened with lust. “I am.”
I kissed him breathless, then gently moved him out of the doorway, opening the door as I hiked my bag over my shoulder. “See ya, Nol.”
Would he follow? I was counting on him being as close to the edge as I was, but I couldn’t be sure. And let’s face it, I was newly off his shit list, so there was a good chance that he flat-out didn’t trust me.
Why couldn’t I read him? Once upon a time, he’d been an open book, and now…I had no idea how to communicate how real this felt to me. I didn’t want to hurt him or use him. I just wanted to touch him.
And maybe get a sense of who I was without hockey.
I couldn’t help thinking Nolan might have the answers.
I drove straight home, jumped into the shower, and changed into a pair of workout shorts. I was about to yank a tee over my head when I heard an engine pull into my driveway. I tossed the shirt onto the entry table and stepped outside just as Nolan alighted from his truck.
Damn, he looked hot. He’d changed into khakis and a white oxford shirt, and his damp hair curled around his ears. He must have taken a shower too. I tamped down the sudden desire to sniff him on the front porch.
He set a hand on the railing and glanced at the woods abutting the property. It was so quiet, you could hear the babbling creek nearby, tweeting birds, and the gentle sway of branches in the summer breeze.
“Wow. It’s really nice,” he commented, pulling his sunglasses off. “I’ve never set foot in this house. It’s like the lone Beverly Hills estate in Elmwood.”
I hiked a thumb toward the house. “Come on in. You gotta see the view from the kitchen. It’s insane.”
I moved ahead of him into the massive great room. It was decorated in cabin chic with a leather sectional and comfy armchairs positioned in front of a stone hearth and the ginormous flat-screen hanging above the mantel. Throw pillows and blue plaid throw blankets provided a pop of color, but the real showstopper was the yard. The wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offered expansive views of the dock and the large pond out back and the forest beyond.
Quick note: The pond was huge. As I’d told Nolan—or babbled to him—it was deep in the middle and large enough to stretch the definition of itself into more of a mini lake. In the winter, it would be the perfect size for an outdoor rink.