Page 38 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“Some.” His smile tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing.
I like hockey. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I still have vivid memories of learning to skate with my dad holding my hands as a toddler, and then later, when he put me on the ice to wander around as he coached, some of the older boys helping. Their version of it anyway.
But I haven’t been on the ice in years. Not since the last time I stayed with Dad, and I’m pretty sure I was on the cusp of eighteen. Right before we went no-contact. One final visit, even though I hated every minute of it.
The waitress comes by and takes our drink and food orders. While she repeats what we said, Carter’s foot runs up the inside of my ankle. It sends a spike of heat through me, although I don’t want it to—I’m supposed to be mad at him.
But how can I be mad when he’s the only one who doesn’t hate my guts?
My fragile new friendships don’t count. I’m still wary of them exploding in my face. Not that I would admit that to anyone but myself.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. The waitress leaves, and I decide to try and unnerve him a little. Just because he’s touching me like he still has a right to do so.
“Oliver Ruiz. What else do you know about him?”
Carter scowls. “He’s a devil on the ice. He was drafted out of high school, although he committed to FSU for two years. This is his last year. He plays forward… Please tell me he wasn’t the one who hurt you.”
“Not directly. And Penn Walker?”
“Goalie.”
“Obviously.”
He sighs. “Did you show this much interest in me when you went to St. James, Syd?”
“Yeah, right. Your ego doesn’t need inflating any more.” I nudge his leg with my toe. “So, you threw me under the bus and got me kicked out, and now you’re buying me lunch. Should I remind you that this doesn’t usually end well for us?”
His eyes gleam. “I don’t know… if by that you mean naked, then you can remind me all you want.”
I roll my eyes, but my face flames. It’s been too fucking long since I had sex, and now that he’s insinuating, it seems like all the adrenaline drops straight to my core.
No. I’m not about to fall down that rabbit hole.
Was he the last person I had sex with? Maybe.
Does he need to know that? Nope.
“You know,” he leans forward, “I can do that thing with my tongue that gets you to come all over my face in seconds.”
Jesus. My face gets hotter.
He smirks. “Your choice.”
Of course it is.
The waitress delivers our drinks and food quickly, and by the time we’re done, Carter has traced every inch of the inside of my leg with his foot. Something that absolutely shouldn’t turn me on, but maybe I’ve just been fucking starved of positive touch.
So when he drives us back to my place, I bite my lip and silently invite him up.
He follows closer than a shadow up the three floors, brushing my hair off my neck and kissing just behind my ear when I stop to unlock my apartment door.
This is bad.
We barely make it inside. He kicks the door closed and spins me in place, my back hitting the door with a soft thud. I toe off my shoes, flinging them to the side. He flips the lock, his lips crashing into mine. I rise on my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. He knows how to make a girl feel like the sun. He unzips my jacket and shoves it off my shoulders, then goes for my leggings.
“Carter?” I gasp, tearing my lips away.
He immediately moves to my neck, sucking and nipping his way down to my collarbone.