She tries to force the smile away, but is only partially successful. “Why’s that?”
I lift a hand and skim my thumb over the dimple on her cheek. “Because this dimple pops out even when you’re trying not to smile. It’s a dead giveaway.”
She bites down on her lower lip, and fuck, I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more than I want to kiss Banner right now.
She leans in, and the subtle scent of citrus and something fresh drifts toward me, and my head instinctively lowers so I can take her mouth and find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
Her whiskey gaze connects with mine, and we both freeze. I see the desire there, but she’s fighting it harder than I am.
Instead of moving in and taking what I want, I pull back. What happens or doesn’t happen between us tonight is gonna be because she wants it every bit as bad as I do. That’s the only way I work. I didn’t drive up here for a booty call, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to push her.
That said, if she gives me the sign, I’ll have her up against the nearest wall so damn fast, she won’t have time to second-guess the decision.
I step around her and reach down to grab another ball, then toss it so it lands in the center, racking up a few more points.
One ball remains in the chute.
“Last throw. All you.”
Banner’s smile faltered when I stepped away, but she rebounds quickly.
“The pressure ... I’m not sure I can handle it.” She reaches down to pick up the ball and tosses it between both hands. “Just kidding. I got this.” She flashes a wink at me.
She releases the ball, and it hits the top right corner. She throws her arms into the air again. “I did it! I finally got the good hole!” She spins in a circle and catches a heel on the carpet, tumbling toward me.
This time, my arms close around her and her entire body presses against mine.
Fuck, she feels good in my arms.
“Careful there, killer. We’ve got a lot more games to play tonight.”
The smile that flits over her face is pure temptation. “Yeah. We really do.”
Chapter 11
Banner
I’ve never wanted to jump a guy’s bones so badly in my entire life. Ever.
Logan is like no other man I’ve ever met before. He’s nice, but not in the way that makes him boring like the actuary I went out with once. He has this confidence about him that’s unbelievably hot, and I like it way more than I should. How am I supposed to resist him when he says and does all the right things, and I can tell he’s not putting on a show? Logan’s just being himself, and somehow that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever encountered in my life.
And I want to ride him like a rodeo cowgirl on the back of a bull.
It only gets worse when I beat him at foosball—fair and square, I might add—and when I kinda-sorta throw myself into his arms, the sizable bulge in his jeans presses against me.
Holy Jesus.
This was supposed to be easy. Logan and I were supposed to meet, and I would send him on his way back to Kentucky without falling into my old habits and sleeping with him.
But I’m terrified I’m losing the battle.
Right now, my hand is wrist deep in a bucket of cheese popcorn, and I’m staring at the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen encased in denim as he shoots basket after basket in hoops.
I stuff a handful in my mouth, reminding myself to chew as I’m riveted to the way his muscles move beneath his shirt. I’m not the only one, either. At least four other women are not-so-subtly checking him out, and I give them my best side-eye.
I’ve never been this territorial over a man before. It’s new ground for me, and I’m not quite sure I know what to think about it. Logan turns around, and I miss my mouth and drop a few orange kernels to the floor.
How am I ever going to keep my hands off him?