His arm snakes around my waist, his hand resting low on my hip, thumb stroking lazy circles against my skin where my jersey has ridden up slightly. Casual, sweet.Possessive.Like he isn’t thinking twice about touching me in public. It feels like we’re a real couple and he’s staking his claim. I watch the eyes of other girls in the bar, feeling their gazes tracking his movements, my position on top of his lap, and I fight the urge to growl at them.So stupid,considering I’m the one who asked to slow down the pace.
Before I can think too hard about that,Beck appears at the table, setting down a fresh pitcher of beer and a round of waters. I’m grateful for something to do with my hands, reaching for one of the waters immediately. Anything to distract from the way my body is currently betraying me.
“Breathe, sweetheart,”Rhodes murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. His voice is low, meant only for me. “You’re fine. I’ve got you. I want you here and so does everyone else.”
“Is this your idea of taking it slow, McKnight?” I whisper back.
“Considering what I’d like to be doing right now? Yeah, Monroe. This is taking it slow.” I feel the curious glances from his teammates at the table and tense. He tucks me in tighter before whispering, “If you want to go, we can go. Tonight is supposed to be fun. You’re not being held hostage, I promise.”
I relax into his lap—just slightly. I can leave any time I want to, and that thought comforts me.
He chooses that moment to tighten his grip around my waist, fingers skimming lower, his palm sliding over my inner thigh. A sly glance tells me his seemingly innocent hold is less innocent than it looks.
Heat pools low in my stomach, my thighs press together on instinct, and Rhodes clocks it, hiding a smirk. I mentally tell myself to pull it together. We’re in public, for fuck’s sake.
I force myself to take another sip of water, the cold liquid doing absolutely nothing to cool me down. My body is too busy cataloguing every inch of space touching Rhodes.
I spend a few moments listening to the guys chatter back and forth before deciding I want something other than water to drink. I push up off his lap, stepping out of his hold, his fingers dragging down my thigh as I go.
Rhodes looks at me, confused, unwilling to break contact with me completely.
“I’m gonna go order a Diet Coke,” I tell him, clearing my throat.
His gaze lingers, searching my face. “You sure you aren’t running away from me, Monroe?”
I consider the idea, much to his chagrin. “Eh, not tonight, McKnight.” I nudge his arm with my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” He nods before turning back to finish his conversation.
I weave my way through the crowd toward the bar, the heat of Rhodes’ touch still lingering on my skin like a brand. I need a second to breathe—to recalibrate. Because I know I told Rhodes I wanted to take it slow, but he refuses to go along with that plan, and I’m starting to forget why I wanted it in the first place.
The Black Boar is packed, and I’m being shuffled along shoulder-to-shoulder with a sea of Wolverines jerseys and die-hard fans. The scent of beer, sweat, and the sharp bite of whiskey hangs in the air, heavy and intoxicating.
I squeeze into an open space at the bar, flagging down the bartender. “Diet Coke and lime, please.”
There’s a guy next to me nursing a drink. Early thirties, maybe, blond and leering. The kind of man who wears his arrogance like cologne. His eyes sweep over me, lingering just a beat too long, and my stomach turns.Thispart of going out, of bars and parties and leering men, I don’t miss.
Ugh. I should have picked a spot near the puck bunnies. At least they’d be helpful, fixing my lip gloss or straightening my top instead of whatever the hell this creep is doing.
“Hey there,” he drawls, tipping his beer bottle toward me. “Didn’t see you out on the dance floor.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile.“That’s because I wasn’t on it.”
“Shame.” He leans in slightly. Too close. My instincts fire and I shift back, pressing my hands against the bar. “You look like you could dance.”
I exhale sharply through my nose, fingers drumming against the wood.
Where thehellis my drink? I inch sideways. He follows. “You here with friends?” he presses.
“Something like that.”
His grin widens. “Let me get your drink, then.”
A sharp prickle crawls up my spine. “I’m good, thanks.”
I glance over my shoulder, searching for our booth. Rhodes is laughing at something Beck said, his head tipped back, jaw sharp and strong. So handsome. So confident. And also, so very much not paying attention to me right now.
Blond Guy takes my distraction as an opening, his tone dipping lower.
“Come on, one drink won’t kill you.”