I knew it!I saw the back of her head at the bar, muttering angrily about dick being bad. It’d been so unexpected, I laughed, turning away to hide it under fake coughs. When I looked again, she was gone.
“A little.” I shoot her a lopsided grin that never fails to charm the ladies. “And I’d really like you to reconsider.”
She plucks the drink from my fingers and takes a sip. “Reconsider what?” she questions.
“Dicks.”
Caught between surprise and shock, she sputters, thumping her chest with her fist as she chokes on her mojito. Worried, I step closer, intending to pat her back. I’ve never before almost killed a woman by flirting and I don’t intend to start now.
“You didn’t just—” She spins toward me, waving her hand about, accidentally brushing the front of my jeans. The light graze causes my cock to stir lazily. She jumps back, one dainty palm slapping against her mouth. “Oh my god, I touched your dick.”
“Seems that way.”
She flushes a stunning, fiery red.
“Oh crap, I said dick to your face. About your dick.”
“Yep. Multiple times now. If you want to switch it up, there is a C-word as well.”
Wide eyes blink at me, heightening my amusement.
“I’m so sorry!” she cries, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to.”
I lean against the pony wall beside me, cocking my head to observe as she freaks out about accidentally assaulting me.
When was the last time anyone touched me, intentionally or unintentionally, and then apologized for it? Being part of the public eye means that sometimes my space and body are also treated like public property. I’ve been groped during a photo op by a lady who winked as she walked off with her husband. I’ve been propositioned bywomen straight up sitting themselves on my lap uninvited, assuming I’ll be flattered.
When I was younger, I mistook these interactions for something more than a fleeting interest. Those women were enamored with the idea of sleeping with an athlete. It didn’t have to be me;anyhockey player would do. Once I realized this, I made it a point to be exactly what everyone expected me to be: a player onandoff the ice.
Hearing Ms. Mojito emphatically express regret for invading my personal space is disorienting.
The pink on her cheeks deepens to a muted red as she apologizes again and my blood begins to pound harder. She hasn’t brought up hockey once, which is a relief. And she seems nice. Really nice.
“I’m a menace to society. I should never leave home. Oh my god. Oh. My. God.”
And cute.Her rambling is oddly endearing.
“That’s not the first time I’ve managed to make a girl moan those words without dropping my pants. Or hers.”
As intended, her head swings toward me.
That’s more like it. Keep your eyes on me, gorgeous.
“Really?” she asks, sounding breathless.
My lips curve in a slow smirk as I scan her toned body. Fuck yes, I’d make her scream for whatever god she wanted all night long.
She’s tall enough for her legs to wrap around my hips and hold me captive between thighs that look as firm as her ass. My gaze flickers momentarily over the soft swell of her chest, landing on the flushed skin above her collar. “Happy to prove it to you, gorgeous.”
She blinks and, for an instant, I wonder if I’ve come on too strong.
“They said you were nice,” she murmurs, her eyes glinting with interest. “But you’re dangerous, aren’t you?”
“They?”
“They.” She waves in the general direction behind her, her actions loose, confirming the high likelihood she isn’t fully sober. Crap.
“There was a group of very interesting ladies sitting nearby, discussing who they’d pick for a sexcapade. I didn’t know what to think of that but I see it now.”