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I fish out my own phone and open the camera. It’s the most unflattering angle ever, but even with the clear shot up my nose, no one could miss the grin on my face. I’m… happy. Being here makes me happy. Quinn makes me happy. I can’t remember the last time I’d felt more than just content. I might have forgotten how to feel this way.
“What are you doing?” She asks as I stretch my arm out to center us both in the shot. The photo is going to cut off half of our heads, but our faces will be clear.
“It’s your insurance policy,” I say, moving closer until her satin cheek brushes the stubble along my jaw. I count down but can’t resist snapping the photo a beat early. On “three,” instead of after it. Taken off-guard, Quinn’s smile is wide and genuine and mine is its twin. I took this picture to put her and her friend’s minds at ease, yes, but also so I can have a reminder of this night and this game for the years to come. A little piece of joy that showed up where I least expected it. I open my messenger and send the photo first to Quinn, and then, on a whim, I send it to my mother. “Share it with your friend or anyone else you want to. That way, if the police ever had to question me, there’d be proof that we were together and at what time.”
She opens the photo and stares down at us in miniature. I expect her to make some disparaging comment about her hair, or her nose, or her shoulders. Most of the women I know would have. My sister would have roundhouse kicked me for not letting her be in charge of the shot, and for pulling the camera up without her permission. The photo of Quinn is stunning and the candid smile she’d sent the camera captures the way she’s looked all night. Tempting, and fiery, and wonderful, and real.
“That’s a splendid picture,” Quinn says as she forwards it along. “You look okay, too.”
My brother Vic has been nicknamed the NHL “pretty boy.” Un-ironically. Since he and I once split from the same egg, I know that “pretty” moniker can apply to me too. I might not have the experience he does, but I’ve been around my fair share of gorgeous women. Quinn doesn’t do a single thing I expect that she’ll do. She is a breath of the freshest air. And she isn’t wrong. She looks gorgeous both in person and in pictures.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, and the final buzzer swallows my words.
On the ice, the teams line up to shake hands and I realize that I’ve made it through the entire game thanks to Quinn. She’s made it fun. She’s been quiet about the details, but between the seat belonging to her father, and the mention of a hospital stay, I imagine this hasn’t been an easy evening for her either. Hopefully, I’ve helped her through the last few hours the way she’d helped me.
Now I’m eager to get her somewhere less “family friendly” to explore more of our chemistry.
“I wouldn’t call it confidence,” Quinn says as the players leave the ice. “It’s more like realism. I know what I look like. You know what I look like. Everyone who’s ever seen me knows what I look like. Why worry about how that’s captured by a camera? I think it’s pretty obvious you like what you see—”
“I love what I see.”
“So why worry about it? That photo of us? That’s two people who look happy because they are happy.” She stands up, stretching her arms above her head, and I get lost in the movement of her strong and powerful body. I shake my head to rein myself in. “In all seriousness, thank you for tonight. Whatever does or doesn’t happen from here on out…” She’s still talking, but I push to my own feet, letting myself find my balance as I take her hand in mine.
“I had a good time tonight,” I tell her. “Thanks to you.”
We both know why I followed Erik back to his hotel room, but it’s cute how little pressure he’s putting on me. The door closes behind us and we’re in a standard hotel room. I check out the bathroom and the king-sized bed while Erik turns on the few lamps and shoves some dress shirts into his open suitcase. The room is far from a mess, but his effort to clear even the smallest piles is… sweet. Like he cares what I think. Would he do the same for a regular one-night stand? I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Did you want to order something to eat? Watch a movie?” He brushes invisible lint off the end of the white and gold bedspread. “Do you want something to drink?”
He almost seems…nervous, but that can’t be right. Even when he told me about his leg he’d been quiet and watchful, not buzzing with anxiety. Now Erik is almost vibrating out of his skin, in a full-blown panic of some sort. Does he think he’ll offend me? That I’ll get mad he brought me here for some nefarious purpose? Because I invited myself. For sex. Maybe I should clarify that I chose this. Maybe he needs a little shove in the right direction.
Erik grabs a bottle of water out of the mini fridge and his jeans pull tight over an ass that could have been chiseled right off a Greek statue. Never have I ever had the urge to sink my teeth into someone’s butt, but for Erik, I want to make an exception.
I cross my arms over my front and grip the hem of my dad’s jersey, getting a handful of the hoodie under it. I tug both over my head, dropping them into a pile on the nondescript gray carpet. My beige camisole doesn’t offer the best support, but the lace trim is pretty, at least. With the double layer over top, I hadn’t been concerned about the girls swinging free. Now I’m grateful I’m not wearing one of my standard industrial strength bras. There is nothing fun or sexy about plain white cotton attempting to scaffold me into submission and still barely succeeding. Boobs are boobs. I’m pretty sure this man likes mine.
And the way Erik swallows, his throat bobbing as he locks eyes on me, definitely proves me right. The bottle crumples in his hand, spraying water over his fist and down the front of his pants. He doesn’t notice.
“Fuck, Quinn.”
His eyes are hot and dark as they skate over the skin of my shoulders and up my throat. I can feel them as if he’s touching me. My body is overheating. I’m slick between my legs. We’re on the same page and there’s nothing else we need to worry about. Not right now.
“Yes. Please.” I stretch my arms over my head and gather my hair into a thick band. My curls are tangled by now. It’ll take a gallon of the expensive conditioner and another full wash day, but that’s a small price to pay for the rest of the evening. “Unless I’m misreading the situation. I can put my shirt back—”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Erik sets the bottle on the nearest surface, nearly dropping it to the rug with his inattention. He crosses the room in three long strides, the heat from his chest smacking into mine before he even touches me. My whole body is aching when he finally reaches out to take my hand in his, pressing his lips to the ridge of my knuckles.
I go dizzy at the brush of his mouth. I lose the breath from my lungs as Erik dips his thumb and pointer under the slim strap of my tank and brushes the pads of his fingers over more sensitive skin. I shiver, goosebumps rising along the place where we connect and following his touch down over the tops of my breasts.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, Quinn. I want to get my hands and my mouth all over you.” His words slip over me and I’m drowning.
My head feels too heavy for my neck and it’s easier to let it loll back as his hand dips an inch into the top of my cleavage. We haven’t even gotten started yet, not really, and already I can’t keep my eyes open. This is just the beginning and I’m so far gone I can’t see the starting line anymore. I want him to pull the shirt up, or down, or just off. I want his hands on my naked skin. Did I say we’re just starting? I was wrong. The last few hours have been tortuous foreplay, and I need this more than oxygen. Need him.
“I want that too.”
I push the words out as I reach for the hem of his jersey. Erik helps me pull it up over his head by gripping the back of it and yanking in one fluid movement. He has a white undershirt on underneath, and it’s gone before I can ask him to take it off. His body is leanly muscled, smooth, and golden. He’s not cut the way his brother is—it’s hard to avoid the advertisements all over town—but still firm and strong. There’s a patch of dark blond hair between his pecs. Another trail of it leading down to his belly button and then disappearing under the waistband of his jeans.
“I’m going to kiss you, Quinn.” He says, and I almost don’t notice because my eyes aren’t done devouring him, but then his lips are on mine and he tastes even better than he looks.
