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When the girls skated back on the track, he looked for Morning Whorey, and then began to sketch her angular face and the expression she made when the jam started. At his side, Diane squealed and clapped her hands, beer forgotten. “That’s so her! That’s amazing, Sebastian!”
He grinned and took a sip of his beer, feeling a bit more relaxed about his art. Someone else had seen him draw and the world hadn’t ended. Wasn’t so bad.
The Rag Queens fell behind for a time, and his sketches were forgotten as the stands erupted between each jam, cries of disappointment erupting every time the jammer banged her hands against her hips, calling off the jam. Then, Good Whip Lollipop managed to score a Grand Slam on the other team, bringing the score within two points and three minutes left.
Then, the Rag Queens tied them on the next jam.
By that time, the crowd was on their feet, and Sebastian was caught up in the excitement. “This is the last jam,” Diane yelled in his ear. “Time’s gonna run out so they have to hustle.”
His gaze flicked from the jammer to the pack, just ahead of them. The women were tense, ready to start. The whistle blew, and the pivot moved out in front. Then, a second whistle, and the jammers took off. As he watched, Chelsea skated in front of the other team, then widened her legs as she skated, deliberately blocking as much floor as she could. The other team’s jammer tried to jump her extended leg and managed to knock both of them to the ground. He held his breath as Chelsea went sprawling, his worry for her overriding his enjoyment of the game. But she quickly picked herself back up and skated back to the pack. Meanwhile, Good Whip Lollipop was busy fighting her way through the pack to score. She passed one player—
And pounded on her hips with her hands, signaling the end of the jam.
It was over. The Broadway Rag Queens won by one point. The audience roared their appreciation as the women skated a victory lap around the track, arms raised in triumph.
The crowd surged forward out of the bleachers, moving to the floor, and Sebastian went with them, heading unerringly for Chelsea.
She spotted him as he approached the track and sped up, skating through the crowd to fling herself into his arms with a happy squeal. Her face was red with exertion, her ponytails damp with sweat, but she was exuberant. “We won,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck even as he lifted her into the air and hugged her.
“You were fucking amazing! I nearly lost my mind when you did that last move at the end to block the jammer—”
Her eyes lit up with pleasure at his compliment. Then her gaze flicked to his mouth, and she impulsively pressed her mouth to his in a hard kiss.
Sebastian was startled—Chelsea didn’t kiss impulsively. He knew now that she had issues with intimacy because of her past. He was resolved not to push her, to let her lead. He’d follow wherever she led. And if she wasn’t eager for kisses, he was fine with that.
But the lips on his weren’t hesitant in the slightest. They were excited, eager, and as her mouth slicked over his, she licked the seam of his mouth. She was asking—no, demanding—for more from him.
He gave it to her, then, his arms tightening around her body as he hungrily returned the kiss, his mouth devouring hers. His tongue met and clashed with hers, and their teeth banged together once, and then it was just endless deep kiss after endless deep kiss. A thrust of tongue, a sultry moan deep in the throat, the nip of her teeth, all of them drove the world out until it was just him and Chelsea, locked together.
And she wasn’t pulling away. She was totally into it, just as much as he was.
But he kept his hands carefully at her waist. He was the one who broke the kiss and opened his eyes to see Chelsea giving him a dazed look, her mouth swollen and wet from his kisses.
And fuck, he wanted to kiss her all over again. To press his mouth to hers over and over again until she was begging for more.
But . . . this was Chelsea, and Chelsea was the leader. So he smiled down at her and thumped her helmet. “What was that for?”
“I just . . .” She shrugged, then grinned at him. “I wanted to molest you with my mouth.”
“I am open for it any time at all.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth again, and she gave him another hot look. And . . . holy fuck, was she actually considering it?
“No one’s going to be in the locker room for a few minutes,” she breathed, then grabbed his hand, dragging him to the back of the building. “Come on.”
He had to jog to keep up with her. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was smart, but hell, if Chelsea wanted to fling him down on the track and have sex with him right then and there, in front of everyone, he was down for it.
