Page 72 of Worth the Shot

His other hand comes up, muffling the sound that spills out of me as I cling to him, fingers tightening around his arms harder than I mean to.

“That’s it, baby,” he says, voice thick, controlled in a way that only makes it worse. “Just like that.”

My legs threaten to give out from under me as his mouth moves along my neck, then my cheek, before he turns me into him, removing his hand and kissing me deep enough to make everything else disappear. To make me forget my own fucking name.

He slides his fingers out and they disappear into his mouth as he licks my wetness off them.

Then he winks at me.

I think I’m going to fucking die.

“I’ll be right outside,” he says, before he disappears.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone to somehow pull myself back together. I stand there for a minute, trying to remember how to breathe as I look down at my thong, completely wrecked and drenched. I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. Yeah. I’m…not okay.

“So sorry about that!” I hear the woman call out as she gets closer.

“Not a problem,” Brennan says easily. “We managed. I think we’ll take the dark red one.”

I close my eyes for a second, shaking my head as heat rushes up my neck.

Unbelievable.

This man is going to be the death of me.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Brennan

Every year, no matter where you play hockey, the organization almost always hosts some kind of charity event. In Maine, the team puts on a Gala which is basically a fancy night where we dress up and try to raise money for whichever charity the organization is supporting that season. The fans love it, we’re required to attend it, and it’s the kind of thing you can either dread or learn to enjoy.

Personally, I choose to enjoy it. It’s a chance to connect with the fanbase and raise money for something that actually matters. I plan to be here in Maine for a long time, at least I hope, so becoming a familiar, friendly face is important to me.

Still, when I agreed to go suit shopping with the guys, I really should have realized that this would end up being the most entertaining part of the whole process.

“You can’t wear that,” Shayne says flatly to Wes, who looks both offended and annoyed.

“Why the fuck not? Just because you dress like a dad doesn’t mean we all have to,” Wes chirps back.

“I do not dress like a dad!”

“You are a dad,” Miles points out.

“I kinda like it,” I say, laughing at the ridiculous blush colored velvet suit Wes is currently modeling. It comes with a matching bow tie, brown shoes, and a crisp white shirt underneath.

“He looks like the inside of Paris Hilton’s casket,” Shayne protests, shaking his head like he genuinely cannot comprehend the choice.

The poor woman running the shop looks terrified as her eyes move between us. Her mouth pulls into a tight frown like she has no idea what to say or how to regain control of the situation.

“This is the one. I’ll take it. If for no other reason than the mere fact that it pisses Shayne off,” Wes says, smiling proudly.

“Do you even know what mere means, Thomps?” Shayne crosses his arms, clearly amused as Wes answers.

“Of course I do. It means…like, mere. The mere reason. The big, important reason. Duh.”

We all burst out laughing. Of course it’s the complete opposite of what it means, but that’s Wes. We love him anyway.

We spend the next hour trying on different options and eventually I settle on a navy blue suit with a subtle burgundy and green tartan plaid pattern. I know it’ll look perfect next to Delaney’s burgundy dress.