Page 118 of What About Us

“Yeah, well, a knock on the head still hurts. We’re skating fast out there, and the ice, the boards, they’re all hard as fuck.”

“So is your stubborn streak,” she says with a frown, and I reach over to cup the back of her neck and pull her against me for a kiss. “How many of your teeth are fake?”

I lift an eyebrow. “Four.”

“Four?”

“I know, I’ve been lucky.”

Ivy shakes her head and turns back to the game, and I can’t help but smirk as I look down at the phone again.

Easton: Hope Dumas is okay.

Me: If he wasn’t, he’d be in the locker room.

The game resumes, and Ivy passes me the popcorn, but I set it aside and pull her into my lap.

“I love it when you wear my . . .” The word has escaped me, and I frown as I tug on the shirt she’s wearing.

“Jersey?” she asks with a raised brow.

Fucking memory.

“Yeah. My jersey.”

She narrows her eyes, but after the conversation we just had about people getting their heads knocked around, I don’t want to continue it, so I kiss her. She makes that little whimper in the back of her throat and moves to straddle me, wrapping her arms around my neck as my hands move under the jersey and up her bare sides.

“Fuck, Red, you’re not wearing a bra.”

She grins against my mouth. “Guilty.”

“Hmm. I like that.”

She’s in her little skin-tight booty shorts, too, showing off her smooth legs, and fuck if it’s not the sexiest outfit ever.

“I thought you might,” she replies and plunges her fingers into the hair at my nape. “I notice you wore gray sweatpants tonight.”

“I did.”

“You know, they’re a cliché for a reason.”

I grin at her, ignoring my phone when it chimes with an incoming text.

My brothers can fucking wait.

“And what reason is that, wildcat?”

She grinds her hot-as-fuck pussy down against my already-hard cock and bites her lower lip. I tug it free with my thumb.

“Tell me.”

“They show off your goods.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “My goods?”

“Yeah. Your eggplant.”

“Nah, use your dirty words, Red.”