Page 48 of Unforgettable Player

“What for?”

“To sleep in.”

Connor shrugs out of his t-shirt before dropping his shorts. I avert my eyes, not before I catch the silhouette of his perfect body in the gloom of the bedroom.

“I just sleep in my underwear, anyway.” He pauses. “I mean, if that’s okay?”

Fuck. “Yeah, of course.”

It’s a warm night. If Connor wasn’t here, I’d probably sleep in my underwear—or nude—too.

Already changed into an old t-shirt and sleep shorts, I climb under the thin sheet and switch the fan on. I don’t know whether it’s literally his body heat or the thought of having Connor Ryan in my bed in his boxers, but the second he climbs under the sheet, I’m ten times hotter.

“This okay?” he asks.

My mouth is suddenly dry when I reply, “Yeah.”

I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling. When I look over at him, he’s doing the same thing.

“Goodnight.” I turn over, facing away from him. Maybe if I can get him out of my eye line, he’ll be out of my head. Yeah, right.

I can hear him breathing. Hear his foot moving under the sheet. I can smell the deodorant on his skin, feel the heat radiating off his body. It lulls me into a trance as much as it makes my skin tingle with pleasure.

He turns over, the sound calamitous in the near silence of my room.

My whole body longs to be closer to him. It’s willing him, just an inch closer, another inch….

A weight settles on my waist over the blanket. I look down to find Connor’s hand resting there.

“Is this okay?”

Yes, God, yes. All I manage is a hum in response.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

He shuffles closer until his bare chest is pressed against my back. There’s a layer of cotton between us, but I know he’s naked from the waist up. He hooks his arm more firmly around my middle and pulls me closer until his nose is buried in my hair.

“Connor,” I let out a weak protest.

“A little friendly spooning,” he whispers into the back of my head.

I laugh through my nose. “Do you spoon your teammates, too?”

“No. But Smitty did spoon me in his sleep once.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Nah. No point embarrassing the guy.”

I swallow. Jealousy rising at the thought of some hockey player spooning him. “Did you like it?”

“‘Course not.”

“Why not?”

I feel him shrug. He starts nosing at my hair before answering. “He’s not my type.”