Page 57 of Ice Queen

Don’t make me come back and tie you to something until you give me a name.

Forgettable? Princesa, please. I know I’m the furthest thing from forgettable.

I’ll have you know my balls are right where they should be.

First of all, that's debatable.

Second… Oh. Are we talking smut preferences now?

My head falls back against the seat as I try my hardest not to think about her reading smut, especially her reading smut at my house alone. It’s a futile effort, though, all my blood rushes south, only moving faster when I realize I don’t hate the thought of that at all.

You see, Markus. I don’t think you could handle knowing my preferences because what I prefer in books, I like to act out in real life.

I let out a groan, my eyes slamming shut. It’s now officially a need to know what this woman reads.

“Who are you texting?” My eyes fly open at the sound of Monroe’s voice. I completely forgot I was sitting next to my teammates and Hannah. There are four sets of eyes on me right now, and if a Latin man were capable of blushing, I’m sure I would be.

“No one,” I clip. Dropping my phone and picking up my Switch, pressing the home button more times than necessary.

“Bullshit,” Andrews says from behind me.

I turn my head, looking at him through the crack in the seat. “What are you on about?”

He raises his chin. “I’ve never heard such a frustrated noise come from you.”

Wilson rubs his hands together as he looks through the crack, too. “Are you having some lady troubles, Sammy?”

I shake my head, ignoring their comments. Mainly because there’s one comment that’s completely hijacked my brain. A date. My stomach sours the longer I ruminate on the thought until I’m throwing my switch in my bag.

“I’m taking a nap,” I grunt before I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and pull the drawstrings.

A freaking date.

And she said my kiss, well, almost kiss, was forgettable, what kind of shit is that?

CHAPTER 20

Kaitlyn

You deserve so much more than me. I’ve rolled it over in my head probably a thousand times since he said it. I’m starting to believe it, but the peace I feel around him is causing me to pause.

Does he really think that, or is he just scared? Have I read the signs all wrong? Were there even any signs to begin with? I know he almost kissed me, and even though he stopped himself, it felt like he wanted that kiss as much as I did. Maybe I’m setting myself up for failure, maybe he was just reacting, giving in to me, and how much I wanted it before he came to his senses. I, however, need to know if he feels anything at all, or if I should stop while I’m ahead.

So, I decided to test that theory when I told him I had a date. Truth be told, I don’t know why my desires decided to come back online when he stepped into the picture. I’ve been alone, just me and my battery-powered boyfriends since Wyatt. I was happy with that, but something about Markus makes it feel safe to be wanted, and my body has definitely caught on to that.

Being in his orbit is like walking around with my favorite blanket. Comforted by the way he loves, whether he wants to acknowledge his overbearingness as a love language or not.

He’s the perfect storm of gentle and protective, and I’ve been swept up in the force that surrounds him. Strong enough to level everything I thought I knew, clearing the way for me to rebuild something I’ve always wanted.

A family, a place to belong. And though I have my doubts, the strength of the tug between us keeps me here, pushing just a little more, hoping that maybe he’ll feel it, too.

I watch as Maggie runs around the pasture like she owns it, chasing the cows who I’ve been told are named Moolan and Mooshu. She’s got not a care in the world as she runs, then rolls around on her back before hopping up and doing it all over again.

“Does she always do this when she’s here?” I ask, reaching for the glass of spiked lemonade Lettie brought out.

She watches Maggie for a second, smiling behind the rim of her glass. “Yeah, she loves it here.”

The bottom of her metal cup taps softly against the railing of the porch, the baby monitor sits next to it, the low, barely audible sound of rain from a noise machine plays through the speaker as she turns to face me. Her arms cross over her chest, long brown hair braided over her shoulder, and an oversized Hawks t-shirt swallows her lean frame.