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“That’s the result of pre-celebration…drunk style,” I told her, nodding toward the mark.
Her hand and all those pretty fingernails painted a sexy pink lingered on my skin, right over the tattoo. Shaking her head, she kept petting it. “I don’t understand.”
I sighed deeply…for two reasons. One: Well, fuck, she was petting me. It felt too good to concentrate on anything else. But two: I hated to confess my stupidity, and that damn tattoo was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done.
“The night before the championship game,” I said, unable to take my gaze off her fingers that seemed attached to my arm. “A bunch of us got rip-roaring drunk, and we all got these to celebrate our win.”
She stared at me a second before finishing, “And…the next day, you lost instead.” When I rolled my eyes and nodded, she threw her head back and laughed.
If it wasn’t for the fact that she was laughing at me, I would’ve been totally captivated by that honest, open sound of amusement. Oh, screw it. I watched, wanting my mouth on that exposed throat.
It took me a second before I could cluck my tongue and shake my head. “Go ahead.” I waved her on as if disgusted even though I began to chuckle lightly with her. “Laugh it up. But next year, when
we do win the title for real, I plan to change the last digit on the year and this baby will be a reminder of our accomplishments…not our failures.”
She leaned in, her green eyes lit up like sparkling emeralds. “And if you lose again?”
I wanted to kiss her so bad. Her lips were perfect, practically begging me to dominate them. But I drew in a breath and reined myself in. I decided to answer cutesy instead of serious. So with a grin, I flexed my bicep she was still holding onto. “What? With this golden throwing arm? That’s just not possible.”
She didn’t laugh as I’d planned for her to. No, the delicious, tempting woman sucked in a breath and her touch became bold as she slid her hand up the tight muscle. “Oh, God,” she breathed out the word. “I bet women love to clutch these guns when you push inside them.”
Holy…
My mind blanked out.
Or more accurately, it didn’t blank out at all. It merely lost all reasonable thought as images of every way she could clutch my biceps as I pushed inside her crammed every available space in my synapses. Hell, in some of the images, she didn’t even have to touch my arms. She just had to scream as I made her come.
After mentally screwing her every which way known to mankind, I shook my head and cleared my throat. I had to glance away before I tried to act on my impulses. Not that it helped much. I still knew she was there. I still knew she wanted to clutch my arms while I—damn, I probably shouldn’t go there. But I went there again and again.
So looking away didn’t help my dick relax, but it did help me realize…I spun back to her. “Shit. You’re completely wasted, aren’t you?”
I knew she’d been downing bottle after bottle, but she hadn’t been acting all giggly drunk like most of the co-eds I was used to. What she’d said, however, was like nothing I could ever picture Dr. Kavanagh saying to me…ever. Not even drunk. Since she had said it, though, she had to be totally out of her mind.
And now that I was looking for the signs, her eyes were bright and glassy And her posture was a little too loose for her.
“I’ve never been wasted before in my life.” She tried to straighten her spine in her prissy, professor way, but she only ended up tipping to the side. Realizing what she was doing, she let go of my arm to brace her hand on the top of the bar, catching herself. As her eyebrows puckered with irritation, I reached out and helped her straighten up. I already missed the loss of her hands on me. The phantom warmth of them still heated my flesh.
“Did you put something stronger in my drink?” she accused, scowling at me. “Because I suddenly feel a little…tipsy.”
I snorted. “Tipsy? Honey, you passed tipsy and headed straight to plowed the moment you asked me details about my sex life.”
Her back tried to stiffen all self-righteously again. “I beg your pardon? I most certainly did not—oh shit.” Her face flooded with color as her mouth dropped open. “I just asked you about your sex life.”
Watching her lips form the word shit was my downfall.
I scuttled backward away from her, aching for her so hard my muscles vibrated from the tension they were using to restrain me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved my hand to excuse her behavior, to make it not as hot and sexy as it really was. “I know all about alcohol-induced slipups. Remember?” I flashed her my forearm and then immediately swung away, in petrified retreat.
I didn’t want to leave, but I needed space before I did something unforgiveable.
I shoved Pick in her direction, grabbing a strawberry daiquiri out of his hand. “You gotta keep me away from her,” I gasped, tempted to down the drink instead of deliver it to its owner. “If she goes into the back for any reason, do not let me follow her. Do you understand? If she tries to give me her number, do not let me keep it. And if she...Jesus!” I glanced at her just in time to see some guy tap on her shoulder, gaining her attention. “And keep that little asswipe sniffing around her away too. Got it?”
Pick blinked. “Uh…”
“Thanks.” I turned away, leaving him to his new duties.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
