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She snorts. “Please. You’ll be too busy being a hotshot hockey player, with all these women throwing themselves at hot Ryan Justice whose plus-minus is spectacular.”
“Plus-minus, huh?”
“And you make fun of my Google,” she says, her eyes burning into mine.
“I do. But you know what?”
“What?”
“I’ll only want you,” I say quickly, and her lips curve as she gazes into my eyes. “Because I love looking at you and touching you and lying with you and kissing this sweet fucking—” I touch my mouth to hers, and when her hand tightens on my jaw, her tongue meeting mine, I bask in it. I have to, because she’s a winner. It doesn’t matter how much confidence I have, she won’t want some fucking loser who can’t get into the NHL.
So I’d better love everything about her—and love her hard—before I lose her.
