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“How bad does it look?” I ask when he falls into step with me. “The picture.”
“What do you think?” he asks, not giving anything away.
Shit, how bad could it look?
Once I got my mouth on her again, there was just her and me and this need rising faster than I could get control of it.
I stop just before the door to the players’ parking lot, turn back, and stare down the concrete corridor.
There’s no one coming, so I take a deep breath, hoping like hell whatever it is, it won’t cause problems for Stormy. “Lemme see.”
Nichols hands me his phone.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” For a second, I think about sending him into the concrete pylon with my fist. “You can barely make out our faces.”
We’re mostly in the shadows in the background. Yeah, my hand is in her hair, and the way her head is tipped back and her body is molded to mine say this kiss probably should have happened behind closed doors, especially with that sliver of ice blue showing beneath my shirt… thanks to my hand bunched in the back of it. But no one’s going to be looking at us.
No one is going to care who we are.
Nichols drops a hand on my shoulder and gets in front of my face to meet my eyes. “Diesel, man. This picture… It’s Boomer dipping a chick with his tongue down her throat and her knee hitched high enough to show some flashandhis hand on the bare skin of her ass. This picture is going to get eyes.”
Oh shit, how’d I miss that?
Because all I saw was Stormy.
“This picture is already making the rounds on the boards. And while you can’t see exactly who you are, anyone who was there is going to know. Bunnies talk, and there’s a good chance someone might take note of the notoriously closed-off defenseman in a lip-lock with a pretty girl new to the scene.”
What does that mean for us? For Stormy?
I’m the boring guy. Kind of a dick, erring on the side of unfriendly. The press won’t care who the girl is in my arms.
I don’t sleep with bunnies. I don’t make headlines.
No one is going to want more information about her.
No one but me.
“I should probably stop out to the apartment and let her know about it. Make sure she’s not—”
“Misty already told her. She was fine.”
I suck my teeth. “Still, I should call.”
Nichols’s raised brow says what he thinks about that.
“Yeah, man. Sure, call.” He starts backing up, nodding over his shoulder. “Misty’s waiting for me out front, so I’m gonna head out.”
He takes off, and I let myself into my car where I sit and stare at my phone.
I want to call.
Maybe I want to call more than I should.
My thumb drums against the side of the phone, her smiling face staring back at me from her contact screen.
Fuck it.
I hit call and two rings later she answers, “My sister seems to think I’m about to become famous, but I’m not convinced it’s time to buy the oversized sunglasses just yet. How about you?”
