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“Borrow something of mine,” he offers, pointing to a sleek black suitcase. “I’ll change into whatever you don’t pick.”
If I weren’t so uncomfortable in this godforsaken tuxedo, I’d deny the offer. Especially since the idea of wearing his clothes gives me a flutter in my stomach that I can’t explain. But I amuncomfortable, so I thank him and grab some fabric before rushing into the bathroom like a freak.
One change into his black jogger sweatpants, and a too-big gray t-shirt later, I’m walking back into the seating area when my jaw drops. Henry is shirtless, or well, half shirtless. Pulling on a Henley like some kind of model for the company, torso and chest fully exposed. He’s got on a pair of sweats that match mine, only his fit and they’re in gray. They sit low on his hips, showing off the v-lines of his abs, each of them like an arrow to his dick.
And now I’m thinking about his dick.
“You change fast,” he says, forcing my eyes back up to his face as the shirt comes down.
“I guess,” I croak.
He chuckles. “Drink?”
I nod, grabbing the back of my neck. “Please.”So many of them, please.
We’re each two drinks in, watching the hockey game with mild interest when Henry finally speaks again. “Did you ever play? Hockey, I mean.”
“I can’t skate for shit,” I admit. “You?”
“I coach,” he tells me.
My brows dip down. “Samantha said you’re in business.”
“Technically, hockey is a business.” He shrugs. “But yes, I own a few companies as well.”
“Who do you coach? Like a high school team or something?”
He shakes his head. “College. St. Monroe’s.”
“No way,” I blurt, that’s my school. Or itwas. “But I never noticed you, like ever.”
He raises a brow. “Do D-1 football players have time to go to hockey games?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. “Enough about me. I’m supposed to be getting to know you.”
“There isn’t much to know,” I tell him.
He smiles and my heart pounds. “I doubt that.”
“Really, I’m as boring as it gets.”
Henry eyes me carefully. “We’ll see about that.” He grabs a bottle of tequila from the mini bar, and settles back onto the couch. “Let’s play a game.”
My chest expands with a breath. “Playing a game with tequila sounds like a really bad idea.”
“Does it?” He licks his lips. “Something to hide, Noah?”
Yeah, my growing dick for starters.“No, let’s play,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’m counting on it.” He unwraps the foil and pulls the cork. “We’ll keep it simple, with a game of truth, drink or dare. I’ll ask you a question, you’ll answer honestly. Or, you can pass for a shot or a dare.”
“Learn that one from your players?”
He laughs, and I watch his throat jump as he does. “I’m not that old, Noah. We played drinking games back in my day too.”
“If you say so,” I tease. “Alright, hit me with it. What do you want to know?”
