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“Faroese.”
She pulled her incredible gaze from the window and looked directly at him, showing him that emotion which had been lost moments ago. It was her turn to lick her lips and he snapped his teeth together to keep the groan from rolling out of his mouth.
“Why do you speak Faroese? I know you mentioned Denmark. Are you from there?”
God, her excitement and enthusiasm was addictive. He wanted to keep this spark about her.
“One of my teammates was from the Faroe Islands. He spent time learning English, and I thought it would be nice for someone else to learn his language in case he got homesick. So I learned it and Danish.”
“That, Mitchell, is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard.”
He shrugged, embarrassed. “Wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“I disagree.” She placed a hand on his thigh and his body snapped to. “If it wasn’t that important, not only wouldn’t you have done it, but you also wouldn’t still speak it to this day.”
He flushed and put his hand over hers, smoothing his thumb along the softness of her skin. “Perhaps that’s the only word I know.”
“And what word is that?”
God, why hadn’t anyone told him that teasing a woman was such a turn-on? Okay, not any woman, this one. Holy hell, only this one.
He wasn’t ready to tell her. “How can you be so sure about what I would or wouldn’t have done?”
When she bent closer to him, his gut tightened much like it used to before he stepped on the court for championship games. Mitchell couldn’t stop himself from moving that same distance, eyes locked on hers.
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper. Mitchell strained to hear her but he refused to look away. She fucking mesmerized him. From the way she sank her teeth into the pillowy softness of that plump lower lip—enticing him—to the slight flare of her nostrils and her thick curved lashes that gave her an unintentional sultry look.
“What’s that?” His tone matched hers. Low. Intimate.
“For a big bad NBA player, you’re actually nothing like you want people to think.”
“How so?”
She didn’t speak for a few charged seconds then she gave him a twinkling look. “You’re all hard on the outside, but inside you’re gooey…”
Forehead to forehead, he tried to rationalize what would happen if he gave in and kissed her. “Did you just quote Red to me?”
“Look at that,” she praised, drawing away from their intimate bubble. “Not only a pretty face.”
Fuck, he wanted to kiss her but in his periphery he noticed they were getting all of the attention.
Oh, Flykra, I’m not sure how I’m going to let you go when the time comes.
…
Hope watched the door like a hawk, knee bouncing and moving faster and faster the more her nerves jacked up. Her lower lip was caught in her teeth but she didn’t pull her gaze from the front door.
They were outside. Phillip the proprietor, Mitchell, Erick, and David’s father. All were outside to get some of the snow off the roof. A dangerous job to be sure. Some were on the roof, and some were holding lights and ladders.
Personally, she was a mess and simply wanted all four of them with their feet on the ground, safe, and indoors.
“Here.” Sonya walked up and thrust a cup of tea under her nose. “You look like you could use this.”
“Thanks.” The warmth emanating from the porcelain mug penetrated her palms. After curving her fingers around it, she brought it to her mouth and took a drink, only to sputter as the burn lanced its way down her throat. “Holy shit, what did you put in this?”
Sonya laughed and wrapped an arm around Hope’s waist. “Did you think I was going to give you plain tea?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I thought—a nice cup of spiced chai.”
Sonya moved some of her vibrant red hair out of her face. “I did. Just because the spice had some additional spice doesn’t mean I didn’t bring you a cup of tea.”
“Christ,” Hope wheezed. “Warn a gal next time.” She took another sniff. Now she could smell the spiced rum. “Not sure if this is going to make my hair fall out or grow me some on my chest.”
Sonya snorted. “That would be interesting. Bare except for your chest.” She winked. “We could market that.”
“We?”
She made a grand gesture to herself. “Umm, which genius gave the concoction to you? That would be me. So, yes, us. We could market your hairy chest.”
“You have a hairy chest?” Wendy popped up. “You know waxing can be your friend. Does it cover your boobs? Or is it like a line down between them?”
Hope and Sonya shook their heads.
“I don’t have a hairy chest.” How had this conversation gotten so out of hand?
“No judgment,” Wendy assured her. “I am curious, though. Is it hairier than Mitchell’s? I watched him when he played for the Leviathans. His chest wasn’t overly hairy, just the right amount for a woman to push her fingers through.” She sighed as her eyelids fluttered down.
