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"My whole life, men have avoided me because of Jonas," she says. "They either idolize him, or they're scared of him. You aren't either of those things. It makes you the perfect person to do this thing."
"This thing? Losing your virginity shouldn't be an item on a checklist, Rebel." I exit the interstate and take a right. We'll be at Jonas's in just a minute.
"I didn't mean it like that." Her big, guileless eyes meet mine. "You said I shouldn't explore in a sex club or have casual sex with random strangers. You aren't a random stranger. I trust you to teach me what I need to know, Kellan."
"You don't even like me, Parker."
"That's not true."
"You said a hockey puck has more social skills than I do."
"Oops?" She shoots me a cheeky smile. "In my defense, you were being a jerk that night. But I don't dislike you." She glances down at her lap. "I want it to be you, Kellan."
Fucking hell. She's going to be the death of me. I know this because Jonas is going to kill me. But what she's offering…Christ, she's tempting a desperate man with forbidden fruit.
I want to say yes, more than I want my next breath. But….
"I'm not interested in being a notch in your bedpost, Rebel," I say quietly as Jonas's ranch comes into view. "And I don't want to make you a notch in mine, either."
She flinches, her body going rigid. "Fine. Then I'll just find someone else."
Shit. That came out all wrong.
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Whatever you say," she mutters, turning away from me, but not before I see the hurt in her eyes.
The sight of it claws at my heart. I've been thinking about her nonstop for six months. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.
I pull into the driveway, trying to figure out how to undo what I just did. Jonas isn't home yet. He's probably still out looking for her. I put the SUV in park, turning to look at Parker, who is already trying to flee the confines of the vehicle.
"I don't want you in my bed just because you think you have something to prove, Rebel," I say quietly. "And I damn sure don't want you in my bed because you think I'm your only option. When you're in my bed, I want it to be because you can't stand not being in it."
She stops fighting with the lock.
"Sleep on it tonight. If you decide this is what you really want, text me tomorrow. I'll give you the time and place. Come see me tomorrow then." I hold my hand out for her phone, letting her decide whether she wants to give it to me or not.
She hesitates momentarily before pulling it out of her pocket and dropping it into my palm. I quickly dial my number and wait until my phone vibrates with the incoming call before disconnecting. I hand her cell phone back to her, holding her gaze.
"Don't text unless you're sure this is really what you want, little one."
Her lips part, and then she nods.
I watch in silence as she slips from my vehicle and scurries up the sidewalk to the front door. She looks back over her shoulder once, her eyes wide as they land on me.
I palm my cock, hoping like hell she texts tomorrow.
"Yo, slowpoke!" Gray Larsen taps the top of my helmet with his stick. "You plan to join us on the ice anytime soon?"
I glance up from my phone and realize that everyone else is already on the ice.
"Shit, yeah," I mumble, hauling myself to my feet as Gray smirks at me. How the fuck did I miss the fact that I'm the only one still sitting on the bench? Oh, right. Because I've been busy willing a certain curvy blonde to text me all damn morning.
She's been on my mind incessantly since I dropped her off last night. I've started to text her fifteen different times this morning but hesitate every time. I told her to text me. I need to let her make her decision herself. I'm half afraid she'll change her mind…and half afraid she won't.
I'm in the ninth circle of hell, and it isn't nearly hot enough.
Jonas is going to lose his mind if he finds out. That should be reason enough to call the whole thing off. But every time I think about doing exactly that, I think about her with someone else, and some possessive, territorial part of me rises to the surface like a fucking demon.
"What are you growling about?" Gray asks, eyeing me sideways as we skate toward the huddle at center ice.
"I'm not growling."
"Uh, yeah, you are."
"You're hearing shit."
He snorts, shaking his head. "Why is every man on this team fucking weird?"
I don't answer him. I'm pretty sure it was a rhetorical question anyway. Truthfully, he's the oddball on the team. He's awkward and smart as hell. He could be anything, but he chose to play hockey instead. He's phenomenal at it, but off the ice, he's a disaster waiting to happen.
