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He shrugs. “When I’m playing hockey I don’t even think about them. Don’t think about anything except getting the puck in the goal.”
“That’s because you’re good at it,” I tell him.
That earns me a smile. “Well, thank you.”
It must be so nice to glide across the ice without giving a damn. Without feeling like you’re constantly going to fall on your ass.
“You’re doing it again,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“Over thinking.”
I bite down a smile. “It’s a bad habit.”
“What are you thinking about now?” he asks me.
This time I’m completely honest. “That it must be nice to enjoy skating.”
Eli tips his head to the side. “I don’t really think about that, either. Like I don’t think about walking.”
“You’d think about walking if you fell over every time your feet hit the concrete.”
“Is that what you think when you see the ice?”
“Pretty much.” I trace the hard curve of his bicep. “Or really, I think about how to avoid going anywhere near it.” I lift a brow. “Now that you know who my family is, you probably think I’m a changeling.”
He looks pensive. “I know your dad, of course. Who doesn’t? And I’ve played against your brothers a few times.”
I grimace. “Sorry.” They’re famous for being assholes on the ice.
“They’re good kids.”
And it’s weird, but I like that he likes them. Brad and Johnny are my closest siblings. With mom and dad so busy all the time, and Isabella being at practice any time she wasn’t at school, I felt like their stand-in-mom.
His fingers have made their way back up my spine. He kneads the muscles just above my shoulder blades and I groan.
“You need to relax,” he whispers. “So much tension.”
“This is me relaxed,” I say and he laughs again, before sliding his hands down to my waist and hitching me up.
“What are you doing?” I ask, surprised by the sudden jerk of his palms.
“Helping you relax. Move up here. Sit on my face.”
“Eli!” My eyes widen. Nobody’s ever asked me to do that before and I’m embarrassed.
“I’m serious,” he tells me. “Sit on it. I’m gonna make you come and then you’re gonna let whatever thoughts you have going on disappear so you can curl up in my arms to sleep.”
“I’ll squash you,” I protest.
He quirks a brow. “You’re not gonna squash me.” His hands curl around my hips and damn if he doesn’t practically lift me over his chest. I squeal and scoot on my legs until my knees are on either side of his biceps.
I look down at him. His eyes are dark. “I’m hungry,” he tells me. “Now get your ass up here.”
Though I’m embarrassed, I do as I’m told, reaching for the top of my headboard as he lets out a long groan.
“I’m never gonna get bored with the way you smell.”
