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It wouldn’t take much to shove me over the edge.
There are times when the chemistry that sparks between us feels as if it’ll explode, blowing us both to smithereens.
I don’t understand it. More specifically, I don’t understand what it is about Ford that makes me feel this way.
Okay.
I tap in those four little letters and hit send, realizing that I’ve just sealed my fate for the evening.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
But…that doesn’t mean I can’t make things a little more interesting in my own way.
I wait until the game is just about to start and he takes his place on the ice. When his gaze locks on mine, I pop to my feet and unzip my jacket, revealing the jersey beneath.
His eyes narrow right before the puck gets dropped.
And then he’s off, blades digging into the ice as he races for the black disc.
I sit perched on the edge of my seat and watch Ford throw himself into the action. Barely does he step off the ice for shift changes. And when he does, our gazes stay locked as he gulps down water before heading out again.
Toward the end of the third period, Juliette says, “Damn, Ford is really on fire tonight.” She glances at the clock. “There’s only two minutes left. Think he’ll score for a third time?”
Actually, I do.
He’s taken at least a dozen shots, but the other team’s goalie is some kind of phenom, and his reflexes are lightning quick. It’s as if he has a sixth sense regarding where each shot will land. If this were the same team the Wildcats played last week, Ford would have racked up at least five or six goals by now.
Maybe even more.
His determination and single-mindedness are almost impressive. He’s a man on a mission. And I know exactly what that mission is. Anticipation hums in the cold air of the arena. Each time he makes a drive for the net and takes a shot, everything in me freezes as my heart thumps a steady staccato, threatening to pound right out of my chest.
I can’t decide if I want him to score or not. I’d dearly love to rub it in his face that he didn’t accomplish what he assumed would be so easy.
Although…the taste I got of him the other night wasn’t nearly enough and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to wanting more.
Fun fact—he didn’t taste as bitter as some of the other guys I’ve gone down on.
It makes me wonder if he’s eating pineapple.
Or is that just the way he naturally tastes?
“Holy crap, he did it!” Juliette yells, jumping to her feet and shouting through cupped hands. “Ford scored a hat trick!”
I’m jarred back to the present when she reaches down and drags me up until I’m able to catch sight of the ice through the sea of cheering fans. I scan the sheet until my gaze lands on Ford, only to find his attention locked on me.
One look is all it takes for electricity to zip down my spine. The delicate hair on my arms and at the nape of my neck rises as his teammates slap him on the back, congratulating him. Instead of celebrating the moment with them, he continues to stare, holding me captive with the intensity of his golden gaze. Through the cage that covers his face, he beams a slow grin around his mouth guard.
His gloating expression is like a punch to the gut.
Juliette glances at me before shaking her head. “One-time deal my ass.”
The pent-up air in my lungs escapes in a burst.
Yeah…that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ford
