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On cue, my stomach growls.
He looks at me with interest. "Are you hungry already?"
"No, no, that’s my stomach digesting my dinner."
Skepticism flickers in his eyes. "You sure? We can head down to the kitchen, and I can make you a sandwich."
"You don’t have to pretend to care for me," I say primly.
He frowns. "I do care for you. As a friend."
"So, if any of the other guys on the team were hungry, you’d make him a sandwich?"
"Nah." He turns over on his side and faces me. His sweats dip a little at his waist, baring more of that V-shaped Adonis belt of his, and that happy trail that disappears under the waistband and--
"My dick-face is up here," he drawls.
That blush sweeps over my features with a vengeance. "I was admiring the goods, is all," I say honestly.
He rakes his gaze down my chest, the space between my legs, my thighs, and by the time he meets my eyes, that blush is, once again, an out-of-control forest fire. "So was I," he replies in a low, hard voice.
The air between us thickens with unspoken words; the heat in the room seems to increase ten-fold. A ripple of heat eddies down my spine. All of my senses seem to pop, and I’m very aware of how he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me up.
Then, he squeezes his eyelids shut and shakes his head. "Shit, this isn’t working, is it?"
"If you mean setting up boundaries between us, yeah, probably not. Especially not when you’re—" I jerk my chin at his naked torso.
He glances down as if surprised, then reaches over, grabs a T-shirt and pulls it on. "Better?"
"Umm." I take in the way the soft, much-washed fabric clings to his shoulders, outlines his pecs and nipples, and traces the narrowness of his waist. I blow out a breath and close my eyes. "I’m too aware of you, and it’s all your fault. The way you dry-humped me earlier has made me hungry for more of the same." I open my eyes, then yelp, for he’s standing over me, arms over his chest. I didn’t sense him move. For someone so big and bulky, he moves so lightly, he may as well be wearing skates, even outside the rink.
There’s hunger in his eyes, and also, frustration. "We only need to make this work until Grams gets through her surgery. And until you’ve made your asshole ex pay for what he did to you."
"Speaking of, what were the two of you talking about when I walked in on both of you in the meeting room?"
"Finalizing the details of our off-rink challenge."
I pale. "You’re going through with it?"
"Of course I am."
"Dennis doesn’t play fair, Rick."
"Neither do I, when it comes to him."
"Edward, I mean, Priest would never allow it."
"Only if he found out about it, and since neither I nor the others on the team are going to tell him—" He shrugs.
"Don’t do this." I jump up on the bed and while that puts me at closer to his eye-level, I still only come up to his chin, that’s how freakin’ tall this man is. "Please Rick, you’ll get hurt."
"You concerned about me?" One side of his lips curls.
"No. Yes… I don’t know." My heart flutters in my ribcage. The thought of my ex, pounding his beautiful face or kicking that perfect expanse of his stomach or landing a blow on those athletic thighs loops a spurt of worry around my guts. My chest hurts, and my stomach ties itself in knots. "It’s not right. If Priest finds out, it’ll get you into trouble."
"If I don’t fight, I’ll be in trouble. He put his hand on you. He insulted you; I’m going to make him pay for it."
"You already did hurt him."
