A few letters of them.
I couldn’t remember which ones specifically…not really my area of expertise.
I sent a message to my teammates to let them know we were okay and called a truce. They invited us out for dinner, but between the practice, the sex—can he get a hallelujah, please—and four hours in the ER, all I wanted was food and a shower.
Actually, I’d love the shower first, but the scent of those steak tips whispered pretty nothings in my ear and sighed my name.
And Priest was here.
Since I didn’t know where we were in that department, I really wasn’t sure what to do next. I mean, most guys, you know, right? Hot stranger and someone you barely knew—hey, no judgment—hot, drive-by quickie sex in public, that didn’t even equate to a dinner commitment or a ride home necessarily. A movie and laid-back bite to eat, that could go either way. A fancy date that you made a waxing appointment for, yeah, probably a good roll after that once everyone had their fill of drinks. Maybe they’d stay over, maybe not. But no one would be offended in the end either way.
Hard, angry fuck, following two bursts of violence punishable by law against a barn wall almost fully clothed, both in skates?
I’m not even sure subreddits had the answers for that one.
So, shower after food it was. I figured by the time I struggled through peeling off my clothes one-handed and rinsed a full bottle of shampoo through my hair on account of my one bum hand and no other way to get the job done, I’d be ready for ibuprofen and falling into bed for sweet oblivion.
Had to fill up my reserves for the ass I needed to kick tomorrow.
The Shipwreck was going to suck balls in the morning. Hairy ones. Sweaty, hairy balls. With ball cheese.
“Level with me, how bad is this going to hurt when we go to the exhibition?”
He made himself at home and headed right for my kitchen where he started sliding takeout boxes out of the bags. “Pretty bad by the end. Jackson will keep it wrapped for you though, and he’ll make sure you have everything you need to take care of it throughout.”
“Jackson?”
He flattened his palms on the table but didn’t look at me. “He’s going with you guys…as your coach.”
“Oh.”
His eyes flashed to mine then. “I have to stay with Lilith until Jordan makes it back. I can’t leave town, even for a couple nights.”
Well, fuck him… When the hell did I ask him anyway?
New at wielding this temper, I took a breath and bit back the words. Adrenaline was a tricky fucker. Once activated, it hid behind corners just waiting to pop up and see if you needed backup. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s fine, Priest. Really. I get it. Now give me food, dammit, before I gnaw off an arm or something.”
He handed me a box, found the exact right drawer, and handed me a fork. “I’d rather you gnaw the leg.”
“I’m sure you would.” I rolled my eyes but laughed at his rather predictable attempt at dude humor. I mean, he wasn’t at his best right now either so who was I to judge.
And he wasn’t exactly wrong; that leg sounded a hell of a lot better than any arm.
Serious bout temper averted, I stabbed a hunk of medium rare beef and popped the entire thing in my mouth.
We settled in on the floor, our backs against the couch, our legs stretched out over the carpet.
I leaned over and peeked in his container. “What’d you get?”
“Brussels sprout panini,” he said as he eyed it like it might just take a bite out of him instead of the other way around.
“Why are you glaring at it?”
He held the first half in his hand and eyed the innards. “I don’t like Brussels sprouts.”
“Then why did you order it?”
“Because the stealth little bastards are addictive with prosciutto and melted cheese. It’s witchcraft.”
“It’s Patti’s invention.”
“Like I said, witchcraft. I should have known what she was capable of after she won this place in a card game,” he said, taking a healthy bite.
I turned, propped my shoulders against the couch, and offered him a chunk of steak. “What?”
“She never told you?” he asked, taking my hand to guide the bite to his mouth.
“Hell no, she never told me.” He was totally not doing it to be sexy, but my nipples perked up anyway.
Food made me horny. What can I say?
“She won it playing strip poker.”
He offered me a bite of his sandwich; his hot, dark eyes locked on me as a piece of the prosciutto brushed against my chin before I captured it with my upper lip.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, his thumb brushing over the spot, and I forgot to breathe. I gulped the bite down as my eyes slid shut and I swayed toward him.
“This mouth,” he murmured, his lips brushing over mine. “So sweet sometimes, but others… I never know what’s coming next.”
Me. I was coming next. Again.
Whatever.
I so wanted to go where he was going, but something kept poking at me. Not him. Unfortunately, but about Patti. “But I thought the ultimate prize in strip poker is the getting to the naked part?”
“It is,” he said before sinking his teeth into my bottom lip. “Mmmm, so much better than food.”
I laughed against his mouth. “Says the guy feeling all sorts of lukewarm about the Brussels sprouts.”
His hot eyes met mine for a brief second before a sexy grin tipped the corners of his mouth and in one smooth, slow move, he found my neck, his thumb nudging my jaw up higher, giving him better access as he licked and sucked the skin there.
“So, uh—” Damn what he did with his mouth. I
