I put my hands over my face, double over, and die laughing. I spread my fingers and can see Drew’s shoulders shaking with laughter.
Honestly, and it’s sad to say, I don’t know who I watch more during the game, Drew or HockeyHo. They are each entertaining in their own diverse ways. HockeyHo is acting the garish team cheerleader. And Drew is spectacular on the ice, to my uneducated hockey eyes. He is graceful, yet aggressive, fast, and accurate with the puck. He has underplayed his abilities, as I knew he would. It amazes me that a man from the south who didn’t grow up skating could master this sport in such short time. I’m not sure if Drew’s team is just that good, or if the team they’re playing is just that bad, but they trounce them eight to zip. Drew scores five goals and gets three assists. And I’m impressed.
His ear-to-ear grin at the end of the game says it all. I’m jumping up and down with Caroline, cheering and yelling, HockeyHo long forgotten. When they emerge from the locker room, showered, and in their street clothes, he picks me up and kisses me.
“You were awesome!”
“I had some fan help!” he says. Then he looks at Sam and Caroline, “See you guys later.”
They both wave and Caroline says, “Cate, I hope to see you again soon.
“Me too. It was really great talking with you, Caroline. Maybe next game then.” I wave bye as we walk to Drew’s car.
“That was so much fun. I loved watching you. I can’t believe how good you can skate. I mean you were everything out there.” I bump his shoulder with my fist.
He tosses his stuff in his trunk and as I’m getting ready to say something else, he grabs me and his mouth slams onto mine. Hands delve into my hair, and he wraps his other arm around me pulling me tight into his frame. God, can anything feel any better? Oh, yeah, when we’re sexing it up.
My hands tuck under the waistband of his jeans. I have a need to get naked with him. He must feel it, too, as he deepens the kiss. I moan in response because I want him with everything I have as my blood flames through my veins. My sex throbs and I realize I am rubbing myself against his thigh. I slip one hand further down the back of his jeans and mold it to his perfect ass. Damn. I love his ass. Now I know why. All that skating has made it this way.
He pulls away and stares, not saying a word. He traces the outline of my face, nose, and lips. It’s nearly unbearable. My throat is thick with desire.
“Drew, I—”
In a husky voice, he answers, “You don’t have to say a word. I know. Let’s go to dinner. I need food and then you. In the worst way.”
“Yes.”
Dinner is at a small local restaurant. They know Drew because he apparently does carryout here a lot. We hurry through the meal because both of us keep making innuendos about being in bed together. That’s all either of us want.
We’re tearing each other’s clothes off as soon as we walk in the door. I’ve never experienced this before but I don’t want the feeling to stop. When we’re both down to our unders, he puts one arm under my knees and sweeps me off my feet—literally.
“How one girl has managed to occupy almost my every waking minute, I have no idea. But you have done a damned fine job of it. I’m glad you’re here and we’re about to get in bed.”
His voice is gruff with lust. He sets me on my feet and slides his boxer briefs down. His erection leaps out, as though it’s been waiting for this moment. I want to feel it so I reach for it.
“You’re so soft, yet hard. Such a contrast.” My hand tightens on him.
“Not too much, Cate.”
“Did I do it wrong?” I glance up feeling like a chastised puppy.
“No. God, no. I just want you too much.” Arms reach behind me and unhook my bra, then slip my lacy thong off. “You’re so unbelievably sexy. This is why I can’t think of anything but you.”
He kisses me again as his hands find their way to my sex. His fingers are gentle, yet purposeful. And he knows how much pressure to apply. I’m moaning as my fingers sink into the muscles of his shoulders. I have to hold on because my legs want to crumple.
He pulls his hand away and says, “Let’s get in bed.” When he pulls back the covers, he asks, “Did you wash the sheets?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
“Yes, it was. They were messy.” It’s an unpleasant moment for me and I cringe.