“Yup. Is that supposed to scare me off?”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows crash together. “I don’t know what else he said, but I’m not easy. I’m not against a hookup, but I’m picky about who I let into my bed.”
“He didn’t say anything about that. Only that you liked to bust his balls. But we both know that Dean’s ego can withstand a blow now and again. The question is whether you’re hung up on him. Kind of seems like you are, because he’s the only thing you can talk about.” I shrug. “If that’s the case, I’ll skate right now.”
While Dean said he didn’t have feelings for Sabrina, I want to make sure there aren’t any lingering emotions on her end. Her tone when she mentioned him was mad, though, not bitter, which I take as a good sign. Anger could stem from any number of things. Bitterness is usually hurt feelings.
When—not if—we get into bed together, it should be because she wants to be with me, not as a way to get back at Dean.
Her gaze flicks over my shoulder to where my teammate is still sitting, then back to me. She and I drink in silence for a bit. Her chocolate-brown eyes are tough to read, but I get the sense she’s weighing my words carefully. It might be that she expects me to talk, fill the silence, but I’m waiting her out. Plus, it gives me time to inspect her close up. And from this distance, she’s even more beautiful than I realized.
She doesn’t just have a world-class ass and endless legs. Her rack is the kind that can turn a man religious. As in, thank you, Jesus, for creating this glorious creature and please, Lord, make her not a lesbian. Not blatantly staring at the pretty swells rising above her top is one of the harder things I’ve had to do.
Finally, she sets her bottle on the bar. “Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean I’m interested.”
I grin. “A guy’s gotta start somewhere.”
A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She wipes her hand against her skirt and sticks it out.
“I’m Sabrina James. I’ve heard all the jokes about being a witch, and no, I am not hung up on Dean Di Laurentis.”
I take her hand in mine and use the contact to pull her an inch closer to me. It’s baby steps with this one.
“John Tucker. Glad to hear it, but you should know that Dean is like a brother to me. We’ve had each other’s backs on the ice for four years, lived together for three of them, and I plan to stand up at his wedding and hope he does the same at mine. That said, he’s my friend, not my daddy.”
“Wait, you’re getting married?” she says in confusion.
It’s kind of amusing that out of everything I said, that’s the bit she’s harping on. I smooth a hand down the outside of her arm and loosely circle her wrist with my fingers. “In the future, darlin’. In the future.”
“Oh.” She picks up her beer and then puts it down when she sees it’s empty. “Wait. You want to get married?”
“Eventually.” I chuckle at her astonishment. “Not today, but yeah, one day I want to be married and have a kid or three. You?”
The bartender comes by, and I nudge another twenty in his direction.
But Sabrina shakes her head. “I’m driving. One beer is my limit.”
I order us waters instead, and he’s back in a flash with two tall glasses.
The lights flicker again, sending a jolt of urgency to my gut. I’m going to have to close this deal soon or lose out entirely.
“Thanks,” she says as she sips the water. “And, no. I don’t see myself having kids or a husband in the near future. Besides, I thought you hockey players liked to play the field.”
“At some point, even the great ones retire.” I smirk over the top of my glass.
She laughs. “All right. I’ll give you that. So what’s your major, John?”
“Tucker. Everyone calls me Tucker or Tuck. And it’s business admin.”
“So you can manage all your hockey money?”
I still haven’t let go of her wrist, and with each exchange, I’m eliminating all the distance between us.
“Nope.” I nod toward my knee. “I’m too slow for the pros. I got banged up in high school. I’m good enough for a scholarship here, but I know my limits.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” There’s true regret in her voice.
Dean’s a fool. This girl is as sweet as they come. I can’t wait to get my mouth on her.
And my hands.
And my teeth.
And my hard-as-steel cock.
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
I slide my arm along the bar until Sabrina’s essentially standing in the circle of my arms. Her feet are tucked between mine, and if I shift my hips slightly forward, I’ll be able to make the contact my body is dying for. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all the years I’ve played hockey, it’s that patience is rewarded. You don’t take an immediate shot when your stick gets the puck. You wait for the right opening.
“I never really wanted it,” I add. “And I think it’s one of those things you have to really want to pursue.”