She bites her lip, and her visible agitation only makes me tease her harder. “Oh, and I might kiss you, too.”
Now she glares at me. “No way.”
“Do you or do you not want Kohl to think you’re into me? Because if you do, you’ll need to at least try to act like it.”
“That’s going to be tough,” she says with a smirk.
“Bullshit. You like me lots.”
She snorts.
“I’m totally digging that snorting thing you do,” I tell her frankly. “It’s kind of a turn on.”
“Would you quit it?” she grumbles. “He’s not in the room right now. You can save the flirting for Saturday.”
“I’m trying to get you used to it.” I pause as if I’m mulling something over, but really, I’m getting a huge kick out of making Hannah squirm. “Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m wondering if we should warm up.”
“Warm up? What the hell does that mean?”
I slant my head. “What do you think I do before a game, Wellsy? Just show up at the rink and throw my skates on? Of course not. I practice six days a week to get ready. Ice time, weight room, watching game tapes, strategy meetings. Think of all the advance prep that goes into it.”
“This isn’t a game,” she says irritably. “It’s a fake date.”
“But it needs to look real for Loverboy.”
“Would you stop calling him that?”
Nope, I have no plans to stop. I like how angry it makes her. In fact, I like pissing her off, period. Every time Hannah gets mad, her green eyes blaze and her cheeks turn the cutest shade of pink.
“So yeah,” I say with a nod. “If I’m going to be touching and kissing you on Saturday, I think it’s imperative that we rehearse.” I lick my lips again. “Thoroughly.”
“I honestly can’t decide if you’re messing with me right now.” She blows out an annoyed breath. “Either way, I’m not letting you touch or kiss me, so wipe all those dirty ideas out of your head. If you want some action, call Tiffany.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
There’s a bite to Hannah’s tone. “Why not? You seemed pretty into her last night.”
“It was a one-time hook up. And stop trying to change the subject.” I grin at her. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?” I narrow my eyes. “Oh shit. There’s only one explanation I can think of.” I pause. “You’re a bad kisser.”
Her jaw drops in outrage. “I most certainly am not.”
“Yeah?” I lower my voice to a seductive pitch. “Prove it.”
16
Hannah
Somehow I’ve traveled back in time to my third-grade playground days. Unless there’s another explanation for why Garrett is goading me into kissing him.
“I don’t have to prove a damn thing,” I inform him. “I happen to be a fantastic kisser. Sadly, you will never get to find out.”
“Never say never,” he answers in a singsong voice.
“Thanks for that, Justin Bieber. But yeah, not going to happen, dude.”
He sighs. “I get it. You’re intimidated by my potent masculinity. Chin up, it happens all the time.”
Oh brother. I can still remember the days—all of a week ago—when Garrett Graham wasn’t a fixture in my life. When I didn’t have to listen to his cocky remarks or see his rogue grins or get drawn into a flirt battle I have no interest in.
Except Garrett happens to be very, very good at one particular thing: throwing down the gauntlet.
“Fear is a fact of life,” he says solemnly. “Don’t let it get you down, Wellsy. Everyone experiences it.” He leans back on his elbows like a bigshot. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a free pass. If you’re too scared to kiss me, I won’t make you.”
“Scared?” I rumble. “I’m not scared, dumbass. I just don’t want to.”
Another sigh rolls out of his chest. “Then I guess we’re back to self-confidence issues. Don’t worry, there are a lot of bad kissers in this world, sweetheart. I’m sure with practice and perseverance, you’ll one day be able to—”
“Fine,” I interrupt. “Let’s do it.”
His mouth slams shut, eyes widening in surprise. Ha. So he didn’t expect me to call his bluff.
Our gazes lock in a stare-down for the ages. He’s waiting for me to back down, but I’m confident I can wait him out. Maybe it’s childish of me, but Garrett has already gotten his way about this tutoring thing. This time I want to win.
But I’ve underestimated him yet again. His gray eyes darken to smoky metallic silver, and suddenly there’s heat in his gaze. Heat, and a gleam of self-assurance, as if he’s certain I won’t go through with it.
I hear that certainty in the dismissive tone he uses when he finally speaks. “All right, show me what you’ve got then.”
I falter.
Fucking hell. He can’t be serious.
And I can’t actually be considering meeting this inane challenge. I’m not attracted to Garrett, and I don’t want to kiss him. End of story.
Except…well, it doesn’t feel like the end of anything. My body is engulfed with flames, and my hands are trembling not from nerves, but anticipation. When I picture his mouth pressed against mine, my heart races faster than a drum-and-bass track.
What the hell is the matter with me?
Garrett inches closer. Our thighs are touching now, and either I’m hallucinating it, or I can actually see his pulse throbbing in the center of his throat.
He can’t possibly want this…can he?
My palms grow damp, but I resist wiping them on the front of my leggings because I don’t want him to know how unnerved I am. I’m wholly aware of the heat radiating from his jean-clad thigh, the faint scent of his woodsy aftershave, the slight curve of his mouth as he awaits my next move…
“Come on,” he mocks. “We don’t have all night, baby.”
Now I’m bristling. Screw it. It’s just a kiss, right? I don’t even have to like it. Shutting that smart mouth of his will be reward enough.
Arching a brow, I reach up and touch his cheek.
His breath hitches.
I sweep my thumb over his jaw, stalling, waiting to see if he’ll stop me, and when he doesn’t, I slowly bring my mouth to his.
The second our lips meet, the strangest thing happens. Pulsing waves of heat unfurl inside me, starting at my mouth and then rippling down my body, tingling in the tips of my breasts before traveling even lower. He tastes like the peppermint gum he’s been chewing all night and the minty flavor suffuses my taste buds. My lips part of their own volition, and Garrett takes full advantage by sliding his tongue inside. When my tongue tangles with his, he makes a low, growling noise in the back of his throat, and the erotic sound vibrates through my body.
Immediately, I’m hit with a jolt of panic that spurs me to break the kiss.
I suck in a shaky breath. “There. How was that?” I’m trying to sound unaffected by what just happened, but the slight wobble in my voice betrays me.
Garrett’s eyes are molten. “Not sure. It wasn’t long enough for me to properly judge. I’m gonna need more to go on.”
His big hand cups my cheek.
This should be my cue to leave.
Instead, I lean in for another kiss.
And it’s just as eerily incredible as the first. As his tongue slicks over mine, I stroke his cheek, and God, that’s a big mistake because the scratchy feel of his stubble on my palm intensifies the pleasure already wreaking havoc on my body. His face is strong and masculine and sexy, and the sheer maleness of him triggers another burst of need. I need more. I didn’t expect to, but damn it, I need more.
With an anguished moan, I angle my head to deepen the kiss, and my tongue eagerly explores his mouth. No, not eagerly—hungrily. I’m hungry for him.
Garrett threads his fingers through my hair and tugs me closer, one powerful arm curling around my hip to keep me in place. My breasts are now crushed against his rock-hard chest, and I can feel the wild hammering of his heart. His excitement matches my own. The raw, husky groan he releases tickles my lips and sends my pulse careening.
Something’s happening to me. I can’t stop kissing him. He’s too addictive. And even though this might have started with me somewhat in charge, I’m no longer in control.
Garrett’s mouth moves over mine with skill and confidence that steals the breath from my lungs. When he nibbles on my bottom lip, I feel an answering tug in my nipples, and press one palm to his chest to ground myself, to try to keep from floating away in a mindless cloud of pleasure. His hot lips leave mine and travel along my jaw line, dipping down to my neck, where he plants open-mouthed kisses that leave shivers in their wake.
I hear a tortured whimper, and I’m startled to realize it came from me. I’m desperate to feel his mouth on mine again. I thrust one hand in his hair to bring him back to where I want him, but the dark strands are too short to grab onto. All I can do is pull his head forward, which summons a low chuckle from him.
“Is this what you want?” he rasps, and then his lips find mine, and he thrusts that talented tongue into my mouth again.