Guys had wives and girlfriends waiting for them outside the locker room all the time. He never had. It had never bothered him before. Lately, it did.
He wondered where Stella was. He’d gotten her a pass so she knew she could come back here. She never had before, either, saying it would appear like she was his girlfriend, which she wasn’t.
No big deal to him, but to her? Big deal, apparently. He texted her.
Where are you?
She texted back a minute later.
Out back. Figured you’d want to avoid your many fans.
He shook his head and headed to the back exit. Stella was out there, alone.
He stalked his way over to her.
“You shouldn’t be out here.”
She held up her pass. “You gave me this damn all-access pass. It got me through the gate.”
He grabbed her arm and led her back inside. “Not what I meant. Jesus, Stell. Someone could mug you out here.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, there’s a damn security guard at the exit. It’s not like he’s going to let muggers through to get to me.”
While he appreciated her independent streak, sometimes it pissed him off.
“You’re cranky,” she said as he led her down an alternate hallway and out the side door to where he had a car waiting. “Shouldn’t you be in a good mood since you seriously kicked some ass tonight?”
“I am in a good mood.”
She leaned forward, gazing up at him, then shook her head. “Yeah. I can tell.”
The driver opened the door for them, and Trick waited while Stella slid inside. He climbed in after her, trying to get his crazy emotions under control. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, but he needed to blow off this mood. Because Stella was right—the Travelers had won tonight, so he should be happy.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“We’ll go eat somewhere.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “Or . . . we could go to your place . . . then get takeout later.”
She squeezed his upper arm, and he could tell she wanted the alone time.
So did he. He’d been waiting to be with her. “Sure.”
He told the driver his address, then leaned back, drawing in a deep breath. Stella scooted next to him and pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“You worked hard for that win tonight,” she said.
“Yeah. It was a tough game.”
She reached over and laid her hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze. “It was an exciting game. I was on my feet practically the entire time.”
“Thanks.”
“Now you just need a nice, relaxing night.”
He looked over at her. God, she was a beautiful woman, with her short blonde hair framing her face, and those mesmerizing blue eyes that never failed to draw him in. “Is that right?”
“Indeed.”
“I suppose you have a way to relax me.”
Her lips curved, sensual promise glittering in her eyes like a sparkling sapphire. “You know it.”
He leaned over and cupped her neck, holding her there so he could brush his lips over hers. She tasted of peppermint, her lips soft and yielding. He inhaled her scent and pulled her closer, wishing they weren’t in the back of a car so he could slide his hand under her jacket and touch her. But, dammit, he couldn’t, so he settled on just a kiss.
Just a kiss wasn’t enough, especially when she leaned into him, making that sound in the back of her throat that always drove him crazy.
He pulled back, using his thumb to brush across her bottom lip. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” she whispered, her eyes a little glassy.
“Moaning.”
“I was not moaning.”
“Yes, you were.”
She drew back and pulled lip gloss from her purse, then a mirror. He liked watching her put her lipstick on. She had a great mouth and could do amazing things with it.
“I think that was your imagination. It was probably my stomach grumbling.” She looked up at him. “I mentioned being hungry, right?”
“Because you don’t eat enough.”
She laughed. “I eat all the time. And burn it all off dancing. Which is why I’m hungry right now.”
He shook his head. He loved that she was a dancer. She had strong muscles, just like him, only hers were a lot prettier. He moved his hand down her leg. Firm. Sexy. Tight. Just like all of her. But she was soft, too, in all the right places.
Unfortunately, that asshole she worked for was obviously a slave driver, demanding all his dancers starve themselves. When they’d met last year around this time, Stella had been curvier. Now, he was worried about her. She’d lost weight for this part. He wasn’t sure he liked that.
Not that it was any of his business, since he had no rights to her. But still, he didn’t like it.
He’d like to beat the shit out of her choreographer, and then feed Stella about four pizzas, her favorite food.
“Maybe we should stop for something to eat.”