Holy heck in a handbag! It’s the cheesiest line ever, but my girl parts shimmy all the same.
And then he puts his mouth right beside my ear. “Are you—” He drops his voice to barely a whisper. “—thinking of wearing white after Labor Day?”
I wasn’t expecting a joke, which makes it twice as funny. All the tension in my fluttering chest just sort of erupts. I let out an actual snort, which I haven’t done since fourth grade. We don’t snort in charm school.
But it’s been a long day, so I can’t stop. I laugh so hard that tears form in both eyes.
“Well? Are you?” he asks, laying a hand at the curve of my hip.
His touch sobers me, and I lean into it. “Probably not.” I wipe my eyes. “And it’s a crying shame, because I just bought a nice little pair of white jeans on sale and Labor Day has passed.”
Jason tips his head back and smiles. “You’re right. You do need more tequila.” He’s already pouring me another shot. “Here’s to breaking some rules.”
I feel a shiver of excitement as I raise my glass, and we toast. His dark eyes watch me while I tip the little glass back and drink. So this is how the other half lives. My ex-boyfriend—Eric—wouldn’t even recognize me. Although he never once looked at me the way Jason is right now.
But, ouch. Tequila is strong. With watering eyes, I casually take another wedge of lime from the dish and bite it as daintily as a girl can.
Take that, Daddy. The fact that he’d hate me drinking makes it all the more fun.
Castro pounds his shot in one easy gulp and sets his shot glass down on the table. He doesn’t even bother with the limes. “You know, we’re built to care what other people think,” he says, as if he can read my mind. “That’s what civilization means.”
“Sure,” I agree with a sigh. “It’s just not very convenient sometimes. Maybe I need to practice not caring.”
“My mother has an embroidered pillow on the sofa in the den. It says—Do one thing every day that scares you.”
“Omigod!” I squeak. “My mom has that same pillow! Is it khaki, with red piping?” His hand is still warming the juncture of my hip and my rib cage. I cover it with mine, and his knuckles feel sturdy beneath my palm.
Then he surprises me by flipping his hand and capturing mine. As his long fingers close around my own, I fight off another shiver.
“I’m not in the habit of taking advice from home furnishings,” he says, his voice dropping low. “But I love breaking rules.” With his free hand, he turns me to face him. And then he pushes a lock of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear.
It’s not exactly an erotic maneuver. Still, I’m aware of every nerve ending in my body. And I can’t look away. The moment he started touching me, I fell into the tractor beam of his attention.
“In your case…” His palm captures my chin and tilts it upward so we’re eye to eye. “I think that pillow has it just a little wrong. Instead of doing one thing each day that scares you, try one thing a day that scares your father. He’ll get used to it.”
“Like, aversion therapy.” My voice comes out all breathless and odd. As if I’d said, “Ravish me against the wall.”
“Yeah.” His smile is swift and hot. “Like that.”
“Well. He wouldn’t like this at all,” I confess. And by this, I mean Jason touching me.
Although—and this is fascinating—it’s dawning on me that Jason doesn’t know who my daddy is. And I’m not about to tell him. Experience has taught me that hockey players won’t seduce the commissioner’s daughter. They usually steer a wide path around me.
“This?” he whispers. “Which part of this?”
“All of it. The tequila shots. The…” Hot caresses.
“Maybe he has a point,” Castro says slowly. “I don’t think your daddy would like the thoughts I’m thinking right now.”
I smile up at him, because I’m so happy I could squeal like a little girl who’s just been given her first pony. Men like Jason Castro don’t usually want anything to do with me. And I crave this. I want him to take me home and show me how it’s done by a man who isn’t afraid of my daddy.
“You want a soda or something?” he asks. “Maybe it’s time to switch to something non-alcoholic.”
“No, one more shot first,” I insist. If this is a night for rule-breaking, then I’d better get the full experience.
Also, I’m a little nervous. And the warm buzz of alcohol is settling over me like a cozy blanket. If things go as planned, I’ll soon be naked with the hottest hockey player I’ve ever met.
“Fine, a small one. What the lady wants, the lady gets,” he says with a grin. Then he reaches for the bottle. I watch his fingers clasp it, and wonder how they’ll feel on my body.
Amazing, I’ll bet.
Silas comes bouncing back to the table. “Dartboard is free,” he says. “Who’s in?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Castro’s eyes flick toward me. “Darts are a lot like my day job.”
He’s giving me an out, but I won’t take it. “I’m feeling extra lucky tonight,” I announce. “A dollar a point. Let’s go.”
“She’s on my team,” Castro says immediately.
And I sure like the way that sounds.
3
Jason
At the dartboard, Heidi lives up to her nickname. Hot Pepper is en fuego. And I’m not too busy checking out her very cute ass to notice that she’s weirdly good at darts.
It’s me and her against Silas and Bayer. I expect to lose, because Heidi just doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who’s spent a lot of time hustling darts. But I swear there’s a magnet under the bullseye whenever she steps up to throw. We win and we win some more.
“You should play hockey,” I say after she wows the bar with another bullseye.
“Good girls don’t,” she says with a sigh. “Silas, you’re up, sir. Time to take your beating.”
We lose only the final game, because Heidi has a couple of unlucky throws at the end.
“Maybe you actually wore out the bullseye,” Bayer says. “Never seen anyone hit it so many times.”
“Or maybe the problem is that last tequila shot,” Silas says under his breath. He reaches out to wrap an arm around Hot Pepper, and I feel a hot spear of jealousy. “Easy, there,” he says. And that’s when I realize my roommate is only steadying her. Because she’s swaying.
Uh-oh.
“I think we should call it a night,” Bayer says with a chuckle. “It’s late, anyway.”
Heidi looks up at me and gives me a big drunken smile. “Bedtime!” she says.
Oh, hell. There goes my hookup. I should have done a better job monitoring her tequila intake. But she was so enthusiastic. “How about I take you home?” I say. “Where do you live?”
“Manhattan,” she slurs. “But we can’t go there. I can’t have sex in Daddy’s apartment.”
Both Silas and Bayer are barely concealing their amusement. “Need a hand?” Silas asks.
I wave him off. “Don’t wait up. There might be a long taxi ride in my future.”
Silas sort of parks Heidi’s floppy body against mine, the way you’d lean a bicycle up against a tree. “Nighty-night, kids.” He and Bayer walk off, chuckling to themselves.
“Now,” I say. “You’ve had a little too much to drink, missy. Where can I take you?”
She lifts her chin, and her lips brush the underside of my jaw. “Wherever you’re goin’.”
“That sounds like a very fun time,” I admit with a sigh. “But let’s have a little chat.” I steer her into a chair and sit down beside her. “Now tell me your Manhattan address.”
“Nope!” She punctuates this with a burp. “I thought you were hitting on me. I really did.”
“Oh, I was,” I say, rubbing a hand in slow circles over her back. I’d like to undress her slowly and worship every inch of her. Some other night, though. “We’re gonna have to have a raincheck.”
“But I can’t go home like this. It won’t go over well.”
“Why?”