Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(15)

We should definitely nail her, my dick urges. Make a move, stupid.

Leaning back against the pillows and lacing my fingers behind my head, I let my cock “dick-tate” my next words.

“So, we clearly missed our chance to hook up last night, seeing as we were both crushed.” I flex my chest and arms, a move I know makes girls wet. “But you know what they say, right?”

Wary, she asks, “No. What do they say?”

“There’s no time like the present.”

She gawks at me like I’ve grown an extra head, and not the one I’m hoping to show her. Oh well, it was worth a shot. It’s always a risk, letting the unreasonable head speak for the reasonable one. The guy below the belt is so impulsive, and, really, only ever has one thing in mind.

Gathering the comforter around her curvy little body, and providing her with more than enough coverage considering she also has on the dress, Mystery Woman scoots away from me, like I’m some kind of a pervert.

Really?

“If you didn’t bring me here, then how do you think I got in your bedroom?” she asks, still clearly suspicious.

This again, please.

I lean forward and fold my arms across my chest. “Good question. Why don’t you think about it a little harder so you can tell me?”

I really don’t need an answer, though. I think I know exactly how she ended up in my room. This woman, like so many others, wandered down the wrong hallway while searching for a goddamn bathroom. It’s happened too many times to count. And I must admit that sometimes one of the lost and weary—or should I say hot and horny—finds her way to my bed. If they’re really sexy, like this one, I let them stay. And then I give them what they want—superstar cock.

This one, however, appears to be truly stumped as to how she ended up in here. Biting her full bottom lip, which makes my dick twitch, she glances around.

Finally, her tone turning apologetic, she says, “I don’t really know how I ended up in your bed. I don’t remember much of anything from last night, just bits and pieces.”

“What do you remember?” I softly inquire.

I’m easing up since she is kind of adorable, all confused like this. What I’d really like is for her to stick around a while longer. Not so I can seduce her—though I won’t rule that out—but so I can look at her some more.

Shit, I’m turning into a creeper.

“Well,” she goes on, while I evaluate my motives. “I remember my sister bringing me to a party. And then I drank, like, a lot. I really don’t drink all that often, so it hit me kind of hard.”

She raises a hand to her head, like it’s still hurting, so I say, “Hey, I have some aspirin in my medicine chest.” I jerk my chin to indicate it’s in the attached bathroom. “You can go grab some if you want. Or I can get it for you.”

“Thanks, but that’s okay. I think only time can heal this hangover.”

She smiles, and I hope it means she’s feeling more comfortable around me. Why that matters, I don’t know. But since she’s right about the hangover healing in time, I say, “I hear ya.”

We share an understanding nod and a commiserating smile. Ah, we’re finally getting along, this is good.

I then ask, “Can you tell me what else you do remember?”

“Sure.” She smiles again, and shit, she’s so f*cking pretty, smeary dark eye makeup and all. “I remember wandering around by myself by the end of the night. I remember having told my sister to go ahead and leave a while earlier. I think I called for an Uber to take me back to my hotel.”

Hotel, eh? So, she doesn’t live around here. Wonder where’s she’s from?

I plan to ask, but before I get to that I need to know, “Did you call for that ride? Did they cancel on you or something?”

“No. I canceled it.”

She’s full-on chewing on her bottom lip now, like digging through these glimpses into last night is taking all she’s got in the memory department.

“Why’d you cancel your ride?”

I’m curious as to why a woman would want to remain alone at a party where she obviously didn’t know anyone.

“Good question,” she says.

I figure we’re at an impasse. We’ll never know how, or why, she ended up in my bed. But then, all of a sudden, she starts blushing like crazy, like she may have just remembered the reason why she canceled her ride.

So, of course, I again ask, “Why’d you cancel your Uber?”

“Uh, no real reason.”

“Oh, come on now.”

In the faintest of whispers, I hear her say, “I was kind of hoping to meet a certain someone.”

Good thing I have good hearing.

She makes a move like she’s going to get out of the bed, and all I can think is: No, not yet.

“Wait.” I grab her arm—lightly, mind you—but when she gives me a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look, I release her immediately and apologize. “Sorry.”

She doesn’t bolt, thank God.

Pulling her knees up to her chin, she buries her head in the comforter wedged between them. “This is so embarrassing,” she mutters into the fluffy down.

“Who were you hoping to meet?” I press.

I’m insanely curious as to who it could have been. Maybe Nolan? Or perhaps it was Benny she’d set her sights on? Both are good-looking men. But then again, maybe, just maybe, she was hoping to meet me.