Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(39)

Crap. What if he thinks I’m talking to my sex toy? Not that I’d be doing much talking. Probably just some moaning and—

Enough!

Rushing over to the door, I throw it open as wide as it goes. “Hey, hi,” I say, out of breath.

He cocks his head, which makes him look absolutely adorable. Adding to that, he’s sexy as hell. He’s half-clothed, as usual, wearing only a pair of navy blue lounge pants.

“Is everything okay in there?” he asks, looking beyond me to the interior of the room.

I shift from one bare foot to the other, feigning nonchalance. “Everything’s fine. What’s up?”

Maybe not the best choice of words, seeing as he’s now staring at my boobs, prominently displayed in my skimpy tank.

I clear my throat and his whiskey-colored eyes snap up to mine, but only for a second. Still, it’s enough to give me a tingle down my spine.

With a smirk, his gaze drops to my bottoms. “Nice,” he mutters. “Pucks and hockey sticks, eh? That’s cute.”

Cute?

He’s acting a little strange, and when our gazes once again meet I notice how bloodshot his eyes are. Letting out a disappointed huff, I exclaim, “What the hell, Brent? Are you drunk? You are, aren’t you?”

That bad influence Nolan. Fuck him!

“Maybe just a little,” Brent confesses.

“How much is a little?” I warily inquire.

He raises his hand and squints down to the inch of space he’s trying to indicate with his index finger and his thumb. “About this much,” he says.

Clearly, this is his smartass, and not very successful, attempt to indicate he’s only a tiny bit drunk. I question that, however, seeing as he’s here at my bedroom door.

I can’t resist giving him a hard time, a little payback for the way he treated me earlier. Plus, what the hell is he thinking, getting trashed like this? A beer or two is one thing, but he’s throwing weeks of progress out the damn window.

Pointing to where his hand is still hovering in the air, I nod to the teeny space between his fingers and say in my snarkiest tone, “Are you sure that’s an indication of your level of drunkenness? Or is it something else. Like, is that tiny space an approximation of your, uh, you know.” When I gesture to his groin area, he quickly drops his hand.

And then he scoffs, “Well, we both know that’s not true. And what exactly are you gesturing to anyway, Aubrey? Are you too shy to say the word ‘cock’?”

“No,” I snap. “I can say that word just fine.”

“Really?” His tone drips with doubt. “It sounds to me like your avoiding it.”

Crap, does he mean the word cock…or his cock?

To prove him wrong, at least on the first count, I start chanting out, “Cock, cock, cock, cock. See? Are you happy now?”

He breaks into a grin, a very smart-alecky grin. “Wow. If you add a few a-doodle-doo’s you’d totally sound like a rooster.”

“You must really be annihilated, Brent.”

“And you must really be horny, Aubrey.”

“What?”

“You’re clearly obsessed with my cock.”

“I am not.”

“Don’t deny it. You bought a sex toy with my number on it. And don’t think I didn’t notice the dimensions of that weird-ass thing. I have to say, they’re pretty spot-on.”

“Weird-ass thing? What the hell does that mean?”

He gives me a look. “Really, Aubrey? You need me to spell it out for you? Your sex toy is bright green and glows like a—”

“You…you…” I’m so mad I can’t find the right words, so I go with an old standard. “You’re such a prick!”

“See, another cock reference.”

I try to close the door on him then, but he puts his foot in the way. “We’re not done here,” he says.

“Yes, we are,” I grind out.

Again, I try to shut the door, but his damn foot won’t budge. “I’ll smash your toes if I have to,” I warn.

That makes him laugh. “Good luck with that.”

I give it my all, struggling and straining to close the damn door. I don’t really plan to break his toes, but I do want him out. But my efforts are all in vain, anyway. The door doesn’t move. And neither does Brent.

And then something happens, something awful. Due to my vigorous attempts to close the door, a strap of my tank falls down.

And then a damn boob falls out!

“Oh, shit.” Brent moves his foot immediately, adding a mumbled apology.

That just makes things worse.

Unbalanced from him releasing the door so quickly, I stumble forward, right into his arms, loose boob and all.

“Quit touching me!”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to grope me.”

“I am not. That’s your shoulder I’m grabbing.”

“Oh my God, you have clearly touched far too many fake boobs. My tits are not hard like bone, *.”

Brent rights me as fast as he can. Then he steps back and looks away. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

I slip my wayward breast back into my tank and snap, “How about a little warning next time? You could’ve said something before you moved your foot and let me fall.”