Good Boy (WAGs #1)(36)

“It just got nicer,” he says in a deep, smoky voice.

Dude, really? I suppress a weary grin. “How’s that?” I wonder how cheesy he’ll get if I let him.

“Because you’re here.”

My smile pops free. “Uh-huh. So what else do you like about Toronto?”

“My new place is killer. I rented a penthouse apartment with a hot tub on the terrace.”

“Did you, now?” Inwardly my eyes are rolling. Hard.

O’Connor props an elbow on the bar and tips his chin onto his hand. He blinks at me, and his lashes are so long I’m pretty sure I felt a breeze. Will O’Connor is a pretty boy. He’s got wavy hair and the aristocratic cheekbones of a Ralph Lauren model.

He’s beautiful and he knows it. Even the way he’s flashing a bicep at me right now feels rehearsed.

“Sounds like a party,” I say. “How’s your kitchen? That’s the one thing I really hate about living in the graduate student dorm. I can’t do any cooking.”

“Oh, I’m not much of a cook. As long as the coffee machine works and the fridge is full of beer, I’m a happy boy.”

“I see. So the kitchen isn’t your favorite room. How about…”

He lifts his eyebrows and grins at me. “The bedroom, you mean? Most chicks want to know all about my bedroom.”

“I bet they do,” I say with a straight face.

He leans in, close enough that his breath tickles my ear. “I can give you a private tour later. Or now if you want. I’m happy to ditch these losers.”

I jerk at the nip of his teeth against my earlobe.

Did he just bite my ear?

Before I can lecture him about proper bar etiquette, O’Connor is being pulled backward, courtesy of Blake.

“Hands off,” Blake says in a low voice. “That’s Wes’s sister.” But the possessive gleam in his eyes makes it clear that any sisterly feelings on his side play no part in this macho posturing.

“Chill, bro. Message received.” O’Connor winks at me before drifting over to Eriksson.

“What the hell was that?” I hiss at Blake.

“Good question. You go first.” He crosses his huge arms over his chest.

“I’m not allowed to talk to your teammates?”

“Talk all you want. But flirting ain’t allowed, honey.”

Seriously? “I’ll flirt with whomever I want,” I shoot back.

“Aw, you really think that?” He smiles. “That’s so sweet.”

I don’t get a chance to respond, because he slides onto the stool next to mine and now he’s the one whispering in my ear. The sound is so low and dirty that chills break out across my back.

“Baby? If I don’t get to fuck you, nobody else gets to fuck you. Especially O’Connor—that dude lays one finger on you and I’ll tie him to the net at the rink and practice my slapshot on him.”

My eyebrows soar. “Well, aren’t we bloodthirsty.”

“Thirsty, period. And hungry. So. Goddamn. Hungry.”

As warm lips brush the side of my neck, my panicky gaze darts toward Violet and the others. They’re not paying any attention to us, though. My roommate is engrossed in whatever Lemming is saying to her, and Eriksson and O’Connor are chatting up a pair of brunettes now.

“If you’re that in need of nourishment, go order another beer. And some nachos.” My tone is as indifferent as I can muster. “I’m sure that’ll solve the problem.”

“Only one thing’s gonna solve this problem,” Blake corrects. His gaze lowers to his crotch, and God help me, but I look down, too.

Yep. He’s hard. It looks like he shoved a forty of beer down there and tried to smuggle it into the bar.

Why does his dumb dick have to be so stupidly big?

I take a deep swallow of beer and then hop off my stool. “Gotta use the ladies’,” I lie. It’s either that, or keep sitting here next to Blake and fight the urge to undo his pants.

I scurry away before he can answer. The corridor that leads to the restrooms has two long lines. I stand behind a tall blonde, under the pretense that I indeed have to pee. Which I don’t. Though I probably will by the time this line reaches the bathroom.





15 Basic Math





Blake


I wait for Jess outside the jill.

When she emerges, I pounce. Even though I don’t mean to startle her, she gives a little squeak of surprise when I clamp a hand around her arm and tow her toward the back door.

I push it open, making tracks toward my Hummer, while she sputters out a question. “What…Blake! I wasn’t ready to leave!”

“So don’t leave. But you and I need a minute alone.”

“We really don’t.”

She could not be more wrong. It’s blissfully quiet out here, so I angle her against the door of my oversized car. “We weren’t done talking.”

“You’re never done talking,” she mutters back. “All you do is talk, you big motormouth.”

I grin down at her. “Did you just call me a motormouth?”

“Yes! Because you are.”

“I use my mouth for more than just talking,” I remind her. “But you already knew that. Remember back in March? All that begging you did about what I should do with my mouth?”