Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(34)

“Right.”

Okay, so I know Kingston better than I’ll admit. Not that I know everything about him, but I do know a lot.

“I’m pretty sure that chick’s checkin’ out your man,” Noelle notes, nodding toward a particularly busty brunette wearing a tiny halter and even smaller skirt.

“He’s not my man,” I rumble absently.

“For all intents and purposes, he is.”

I glare at my best friend.

Noelle’s smile widens. “You better go show her whose boobs are bigger or things might get awkward.”

I’m pretty sure that girl’s boobs are bigger than mine, but I understand what Noelle means. Since it is my job to be Kingston’s girlfriend—at least for the foreseeable future—I really need to go stake my claim.

Not that I want to.

Okay, I kind of do.

Sighing, I toss the towel I’ve been using to wipe down the bar onto the shelf below and make my way out onto the floor.

Pasting a smile on my face, I stop at one of the tables occupied by a couple who are grinning as they chat quietly. “Can I get you anything else? We’ll be closing in about ten minutes.”

“Oh, wow. Time flies,” the woman replies, her gaze leaving her companion only briefly to look up at me. “I think we’re good.”

“Thanks for coming.” I gently pat the table, then move to the next one, this one with four women laughing uncontrollably. “Y’all good?”

“We are, thanks.”

Taking a deep breath, I head toward the rowdy section. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, I have to fight the urge to run the other direction. Instead, I shore up my resolve, straighten my shoulders, and walk right up to Kingston’s side.

He’s talking to one of the other players, seemingly oblivious to the women who are practically drooling over every word that comes out of his mouth. I won’t lie, the fact that he isn’t interested in the puck bunnies makes me feel good.

I tap his shoulder.

He turns, glances up, and I notice the instant he recognizes me. His face lights up like he’s actually happy to see me. A strange sensation takes root inside my chest, but I ignore it. This is pretend. He’s supposed to be happy to see me. After all, I am his pretend girlfriend.

“Hey, babe,” he greets, his arm sliding around me as he pulls me close.

“Hey.” I try not to notice how strong he is or how good he smells or how I really like the golden flecks in his dark eyes.

It isn’t easy.

And unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going to get any easier in the future.

Especially not if he continues to … squeeze my ass the way he is right now.





Kingston

I’ve spent the better part of the night ignoring the puck bunnies trying to catch my attention while still attempting to have a conversation with some of my teammates. More than once I’ve wished that the rumors of having a girlfriend had spread, but up to this point, no one actually knows about Ellie and me, and I doubt they’ll be finding out tonight.

In fact, I’m convinced Ellie has been avoiding me. Even when I’ve looked her way, she’s seemed to be purposely keeping her back to me. Or maybe I’m imagining that. Not easy to let the world believe you have a girlfriend when said girlfriend—pretend or not—keeps an entire restaurant full of people between you and her.

I’ve been trying to come up with a subtle way to change that, and—finally—Ellie provides the perfect opportunity when she steps up to my side, her hand on my shoulder as though she’s attempting to get close. It’s a fairly intimate move, and I have to remind myself that she’s only playing it up for appearances. Still, I have a good time pretending for a minute or two.

The first thing I notice is the impressive rack that’s almost eye level. The woman has great tits. Better than great, actually. Not too big, not too small. Just … f*cking perfect. In the years I’ve known her, I’ve seen Ellie in a bathing suit on more than one occasion. I won’t lie and say I haven’t had some erotic thoughts about her during those moments. But never have I had those perfect tits quite so close to my mouth. My fantasies do not count.

The next thing I notice is how good she smells. It’s a mixture of beer and a subtle perfume that makes my dick hard because it smells like … her. I think Ellie has worn that same perfume for as long as I’ve known her. I want to strip her out of her clothes and sniff every inch of her body just to see which parts smell better than the others.

Not that she’ll allow that to happen, but f*ck … a guy can dream.

The third thing I notice is how she doesn’t pull away when I wrap my arm around her and pull her into my side. And sure, when I daringly let my hand slide down and give her amazing ass a firm squeeze, I expect her to smack me upside the head.

She doesn’t.

Which I take as a good sign.

“You guys need anything?” Ellie asks the other players at the table.

She receives a chorus of responses, most of them waving her off. It’s closing in on two—they’ve already signaled last call—so most of the guys are gearing up to head out anyway. Personally, I don’t drink for a solid week prior to our first game, and during the season, I don’t drink the night before a game. I learned early on that alcohol and that kind of physical exertion don’t work well, especially the older I’ve gotten.