Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(73)

I take a sip and stare at the screen.

Goalie God: Be there in ten if you’re up for company.

I don’t even have to think on that. I instantly type a response.

Ellie: Bring it.

I glance down at my attire, debating on whether or not I should get dressed. Since Kingston has already seen me naked, I really don’t see the point. I’m completely covered—all the private places, anyway—so it seems like too much effort.

Before I drop onto the couch, I unlock the door and shoot a text to Kingston letting him know he can come in when he gets here.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, he’s walking in the front door, and I peer away from the television long enough to take in the sight of him. He’s wearing a suit, which is a requirement after the games. I know I’ve said it before, but holy smokes, the guy can rock a suit.

I swallow hard and force a smile.

I’m a little nervous now that he’s here. We haven’t been alone together since the morning we got down and dirty in my shower. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react to him or what I’m supposed to say, so for the past nine days (yes, I kept track, so what?), I’ve been trying to play it cool. Luckily, he’s been as busy as I have, so we haven’t been in this position.

Except now we are.

“Hey,” he greets, closing the door before pulling off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch. His tie goes next and part of me wishes he’d keep on going.

He doesn’t.

“I’ve got Sam Adams in the refrigerator,” I tell him before he sits down.

I sneak a peek at his ass when he pivots and goes to the kitchen.

His ass is phenomenal. Probably due to all that squatting he does out there.

When he returns, I move over to give him room next to me. Although I didn’t change, I did snag the blanket off the back of the couch to cover my legs. It’s not necessarily cold, but it’s comforting.

“The game sucked,” I tell him frankly. I’m sure he knows this already.

I probably wouldn’t have come right out and said that if he’d been in goal tonight, but since he wasn’t, I feel like I can be a little more candid.

“It’s my fault.”

I sit up and turn toward him. “How’s that possible? In case you didn’t notice, you were keeping the bench warm.”

His response is a sexy smirk. “The team we played was antagonizing your brother.”

We played Detroit…

I’m pretty astute, so it doesn’t take long to put two and two together. “Because of that woman who said stuff about you?”

Kingston nods.

“Want to talk about it?”

He turns to look at me. “Not really.”

I’m not much in the talking mood, either, so I nod my agreement. “Since we’re not gonna talk, you have any suggestions on what we can do?”

Another smile curls his lips and I feel heat course through me.

“I’m thinking we can sit right here and watch television.”

Not necessarily what I expected, but okay.

“Now come here.” Kingston pats the cushion beside him.

With my wine in hand, I pull the blanket with me as I scoot close to him. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, resting his hand on my upturned knee, and we proceed to watch television.

When he originally told me he was coming over, I had intended to watch the highlights of the game, but opted not to. I figure he’ll have plenty of time to do that later. So instead, we’re watching Jimmy Fallon. Or rather I’m trying to watch, but my body is hyperaware of how close Kingston is and how good he smells. I can feel his body heat through the thin T-shirt I’m wearing, and my nipples have already hardened. Thankfully I’ve got the blanket to disguise my lust, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hide it.

“This is nice,” he whispers close to my ear.

“What?”

“Watching TV together.”

Right. Nice.

It is nice, but my mind has already moved on to all the dirty things I want to do to him. For some reason, I don’t think he and I are on the same page, which is a little disappointing.

I mean, seriously, he hasn’t even kissed me.

Maybe I’m the only one feeling this way.

But why would he have come over if that was the case?

Glancing over at him, I try to read his expression. More accurately, I try to read his mind.

He must sense me staring because he cuts his eyes to mine. “Something wrong?”

I shake my head. “Just curious why you’re here.”

Kingston’s dark chuckle consumes me. “You don’t want me here?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I shrug. “Nothing. This is … nice.”

Wouldn’t you know it, Kingston smiles again and his attention returns to the television.

And for the first time in a really long time, I’m disappointed that the man on my couch isn’t going to ravish me. Instead, Mount Rushmore—the goalie god—looks completely content to watch TV.

Which totally sucks.

But at the same time, it doesn’t.





29

Kingston

Saturday, November 12th