All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(17)

He nods. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

We rise from the bed, but before Owen opens the door, he stops and turns to face me. He’d stripped off his sweatshirt when we got home, and his white T-shirt stretches alluringly across his broad shoulders. I force my eyes up to his.

“You sure tonight was okay with you?” he asks, tucking a lock of stray hair behind my ear.

I nod and rest my hand flat on his firm chest. “It was very okay. I felt completely comfortable and at ease with you.” It was one of the most enjoyable nights I’ve had in a long time, actually. “Next time, maybe you won’t be such a chicken and we’ll progress past first base.”

Owen’s gaze turns serious for a second. “I’m not chickening out. I just didn’t want to push you. I figured we’d start with a kiss to see if we had chemistry and go from there.”

“And?” I ask, wondering if he felt the same intensity I did from that kiss.

“I’d say if we had any more chemistry, I’d be in big trouble.” He grins at me.

Jeez, that damn dimple. I have the strangest urge to kiss him again. Instead, I clear my throat and wait for him to open the door.

We head into the living room and survey the damage. Elise and Justin are cuddling on the couch, and everyone else is gone. Several pizza boxes and a few empty beer bottles are still on the coffee table.

No wonder it’s so quiet. I didn’t realize Owen and I were in his bedroom that long.

“I’m going to head out,” I announce to Elise.

She lifts her head from Justin’s sculpted chest and gives me a half wave. “’Bye, Becs. See you this week for dinner?”

“Definitely,” I say. As two single girls in our twenties, Elise and I often made dinner plans together midweek. Now that she’s dating Justin, she’s made it a point to continue our tradition. Which this single lady very much appreciates.

“See you at work tomorrow?” Owen asks while I linger by the door.

I nod. The team has a nine a.m. ice time, so I’m sure I’ll see the guys then. If I make it out from behind my desk, that is.

I half expect Owen to pull me in for a hug or say something flirty before I head out, but instead he leans against the door frame, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

Our eyes meet, and something inside me sizzles. I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot more complicated.





7




* * *





The Face-off





Owen



“You were on fire tonight,” Justin says, raising his pint glass to mine.

I grin and clink my glass to his before taking a long drink. “Thanks, man. I felt good out there.”

We’re in New York for a midweek game, and I’m not going to deny how good it feels to get a win tonight.

Teddy signals the waitress as he polishes off the last of his beer. “That last shot was like a bullet. I didn’t think you were going to stop it.”

Catching that shot was a surprise to me too. I felt the puck hit my glove, but still had to look down in disbelief to actually see that it was in my hand.

“Christoff has a wicked slap shot, that’s for sure,” I say, trying to downplay my heroic save, but it’s hard to hide my smile when the guys are singing my praises. And the truth is, I know I did damn good on the ice tonight.

I hope that performance is enough to show Coach that nothing has changed with me, and that my supposed lady troubles aren’t going to be any trouble at all.

Agreeing to help Becca certainly doesn’t feel like trouble. So far, all we’ve shared is one kiss, but it was a damn good kiss, one I haven’t been able to stop thinking about in the two days since it happened.

Speaking of Becca, I glance down at my phone to see if she’s replied to my text. Nothing yet.

Sometimes her position allows her to travel with the team, though those occasions are rare, usually reserved for playoffs when all the team’s leadership travels with us too. She’s in Seattle tonight, and I have no idea what she’s up to because my phone screen is still blank. We exchanged a few texts earlier, when she wished me luck at the game, and being the cocky bastard I am, I told her that I don’t need luck. Now, radio silence.

Shoving the phone into my pocket, I can’t help but remember the first time I met Becca four years ago . . .

She was standing next to a broken-down silver Honda with a smudge of grease on her cheek, and I’d never seen someone make a pair of khaki pants and a white button-up look so sexy. The girl was hotter than sin with a trim waist and round, curvy ass, but she and Elise had become fast friends and it was constantly Becca this, Becca that. And since Elise didn’t make female friends easily, I knew immediately that no matter how gorgeous Becca was, she and I would never be anything more than friends.

My sister had called me midday to ask for a favor. Becca’s car had broken down at the accountant’s office where she worked. Elise wanted to help but couldn’t exactly leave her preschool class unattended while she did. Begrudgingly, I’d agreed to go over there to rescue some chick I didn’t even know.

When I arrived, Becca was madder than a hornet, and it was oddly adorable. She was cursing but using words like fudge and banana in place of where you or I would have dropped an F-bomb, and she was kicking the tires to that old beat-up car. Even when I introduced myself, she wanted no part of my help and didn’t care who I was.