Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(26)

It doesn’t take, because images of last night begin to play through my sleepy mind. Carrying Bess into the bedroom and then yanking down her skirt. Laying her out on the quilt and kissing and licking and teasing until she was begging for me. And then turning her around and bending her over the bed…

Ungh. It’s been a long time since I woke up feeling happy and aroused.

“Tank,” Bess whispers.

“Mmm?”

“Are you awake?”

“You can’t tell?” I push my cock against her ass in a blatant display of just how awake I am.

“What time is it?”

“Who cares?”

She does, apparently, because she rolls, pushing me onto my back. I open my eyes. A puffy white cloud is the first thing I see. And when I sit up, the Manhattan Bridge appears against the blue sky. “Nice view. Kind of makes up for the tiny rooms.”

She runs a hand down my abs. “I do like the view. And I don’t need a big apartment.”

“Fair enough. But I want lots of things that I don’t really need.”

“Like me, for instance?”

“Oh, please.” I lie down again and kiss her bare shoulder. “Who says we didn’t need that? Both of us.” I roll over and trap her under my naked body. “I might need it again right now.”

Bess looks up at me with humor in her eyes. She reaches toward the bedside table and picks up her phone to check the time. “Says the man who has practice in thirty-five minutes.”

“Aw hell.” That’s unfortunate. The rink is right up the block, but my gym bag is at the Marriott. She’s right, I don’t have time. I run the pad of my thumb over her nipple, anyway. God, she’s sexy.

This summer I’d thought my dick was broken. I’d been single again after many years of marriage, but I hadn’t even glanced at a woman. I’d thought my marriage had permanently killed my libido.

But, nope. Bess makes me feel like a hormonal teenager. I’ll probably spend the quiet moments of my day remembering how I laid her out and had my filthy way with her.

Groaning, I lean down to flick my tongue over her nipple.

“Tank.” Bess puts her palm on my face and pushes me off her boob, the same way you’d discourage a dog who put his face somewhere he wasn’t invited. “Get up, stud. The new guy can’t be late.”

“I know,” I grumble. Thirty-year-old Bess isn’t intimidated by me at all, not like she’d been when she was twenty-one. I’m so screwed, because her confidence just makes me want her even more. When she’d flipped me off at the restaurant last night, I’d wanted to kiss her senseless.

It made me crazy to see her dining with another guy. And I’ve never felt more relief than when she left the restaurant alone. In my haste to follow her out of there, I’d left a hundred dollar tip because it was faster than calculating a reasonable number.

Bess makes me hungry again. Not for steak and ice cream, but for life. I’d spent the summer throwing a tennis ball for my teammate’s labradoodles and feeling sorry for myself. But I don’t feel that way any longer. “When can I see you again?”

She flinches. “You and I aren’t a good idea.”

Now there’s a blow to my ego. “Not true,” I argue. “I’m gonna have good ideas all day long, and you’ll be the star of all of them. Besides, you’re the only one in Brooklyn who likes me.”

“Not true,” she echoes, her expression softening. “At least it won’t be true for long. You’re a good guy, Tank. And a great player. They just need a little time to adjust to your way of doing things. Maybe you should spend some bonding time with the team.”

“I’m not here to make friends. And you didn’t answer the question. When am I seeing you again?”

“I don’t know,” Bess says softly. “We can’t have a fling, Tank. Not like we did before.”

“Why the hell not?” And is it just me, or aren’t we having one already? “You’re not the new girl at the agency anymore, trying to make a good impression.”

“You’re right. The stakes are even higher now.” She trails a hand down my ribcage even as she gives me the brushoff. “I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t date players. And it’s not like you really need any gossip swirling around you, either.”

“I don’t care what strangers say about me. They can fuck right off.”

This conversation is interrupted by her phone ringing. Or maybe it’s mine. I’m still not used to my new phone. “Is that me or you?”

“It’s mine. Get off me so I can see who’s having today’s first emergency.”

But I don’t. I grab her phone off the bedside table and hand it to her.

“Eric?” she says, answering. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” he says, and since I’m six inches from the phone I can hear him. “What’s wrong is that you didn’t answer any of my texts during the game last night. And then this morning I remembered that you went on a Tinder date with a stranger. So then I worried you were dead.”

I chuckle before I realize that I shouldn’t.

Bess gives me a very stern look just as Eric’s voice says, “Who’s that with you?”