The Play (Briar U, #3)(70)

“You’re a fun date.”

“This isn’t a date.”

She tips her head in challenge. “Then why are you giving me the Penis Eyes?”

“I’m not.”

“I know Penis Eyes when I see ’em.”

A laugh tickles my throat. This girl is something else. She cracks me up. And she’s so fucking beautiful. Her skin always looks so soft and luminous that my fingers itch to stroke it. Her hair looks silky to the touch too. It falls in a straight, shiny curtain over her shoulder, the one that’s bared by her loose sweater. A few dark strands fall over her left eye.

My lips feel dry. I lick them, and heat flares in Demi’s expression.

“You’ve got hair in your eyes,” I say roughly.

I reach out to gently brush it away. My thumb lingers on her cheekbone as I tuck the hair behind her ear, the one that’s normal-sized.

She gives a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my God. Was that it?”

My eyebrows crash together. “Was what it?”

“Was that your move?” Delight dances in her eyes. “Licking the lips, brushing hair off my face, that little thumb rub. That’s totally the move. Right?”

I flash a cocky smile. “Depends. Did it work?”

“Yes,” she says frankly, and now it’s my breath that hitches.

Her honesty is such a turn-on. And although I didn’t plan on busting it out tonight, that was my move. It just happened naturally.

“Davenport,” booms a loud voice.

My head snaps toward the bars. Footsteps thud down a hallway and then Coach’s thunderous face appears in the doorway. Officer Jenk tails him.

“Unlock that door.” Coach issues the order to the desk jockey, who jumps to his feet at the arrival of Coach and his colleague.

Weirdly enough, the younger deputy actually reaches for his heavy key ring before remembering that Coach is not his superior, nor a cop. “Jeff?” he says, glancing at Officer Jenk.

His name is Jeff? Jeff Jenk?

Poor bastard. Maybe that’s why he’s in such a bad mood.

“Do it,” Jenk says curtly.

Coach gives me and Demi a brisk once-over as we emerge from the cell. “You all right?” he says curtly. “Did anybody manhandle you?”

“No,” I assure him, touched that he’d asked. “Nobody knocked us around at all, but thanks for worrying.”

“I’m not worried about you, you idiot. I’m worried about your fucking shooting hand. We have a game in four days.” His accusatory eyes shift toward the officers. “If his slapshot is even a tenth of a second slower than usual, I’m going to hold you personally responsible, Albertson.”

“Sorry, Coach,” the desk jockey mumbles.

I stare at them both. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah, kid used to play for me. Sammy Albertson, class of 2012.”

Damn, now I really wish Albertson was the one who pulled us over. I could’ve just name-dropped and gone on my merry way. Just my luck that I got the cop with the chip on his shoulder.

“And you,” Coach says, turning to a sour-faced Jenk. “Unless the kid’s dick is out and inside someone’s mouth, it ain’t considered lewd conduct. Make wiser choices next time.”

“Tell your player that,” Jenk says snidely. “He can’t be swerving all over the road.”

“I was stuck,” Demi pipes up. “Hunter was trying to—”

Coach raises a hand to silence her, and, like all of his players, Demi falls in line. “Any paperwork we need to sign?” he barks at Jenk. “Any fines to pay?”

“No, I’m letting them off with a warning as a courtesy to—”

“Good, let’s go,” Coach interrupts. He nods his head, and Demi and I scamper after him like baby geese following their mommy.

Outside the tiny station, Coach zips up his coat. It still hasn’t snowed once this winter, but the temperature is finally turning frigid. Coach’s breath escapes in white puffs as he says, “Your Land Rover wasn’t impounded because the tow truck’s ETA was a couple of hours, so it’s still on Ninth Line. I’ll drive you over to it.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“And I want you to go straight home, you hear me?”

“Demi lives on campus,” I say, shaking my head. “I need to drop her off first.”

“I’ll do it,” he snaps before stalking toward the curb, where his Jeep is parked.

Demi turns to me in alarm. “Should I be worried he might murder me on the drive home?” She pauses. “I can’t remember if my show has an episode called Coaches Who Kill.”

“You’re probably okay.”

“Probably?”

I shrug. “He’s more pissed at me than you. I’m the one who dragged him out of bed.”

“True.” She flips up the fur-lined hood of her parka, and plants one hand on her hip. “And for the record, none of this would have happened if you’d agreed to rebound me.”

“It still would’ve happened.” I smirk at her. “Only difference is, you would’ve actually been blowing me.” I instantly regret saying that, because the thought of my dick stuffed in her mouth is so torturously enticing I almost groan out loud.