Page 7 of My Brother's Teammates

I fight back a moan as I’m picked up and moved away from the very, very ripped body of Roman. He literally lifted me and set me back a couple feet away from him, like I weighed nothing more than a bag of chips. A thrill rolls through my core, and I can’t stop the shiver that works its way down my spine. I’ve never been with someone who could manhandle me the way this giant goalie can, and it’s always been a fantasy of mine.

Shane would never pick me up like that. In fact, he would have made a passive-aggressive comment about how much I weighed and insinuated picking me up could throw out his back. Wouldn’t be the first time. He really was an asshole.

And what’s worse? I used to let him talk to me like that, biting down my hurt feelings because I wanted to keep the peace.

But not Roman. He didn’t hesitate to pick me up and move me where he wanted me to be.

Despite the well-trimmed beard covering half of his face, his skin goes red as our gazes meet. He doesn’t turn away. Hell, he doesn’t speak. He just stares, and as ridiculous as it sounds, it’s like his soulful brown eyes see right through me, and suddenly I feel naked again.

“Hi.” I offer him a shy wave, but my hand quickly falls back to my side as his gaze drops to my chest. For a beat, I think he’s reading what’s written across my shirt… until I look down and see that my traitorous nipples are rock-hard, trying to poke holes through my tank.

Dammit.

Thank God Roman’s eyes don’t linger on my chest much longer before he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, hissing out a slow breath. Poor guy. I know the feeling.

And I have to give it to him; he seems like he’s trying his best to be a gentleman, but I’m not about to let that fool me. He may act like it, but he’s no angel. I’ve heard the stories. All three of them come with reputations for being players—both on and off the ice.

It’s cute that he’s trying to protect whatever modesty I have left. I kind of want to pinch his sweet Texan cheeks.

Or suck his?—

No. Bad, Charlie. Naughty Charlie. He is off-limits.

They all are.

It doesn’t matter how tall or muscular he is. And it definitely doesn’t matter that he was the only guy who gave me the sweatshirt off his back when I was fumbling around in the nude. These men are all off-limits, and I’m most definitely going to have to set some ground rules for myself. Even just for the weekend.

Rule number one: no sexy times with any of my brother’s friends, especially the ones I’m going to be living with.

Roman still hasn’t said anything, and now it’s a little weird. We’re just standing here, him blocking the doorway, and me unable to get past him unless I drop to my knees and crawl through his five-hole.

I swallow a snort. It sounds way dirtier than it is.

“We were thinking of ordering dinner.”

Well, look at that, he can talk. For a hot minute, I was a little concerned that my nipples had rendered him speechless, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“Okay?”

“You good with pizza?”

“I like pizza. Pepperoni and sausage?”

He nods, his intense brown eyes lingering on mine. As he turns, I touch his arm, not missing how he jerks back from me like a snapped elastic band.

It’s safer that way, but I hate it all the same.

“Does this mean you guys are inviting me to stay for pizza? And maybe after?” I don’t want to push my luck and assume.

He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, but I need him to come right out and say it. I need to hear the actual words so I know that it’s okay for me to be here. Even if it’s just for tonight. “We want to talk to you.” His eyes soften as he scans my face. “If you have a sec.”

He doesn’t move, he just… lingers. I really should toss on a bra, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to move until I follow him. I guess the bra can wait.

It’s not like they haven’t seen my tits anyway.

I follow him into the living room, trying and failing not to notice how his back muscles move with every swing of his arms. Jace and Mateo are both sitting on the couch in silence, both watching my every move. I feel like I’m being judged by a jury of my peers, and it’s not looking like they’re on my side.

But I’m not going to act ashamed and cover my chest with my arms. I will not hide myself. Not from them, not from anyone. After everything I’ve been through, I refuse to cower to another fucking guy. My hands twitch at my sides, so I plant them on my hips instead.

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