Page 83 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

I chuckle. I can’t help it. “I can’t give you that, Coach. I plan on making sure the whole world knows she’s mine.”

28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

RORY

Afew days later, we find ourselves at the same bar where we met—the local spot for the Montreal Blizzard. The chances of us running into anyone are slim since the season is over. I was surprised that Wells suggested we come here, of all places.

“What are you getting to drink? What was it you had here last time? Was it a Shirley Temple or a Cosmopolitan?”

“Haha...I think that prick Gagnon ordered Elliot and me Cosmos. God bless that son of a bitch, though; I would have never met the love of my life without him.”

“Aww, thank you, babe...I’m going to run to the restroom. Be right back.”

I weave through the laughter and the clinking of glasses, striding back from the bathroom when I collide with what feels like a wall of firm cotton and warm skin. Startled, I bounce back slightly, my hand flying up to steady myself against the obstruction.

It’s only when my fingers clutch fabric and my eyes dart up that I find Wells. Shoulders broad, a suddenly sheepish smile flickering on his lips as he steadies me by the arms.

This is like some déjà vu—just like the way we met. But now, here he is, suddenly in my path as if conjured by the very thought of him.

“What are you—" My eyebrows pinch together in a silent question, not needing to finish my sentence because I could swear I just left his ass at the table, scarfing down mozzarella sticks.

He chuckles, a low rumble I feel down to my toes as his eyes descend on my body like the first night. “I remember you mentioning that no one should’ve let you leave your house in heels, though I still beg to differ.”

“I highly doubt someone would like to hear about my obsession with skincare products and love for Jimmy Choos.”

“From what I’ve gathered, your love for Jimmy Choos has shifted to someone else.”

“Mhm.” He means him. And he’s not wrong.

“If you wanna keep me company, I know a place we can go.”

I stare back at him, remembering that line and all its dark promises. “Just ice cream, huh? I remember that story differently.”

“I remember it on the daily.” He erases some of the space between us. “And I enjoyed the outcome.”

My cheeks blaze with a blush. “Did you? I never did buy you that other drink?”

“I can think of several other ways you can make it up to me.”

One of my brows raises. “Can you now?”

His gaze has the tenacity of gravity, pulling me into a moment I know all too well. The curve of his lips is laden with unspoken stories and memories that leave me breathless.

"I'm sure you can, too," he muses, the heat in his eyes telegraphing all the ways he’s thinking of taking me without a single word spoken aloud. “How about I take you out for that ice cream so I can watch you tease me again with that tongue.”

The air crackles with heavy and sweet tension. With the proximity of our bodies, every nerve ending in my skin is aware of him, aware of the potential of his touch and what he can do with it.

“How about you just take me home so I can show you—”

“I was thinking about something better, Snowflake. Something more… permanent.”

I tip my head to one side. “Permanent?”

He steps closer, and though there’s barely any distance left to close, it feels like miles. The air shifts around us again, charged with a gravity that pulls at something deep within my chest.

“Yes,” Wells affirms with a nod, his voice carrying a tone of finality, of decision. “I like the sound of that. Permanent.”

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