Page 65 of Game On

“Admit it.” Stepping closer, Dorian whispered, “You liiiiiike me.”

“I do like you. Pretty much since I stepped foot in this house.”

Something vulnerable passed over Dorian’s features, there and gone in a second. “What changed then?” Dorian asked, and if Jamie hadn’t gotten to know him as well as he had over the past few weeks, he would’ve missed the slight tremor in his voice and the way he straightened his spine, as though waiting for a blow.

“I did,” Jamie said.

“So all those reasons you didn’t want anything to happen between us...?”

“Still applicable,” Jamie admitted. “But not as important as I thought. Or maybe still just as important, but I think I was attributing too much weight to them. Giving them too much power in my life.” He took Dorian’s hand, threaded their fingers together. “I’m going to take a page out of your book and trust my gut.”

“And your gut says...?”

“That I found my place, and I can trust that it’s not going to fall apart again. Except, um...” Jamie’s lips twisted. “Full disclosure, but if things don’t work out between us, I still need a place to stay until the end of the season.”

Dorian’s snort of laughter turned into a full belly laugh, and his smiling lips met Jamie’s for a quick peck. “Sure. I’ll just relegate you to the basement. It has a separate entrance. That way we won’t have to see each other.”

“The basement you said has no bed?”

“But I did get a bed.” Another quick peck, one arm curling around Jamie’s shoulders. “In fact, I got three—one for each bedroom. And silverware and plates for the kitchen.”

Of course he had. Because Coach Shore’s gentle admonishment upon Jamie’s arrival—about giving Jamie the basement—no matter that it hadn’t been meant as a criticism, had no doubt crawled over his skin and stayed there like a bad infection.

Dorian cupped Jamie’s jaw, tilted his head exactly where he wanted it, and slanted his mouth over his with as much hesitation as Jamie had when the puck landed on his tape and he had a wide-open net.

None.

Jamie tugged him closer, his knees turning to water. He wanted skin on skin, but Dorian’s stupid cardigan was all fabric and Jamie couldn’t find the bottom of it to sneak his hand underneath. He settled for wrapping himself around Dorian instead, using his bulkier frame to manoeuvre Dorian until they fit together in all the right places.

All the right places.

His breathing sped up. Dorian, because he was wilier, did manage to get a hand under Jamie’s hoodie, and the sensation of his cool palm against Jamie’s overheated skin was almost too much.

Then his stomach growled. Loudly.

Dorian pulled back, breathing unsteadily, and looked down at Jamie’s stomach. “I think your gut’s saying something else too.”

“It’s fine,” Jamie said, chasing Dorian’s mouth. “No biggie.”

“Says the man who’s systematically eaten all my food samples since he arrived. You’re always hungry.”

“You should put the mushy popcorn in your winter box.” Jamie nipped at Dorian’s collarbone. “What’s better than snuggling in front of the fireplace on a cold night, watching a movie and eating popcorn?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dorian said, full of sarcasm. “Eating crunchy popcorn maybe?” He pushed Jamie away with a laugh when his stomach growled again. “Go eat something. I have to take a business call anyway.”

“On a Saturday afternoon?”

“Potential vendor.” He turned Jamie around and gave him a slap on the butt to nudge him toward the kitchen. “Go. Then take a nap.”

“Fine,” Jamie mumbled, pouting only a little. “Oh, hey,” he called as Dorian retreated to his office. Poppy followed him in. “Did you tell Charlie about Fir & Pine while he was here?”

Dorian’s gaze narrowed on him, shooting daggers before he slammed his office door closed.

That was a no then.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dorian wasn’t sure what he should focus on first.

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