Page 75 of Good Boy

I give him a tired smile, because I appreciate how loyal that sounds. “Now let’s talk about your thing. What’s the matter, champ?”

He takes a gulp of wine and then pats the place on the couch right next to him. I scoot over, and he wraps an arm around me. And I lay my head on his chest, because it’s irresistible. He smells good too. Like clean flannel and sandalwood.

“I’m just off my game, ’s all,” he rumbles. “My superpowers are a little wobbly right now too.”

“No, really? I’m sorry, sweetie.” I pat his thick wrist with my free hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He’s quiet for so long that I wonder if he even heard me. Then he says, “I just like seeing your pretty face.”

I get an odd lump in my throat hearing it. But it’s nothing that a little more wine won’t wash down.

A few minutes later, our food arrives. We eat sitting in comfortable dining chairs at Blake’s small but sleek table in front of the windows. The lights of Toronto’s waterfront twinkle on one side of the view, while the blackness of Lake Ontario coats the other. I ask Blake about the team’s travel schedule and then listen while he tells me which rinks and cities he enjoys visiting and which ones are less fun.

The mood is a little subdued, but I tell myself it’s just because we both had shitty days.

After we eat, I do our dishes and put away the leftovers in Blake’s immaculate fridge. I pause in front of the freezer and ask which ice cream he wants first. “I don’t know if these really go together,” I admit. “Which one do you want to taste first?”

“You pick.” He stands beside me at the counter.

I choose the mocha and pry the top off. My hands are a little sticky, and I don’t have a spoon. So I use my hip to open Blake’s magical cutlery drawer, and this makes him grin.

When he finally smiles, something relaxes inside me that I didn’t even know I’d been clenching.

I grab a spoon and dip it into the chocolaty surface. To keep his good humor, I fly the spoon toward his mouth until he opens for me.

At the last second, my in-flight spoon banks sharply and flies toward my own mouth instead.

But—learn from me—never try to deke a professional hockey player. His hand moves so fast I don’t see it until it grabs mine. With a playful shriek, I fight back. The spoon is almost mine. In fact, I manage to smear chocolate on my lip before Blake gets control and sweeps the bite of ice cream into his own mouth.

His eyes gleam as he cleans the spoon. “That’s a nice look for you,” he says, lifting his chin to indicate the sticky smear on my lip. His eyes focus and then fill with heat.

Slowly and with great deliberation, I sweep my tongue across the spot. “Did I get it?” I’m teasing him mercilessly right now, but at least he doesn’t look sad.

“No,” he says, his voice pure gravel. “It’s… Allow me.” He takes a step closer. Now he’s looking down at me, his lips mere inches from mine. I quiver with expectation as he lifts a hand to cup my chin. “Jess…” he whispers.

And then Blake swipes his thumb across my lip and takes a step backward, sighing.

A beat goes by while my body says Really? I feel inordinately bereft. I’m used to Blake trying to get into my pants. Now he’s not, and it’s so confusing.

I pick up the spoon and dig it into the ice cream. Blake watches me, his gaze on fire. I take a bite. Then I scoop up another spoonful and feed it to him.

It’s smooth and cold and wonderful. Heaven, really. Another bite for me. Another one for him. He’s still watching every move I make. His laser concentration makes me feel completely alive. With those big green eyes tracking me, I’m not a broke student or a pharmacology failure. I’m just here, in this moment. And it’s beautiful.

On the next bite, I let the spoon linger in my mouth. He looks pained. Then, instead of offering the next bite, I take that one too, smiling at him.

Blake’s eyelids get heavy. He mutters something like “Oh, fuck it,” and before I can blink, he tosses my spoon on the counter and grabs my head, tugging it toward him. With a groan, he claims my mouth, his tongue parting my lips immediately. Our kiss is cold and hot and pure chocolaty hunger.

I moan into his mouth as a big hand grabs my bottom, pulling me into him. And there is nothing sexier than the Great Wall of Blake Riley. The front of me is flush against his hard body. The feel of him is addictive. It’s really no mystery why I keep shedding my clothes like a snakeskin every time we’re alone. His greedy kisses have already dismantled much of my executive function. My awareness narrows down to the taste of his kisses and the throbbing of my heart.

And other places.

My hands are almost too small to grasp his shoulders, but I need more of him. “Bedroom,” I murmur between kisses.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he picks me up with one arm. We don’t even stop kissing as I fly through the air, perched on his forearm. The light dims as we enter a back room. A second later, he tosses me onto a giant cloud, which turns out to be a bed the size of my entire dorm room. He whips his shirt off. When he unzips his jeans, just the sound of the zipper makes me shiver. And then he shoves those down, along with his boxers. As always, my mouth goes dry at the dual sights of his massive erection and the look of determination on his handsome face.

This beautiful man wants me. Me. It’s enough to make a girl dizzy.

“You realize what this means, right?” he says, putting one muscular knee onto the bed.

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