Page 19 of The Bro-code

Ryker is immediately on me, but to my disappointment, his lips don’t connect with mine.

They glide down the column of my neck, warm, wet, impossibly soft as his big hands cup and squeeze both my breasts.

“Oh,” I gasp when my body reacts with a throb so violent, I visibly shudder.

The space between my legs is on fire in the best way possible, way more than I’ve ever been even when I had sex with the only two guys I’ve ever slept with.

“Fuck,” Ryker grunts, nipping at a sensitive spot right at the base of my neck. “If I touch you, will I find you as wet as I’m hard?”

He punctuates the question with a thrust of his hips that gives me irrefutable evidence that Ryker is telling the truth. He’s rock hard.

“Why don’t you find out?” I provoke him.

He doesn’t disappoint me. His thick, long fingers push the fabric of my panties to the side and run up the length of my slit, parting the skin to feel me up.

He lets out a string of curses. “You’re fucking soaked.”

His fingers find my most sensitive spot, the one that’s aching for his touch. The spot that always lets me down, no matter what I or my partner do.

“I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard,” Ryker promises, his lips gliding up and down my neck. “Faster than when I skate toward the other team’s goal on a breakaway.”

Have you ever felt like someone hosed you down with ice cold water?

That’s the feeling that descends on me at his last words. This can’t be.

“Skate? Breakaway? Are you…” I pant, struggling to push him away in the confined space of the bathroom. “Are you a hockey player?”

He tries to pull me closer again, his touch so inviting and yet so wrong. “Yeah, I’m a center. Why?”

I push against his chest with both hands. This isn’t fucking happening. “I’m sorry, Ryker,” I pant, as dread makes goosebumps erupt on my skin. “I can’t do this.”

Of course he doesn’t understand. “Why not? Did I do anything wrong? If so, I’m sorry.”

Yeah, he doesn’t have the slightest clue. I wish he’d said anything else. Mentioned a touchdown or a home run. A slam dunk would’ve been more than fine, for fuck’s sake.

But after what I’ve been through, I’m sticking to my resolution. No more hockey players. Like, ever.

“I have to go.” Panic is rising, making my throat feel hot and scratchy. “Please, Ryker, move.”

He shakes his head, crossing his powerful arms over his chest. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong. You don’t want to hook up? Fine. But I think I deserve an explanation and the opportunity to fix whatever I’ve done wrong.”

Ha. For that, he’d need a time machine and go back to the day he put on hockey skates for the first time. And choose another sport.

I have no intention of telling a stranger about my cheating ex-boyfriend. About how a lot of the hockey players I’m constantly around, go from one puck bunny to the other. Lake found the only three good ones. I found her the only three good ones. I’m not a puck bunny and my experience with dating hockey players begins and ends with Topher.

“I—”

A chime sounds in the little cubicle, the seatbelt sign lights up followed by an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re starting our descent toward Star Cove airport. The captain has turned on the seatbelt sign in preparation for landing. We kindly ask you to return to your seat and make sure to have your seat belt fastened, the table stowed, armrest down and your seat upright…”

Saved by the bell.

“We need to go sit down.” Ryker is the only thing between me and the bathroom door.

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over.”

The fuck it isn’t.

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