Page 6 of Pucking Amazing

DJ’s eyes lock with mine and a devilish grin spreads across his face. “See something you like, Simmonds?”

His voice is a low, flirtatious purr that shoots straight to my groin.

Heat floods my cheeks and...other areas. I frantically grab for my towel, almost dropping it.

“What? No, I just—I mean?—”

Real smooth, Tyler.

I’m unable to form a sentence like an idiot, but my brain has short-circuited at the nearly naked vision before me.

“Relax, I’m just giving you shit,” DJ chuckles, taking pity on me. “Gonna hit the showers. Catch you later, Ty.”

He saunters off, treating me to a view of his spectacular ass.

I exhale shakily, my pulse thundering in my ears. This magnetic pull whenever DJ is near—it’s getting impossible to ignore, a constant electric hum just under my skin.

What the hell am I supposed to do with these feelings? They don’t fit with the image I’ve always had of myself, of who I’m supposed to be.

In a panic, I throw on clothes haphazardly, desperate to flee the intoxicating air of the locker room and DJ’s irresistible effect on me, before I do something crazy like shove him against the tiles and map those tattoos with my mouth...

Nope. Not going there.

I snatch my duffel and practically run for the door, needing to put some serious distance between me and my wild thoughts.

This identity crisis will have to wait—preferably forever.

Shifting in the uncomfortable restaurant chair, I force a smile as my date, Sarah, finishes her story about her latest adventure in hot yoga. She’s been enthusiastically chattering on for the past fifteen minutes, but I haven’t been able to focus on a single word.

“That sounds... intense,” I manage, taking a sip of my water to buy myself a moment. “So, uh, what do you do for a living?”

Sarah blinks, thrown by the sudden change in topic. “I’m a marketing director at a tech startup downtown. I thought your sister mentioned that?”

“Oh right, sorry,” I wince. “So…what kind of metrics do you use to evaluate employee performance?” I ask, and then instantly cringe inwardly at how stiff and formal I sound.

Sarah pauses, taken aback. “Um, well, the usual KPIs, I guess...productivity, efficiency, that sort of thing.” She tilts her head, looking at me quizzically. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” I backpedal, my cheeks heating. “Just, um, curious about your management style, I suppose.” Seriously, Tyler? This is a date, not a job interview.

I take a big gulp of wine, hoping the alcohol will loosen me up, help me relax. But all it does is make me vaguely nauseous.

I set down my glass and force another smile.

“So, where do you see yourself in five years?” The question slips out before I can stop it. What the hell is wrong with me?

Sarah frowns slightly. “Well, hopefully I’ll have gotten a promotion by then, be managing my own team. I’d like to?—”

I nod along, making appropriate noises of agreement, but my mind is drifting, pulled inexorably back to the locker room this afternoon. To DJ, standing there in those sinfully tight shorts, all lean muscle and bold ink.

The way he looked at me, his eyes hot and knowing...

“Tyler? Did you hear me?”

I snap back to the present to find Sarah watching me expectantly. Shit. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I was asking about your plans for the future,” she repeats patiently. “What are your long-term career goals?”

“Oh. Um.” I fumble for an answer, my mind blank. “Just...to keep playing, I guess. For as long as I can.”

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