Page 54 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

“Wait. Did he fire Victoria? For having to adjust her schedule when he gave her permission to do it?”

She cackles, shaking her head. “Oh, god. No, no. Nothing like that.” She plants her elbow on the table and points her finger at me, and god, it’s so fun when she’s like this, unfiltered and unselfconscious. My grin stretches wider. “He did threaten to a few times. Or well, not directly to Victoria. But when she was gone because she had to be on set, and he was stomping around and complaining, he’d toss out firing her, and I’d remind him that she’d asked about the adjusted schedule weeks prior and he’d agreed, that he couldn’t fire her for believing him. He’d glare at me and stomp back to his office, muttering to himself. But no. Victoria started dating Hayden Maddox.”

“Oh, right.” I nod. “You mentioned that before.”

“Right, so after the movie, she started getting more costuming work, and she also started designing gowns for movie stars like Aurora Cole. Victoria made her dress for the premiere of Julius Caesar. She showed me pictures of it as she was working on it. It was beautiful. Anyway. She’s off in Hollywood designing clothes and costumes now. That’s why we hired Heather.”

“Ah, okay. I get it now.”

She grins at me, then stands and starts to gather dishes. I stand and do the same, ignoring her protests that I’m a guest and she can do it.

In the opening to the kitchen, I stop and kiss her, both of our hands occupied by dishes. “I like doing things for you,” I murmur. “I want to help.”

That seems to mollify her, though it makes me wonder what her life was like growing up. Is this a relic of that? The guest comments make me think it plays a role. But I also wonder how much of it is expectations based on past relationships. Just how terrible was her ex?

My curiosity almost makes me ask as I rinse out my dishes, handing them off to Anna to load in the dishwasher—because she’s apparently constitutionally incapable of just letting me clean up after dinner by myself—but I don’t want to spoil the evening by dredging up painful stories from the past.

Once all the dinner dishes are cleaned up, I snag Anna’s hand and pull her into my arms. “What should we do now?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Anna

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, I press up on my toes and kiss Troy. I can’t quite reach his mouth, but I make contact with his jaw, smooth like he shaved not long before coming over. I move my lips lower, pressing a kiss to the pulse hammering in his throat, and I feel a surge of triumph at the thought that I’m the one making his heart race.

I’m self-aware enough to realize I’m not some kind of vixen or sultry temptress. At best, I’m the girl next door. Quiet, shy, a little nerdy with my more solitary interests in things like knitting and reading. Though I have to admit that having Troy over for dinner beats eating in front of my latest binge watch followed by knitting for the rest of the evening until it’s time to get ready for bed.

A sigh rumbles in his chest. “This is my kind of after dinner activity,” he murmurs, which makes me laugh lightly until he cuts off the sound by covering my lips with his.

God, I love his kisses.

What we did in my bedroom last time was amazing, but I almost feel like I could drown in just his kisses and be happy.

Almost.

The longer we kiss, the more of him I need, and I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, using my grip on him to help me stay on my toes to make kissing him more comfortable.

Then his hands stray from my waist and hips down past my ass to my thighs, and with a quick jerk, he lifts me off the ground.

I squeak in surprise, the sound muffled by our kiss, but it’s enough to make him smile, and his lips curving against mine ends our kiss. We’re both grinning like idiots, our faces still pressed together, and he eases me onto the counter.

Moving his face back a few inches, he smooths my hair out of my face with one hand, his smile full of warmth and affection. Then he dips his head and claims my lips once more, grunting with satisfaction. “Much better,” he murmurs against my mouth, and I chuckle again.

Soon, all thoughts of laughter are obliterated by his lips moving against mine, his tongue in my mouth, and oh. Oh. When he yanks my ass to the edge of the counter and grinds into my center, I’m filled with naked, aching want.

I want Troy. So bad.

I squirm against him, needing more contact. More friction. Just more.

My hands slide under his shirt, needing his skin, all smooth and soft over firm muscle. What in the world is someone like him doing with someone like me? Of all people, we’re not a pairing I ever would’ve guessed.

But I’m smart enough to keep that thought to myself, and instead I’ll enjoy this fling—this moment—for however long it lasts.

Still grinding against me, his hands release me, and I open my eyes in time to see him remove his shirt, tossing it to the floor somewhere. Normally, I’d hate that, but I’m so happy to see him shirtless that I don’t care at all.

I run my hands up his sides, over his pecs, mesmerized by the sight of my hands on his skin, the dusting of hair across his chest, his small brown nipples that harden under my touch, the silky treasure trail that starts at his belly button and leads to the hard cock pressing against me, straining against the soft twill of his shorts.

God, I want … everything.

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