Page 78 of Body Check

The bartender glances between us, shakes his head, and heads down the length of the bar again.

Her slender fingers touch my bare forearm. “What are you having?”

“Vodka.”

At my deadpan tone, her gaze snaps up to meet mine. “Liar.” A smile widens her mouth, and she wraps a hand around my cup to peer dramatically inside it. Soft, feminine laughter greets my ears like a lover’s caress. “Coke, huh? What’s happening to us?”

I pluck my soda out of her hand and take a long pull. “Old age, Holls. We hit thirty and it went downhill straight from there.”

“Pretty sure they call it the ‘dirty thirties’ for a reason.”

Setting the glass back down, I take her all in. The loose, blond hair blown out in soft waves. The smoky eye that’s smudged to perfection. The damn-near-killed-me blue dress that keeps hiking up the length of her thighs to the promised land.

“If that’s what they’re callin’ it,” I drawl, “then you’re doing it right.” With a little gesture at her getup, I add, “I’m only sorry I didn’t get the memo that this was a no-basketball-shorts kinda night.”

She squirms on her stool. “No, you look good. I mean . . .” All her squirming is doing nothing to halt the slow climb of her dress, and she must know because her fingers yank relentlessly at the fabric. It doesn’t help. If anything, each sharp pull only manages to have the opposite effect.Not that I’m complaining.“I don’t ever dress up anymore, honestly,” she tacks on and then snaps the hem back into place with a soft, barely audible curse.

“And you just happened to have this dress on hand?” Propping one forearm on the bar, I lower my voice and lean in close to her. “No complaints over here. You look . . . stunning.”

More squirming. The corners of her lips turn up in thanks when the bartender drops off her tea and heads back down to Mr. I-Look-Like-Thor. Finally, she murmurs, “I put it in my suitcase at the start of preseason. I had no idea where we’d be asked to go.” She offers a delicate shrug. “Figured it was better safe than sorry. Thank God for hotel rooms having irons nowadays.”

I’m not sorry at all.

I swallow down a mouthful of soda, trying to get my brain back in working gear. But it’s almost impossible to scrub herin that dress from my retina. In a raspy voice, I grind out, “No bra?”

She visibly swallows, and I almost die right then and there. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to see the hard peaks of her nipples through the fabric of the dress.

Resolutely, I keep my eyes on her face. “You’re not denying it.”

With her cheeks awash with color, she spoons some sugar into her tea. “Seems I forgot one of those when I was packing yesterday.” Her blues flick to mine. “Oops.”

She.

Is.

Killing.

Me.

I hook a finger over the collar of my T-shirt, needing cool air on my hot skin.Or cubes of ice down the front of my shorts.I’m not wearing briefs, so that’d be self-torture at its finest. Then again, there’s something about feeling this on edge, without us having even stripped off our clothes, that’s a turn-on in and of itself.

Shock slicks through my system when Holly nabs a napkin from the bar, sets one hand on my upper thigh, her fingers dancing mighty damn close to my erection, and drops the black linen over my lap.

Then, porcelain mug to her mouth, she blows away the curling steam and takes a long, purposeful sip. “Rookie move there, Captain.” She juts her chin toward my crotch. “Never wear white to a bar.”

I feel my brows shoot up in question, even as my fingers are already wrapping around the edge of the linen—

“I wouldn’t.”

My hand locks in place. “No?”

Another slow sip of her tea—and maybe I’m losing my mind, but shereallyshouldn’t look as hot as she does while doing so—before she shrugs all blasé and murmurs, “Maybe that particular wet spot is spilled soda . . . or maybe you’re just that turned on? Either way, this is for your own good.”

Her blue eyes drop to my crotch, then linger long enough that my cock takes it as a sign to swell some more.

Christ.

I hunch my shoulders, dropping one elbow to my right knee to shield the tented napkin in my lap from plain view. Nobody, especially one of my teammates, needs to know how hard I am right now. When I’ve regained enough of my I’m-in-public-and-trying-to-behave composure, I look back up and catch Holly trying to wipe the huge grin off her face.