Page 90 of The Breaking Point

“Please tell that to Brady, because he won’t get us one,” I complained.

Elodie raised her eyebrows. “Wait, are you saying—”

“We’re not talking about this,” interjected Brady. He gave me a warning look. “Besides, I’m trying to be a gentleman. Is that such a bad thing?”

“I thought you just said you weren’t talking about this,” I pointed out.

Mac laughed. “Oh, man, you’re in for it, Brady.”

“You want to be a gentleman, but that doesn’t mean you have to deny yourself or me,” I added, speaking to Brady.

“I want to protect you.” Brady looked frustrated.

“I wish you wouldn’t, then,” I said quietly.

Mac quickly changed the subject to discussing the Blades upcoming match. Elodie and I listened and sometimes rolled our eyes at each other when the guys got heated about a teammate or ref they hated.

“That asshole in Vancouver always gives me penalties,” Mac complained, “even when I haven’t done a goddamn thing. I didn’t even touch Murphy that last game. And I fucking wanted to.”

“I know, I know,” said Brady, shaking his head. “Aren’t Canadians supposed to be nice? Because that guy is an asshole. He loves to put you in the box.”

“Maybe he has a penalty box kink,” Elodie said, tapping her chin.

I laughed. “Don’t give these guys any ideas.”

The dinner ended with us hugging and saying goodbye while promising to do this again. When Elodie hugged me, she whispered in my ear, “Brady is a good guy. I know he’ll do right by you.”

But as I drove Brady to his place—he’d needed me to drive tonight since his car was in the shop until tomorrow—I wondered at Elodie’s words.

Not that I didn’t believe Brady wasn’t a good guy. He was. I already knew that. But I didn’t know if he would do right by me.

How could he, when he refused to touch me no matter how much I begged? Sometimes I felt like a china doll he was afraid to break.

It also didn’t help that Brady looked extra hot tonight. He’d worn a fitted tee and jeans, nothing fancy, but the T-shirt showed off his physique. He also sported a five-o’clock shadow that I wanted to run my palms along.

God, I was desperate for this man. I could feel myself getting wet just imagining him touching me.

Would he at least kiss me tonight? He’d said he would when he’d made up those silly rules. Two minutes for the kiss on date number two.

After I’d parked in front of Brady’s apartment, I got out of the car to follow him inside.

“Babe, I told you to go home,” Brady protested.

I steeled myself. “I’m not going home. Not yet.”

He looked frustrated. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed. “This is a terrible idea.”

“You didn’t even kiss me.” Now, I sounded petulant, but I didn’t care.

His eyes darkened. “This is just about a kiss?” He pulled me into his arms, pressing my body against him. “Because I was always going to kiss you good night.”

Before he could kiss me, though, I extricated myself from his grasp. “Not out here. Inside.”

He swore. I ignored him. When we got to his door, he tried one last time to tell me to go home, but I refused.

“You were put on this earth to drive me insane, weren’t you?” Brady asked, almost to himself.

I felt giddy with excitement, but also nervousness. I’d had an idea of what I wanted to do tonight, but I wasn’t sure I would work up the nerve.

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