Page 87 of Ice Dance Hockey

“I thought you … well, it’s stupid. Please don’t make me say it.”

A warm hand reaches to cup my face and then slides into the roots of my hair at my nape.

“C’mere.”

I am only a man, and I can’t resist his voice when it’s all husky like that. I’m well aware that I should be ripping him a new asshole after today, but what do I do? I move close enough to him that I’m basically in his lap with his arms around me. It’s his Goddamn arms. Am I always going to be a sucker for being nestled safely in these arms?

“I thought this was going to be the story about how I lost Jack, but it’s not, it’s the story about how I found my way to you.”

* * *

My heart doesn’t remember to beat, staring into his hazel eyes, trying to convince myself that he just said what he said. It’s everything I wanted to hear, and it’s better than any magnanimous gesture because of how purely that came from the depths of him.

But I refuse to tell him how much I like him back. Not to play games, but because I don’t trust him with that information.

“Then what’s the deal with Scott? You’re not remotely good at sharing.”

He sneers. “I’m not, but I like winning by default even less.”

“What makes you think you would win by default? I don’t think you understand how much I hate you right now.” The hate is real. But what I didn’t know is that you can hate someone and be ardently smitten with them at the same time.

“Good. That’s good. I’m best when we’re down two goals.”

“This isn’t a hockey game.”

“My life is a hockey game and I’m exceptional at hockey.”

I push him away and whack him in the arm. “You’re not going to win me.”

“Yes, I will.”

“The same way you won Jack?” It’s a low blow, but I want to know where his ego stands on that one.

“Jack is a lost game on the road to a much bigger victory.”

I laugh. Guess his ego is as always, well intact. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

The way he smiles, I can’t help thinking this version’s brand new. Just for me. That sets off new anger. Why couldn’t he have been like this before?

“What if I end up happy with Scott?”

His eyes narrow and darken to predatory depths. Fuck, he’s hottest like that. I don’t think about what I’m doing, I straddle his lap, gripping the sides of his face, squeezing the rest of him with my thighs. I’ve spent days missing this face and never wanting to see it ever again at the same time.

Restrained tension builds in his muscles, wanting to reach for me, unsure if he should. What would it take to make him snap? How badly does he want me? I deserve a little retribution.

“Maybe Scott deserves to?—”

“Logan, I’m warning you,don’t?—”

“—shove his fat cock?—”

“—that’s it,” Rhett growls. His muscles release like springs. All that gorgeous pent-up rage and desire storms toward me. His large palm grips the back of my head, trapping me by the roots.

“He’s not fucking you.”

“You don’t get to decide that—mmph.”

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