Page 110 of Twisted Collide

Timeto make Dane sweat.

With my shoulders pulled back and perfect posture, I stride in their direction.

From where I am, I have a clear shot of him perched on his chair, glass in his hand.

My father is beside him, and he turns his head in my direction just as I lift my hand to wave at Dane. My father must think it’s for him because he waves back.

“Josie, come join us.”

This should be fun.

“Oh, trust me, Robert, I’m coming.” I smile big as I continue to walk toward them, and the closer I get, the more I know this is a bad idea.

As the sun ducks behind the clouds, ready to set into the night, the shimmery rays hit Dane at a perfect angle, highlighting just how handsome he is.

“What are you guys doing?” I ask, trying to turn my thoughts away from how much I want to kiss him.

Dane lifts his glass in response. “Having a drink.”

“After today’s blowout, I invited Dane over,” my father explains.

“Do the other guys know you play favorites?” I retort before I can stop myself. My father chokes at my comment, and Dane looks like his eyes might bug out of their sockets. I’ve been at a point of disadvantage since I got here. I kind of like making Dane sweat outside the bed. As for Robert? Who cares how he feels?

“I don’t play favorites on the ice,” he responds, as if that makes it any better.”Why don’t you pull up a chair and tell us how you like your new job?”

Dane jumps up from his seat. “I’ll grab it for you,” he says before darting in the direction of a chair and then bringing it back.

My cheeks warm, and I grin up at his hulking figure. “Well, aren’t you the perfect gentleman.”

I take the seat that he placed directly beside him. This close, I see how his Adam’s apple bobs; I want so badly to touch it, to kiss him all over.

But that won’t happen.

With both our hands on the armrest, we are practically touching, but we’re not. It feels like torture.

If I move one inch . . .

No. I can’t.

Dane coughs, and when he does, I swear I feel his pinky touch mine.

It’s in your brain. He didn’t touch you. He wouldn’t risk getting caught.

As if he’s reading my mind, his hand brushes my hand sitting right beside his chair.

When I don’t pull my hand away, he touches my skin again. From where my father sits, he can’t see us, and Dane knows it.

He’s playing dirty, and I can’t say that I hate it. I don’t, I love it.

It feels like my heart will explode with each touch. The tension inside me is almost enough to make me shiver.

“So, Josie,” my father asks, and I need to shake my head to remember what the question is.

“I like it. Well, I like taking pictures. The players”—I look at Dane and smirk—“are a bit much.”

“Hey,” he objects, and I smile bigger.

“What? You are.”

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