Page 127 of Snap Shot

Indi raps on the glass. “You locked me in here?” She bounces in the seat, continuing to bang on every surface of the door. “You little piece of shit!”

I hold onto the top of the car and lean into the glass. “I think you know better than anyone that there's nothinglittleabout me. Now be a good girl and stay in the car. Cut the dramatics.” She listens but crosses her arms as she leans into the seat. “If you try to get out, the alarm will go off. Security will catch us. And those bastards gossip more than old ladies at teatime.”

I pat the car twice before jogging back to the players' entrance, scanning the halls for McCrimmon. He’s where I'd expect: hitting on a young reporter straying from the media horde and sees me heading his way.

“Landy! I was hoping to catch up.”

“Excuse us.” I tug him by the arm, spinning him away from her and curve in the other direction.

“What the fuck is up with you, man?” His back gets slammed into the cinder blocks without a trace of patience for his fake innocence.

“Touch her again and I'll cut your fucking grubby fingers off with my skates.”

He struggles to remove my forearm from his neck, voice strangled by the pressure. “Who?”

“Indira Davé.” I shift my feet to dig in further, but he escapes and gasps for breath, tapping the side of his fist into his chest. “She's off-limits.”

Sutt straightens and lifts his hands in surrender. “Whoa, dude. I thought you said she was your lawyer.”

“She is. She's also my friend.” I glare, wringing his sweatshirt collar in my fist. “If you look—no,think—about her again, I'll shove your beloved stick so far up your ass you'll look like a scarecrow shitting his guts out.”

“Jesus.” McCrimmon blows out anoofbut doesn't fight back when I throw him into the wall again without another word. Remembering his hands were on her makes me fucking crazy.

And now I have to deal with the smartass waiting in the car. Indi's all huffy, nostrils flaring, and lips curled.

I fire up the engine, reverse out of the spot and rev toward the lot exit. “Put this on.” My black hat plops into her lap.

The burly security guard pumps his eyebrows in silence upon seeing my turned-around, slouching passenger hiding her face under the bill. I smile politely and put a finger to my lips. He gives me a thumbs up and open-mouthed wink before zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

Montreal's confusing ass road rules almost get us lost through Indi's pouty silence. I hold off until the need to touch her is unbearable. My arm stretches across the center console and palms her clothed thigh. “Mine.”

“Calm down, caveman,” she mutters, but doesn't move my hand away. “I'm not an object to be owned.” A harrumph follows.

“No, but you’re mine,” I say with a firm squeeze to the tensing muscle, moving to the inseam to cup her between the legs.

She stares at the road ahead, seemingly stoic. Whatever point she's trying to prove is negated by the excited rising of her chest.

“Tell me again you’re not and see what happens.”

My middle finger presses into the taut denim. Indi jolts and squirms, trapping my hand.

Idling at a stoplight, I finagle the pesky button and zipper open and sigh at the warmth of her covered pussy against my fingertips, those soaked panties dampening them through the fabric. Her head writhes to the side, a tiny whimper muted by her closed lips. One hand wraps around my wrist, but not to resist. It urges me on.

“Landon.” Her begging my name somehow hardens my cock and melts my insides into a giant puddle.

“Fuck,” I rasp, slipping a hand under the soft lace, dipping a finger through the even softer, silken split of her legs. Her hips lift, a wordless cry for more. “Say it.” I swipe to be let in, teasing the throbbing, tender spot with narrowing circles. “Say you’re mine.” Two fingers drive in and curl without further warning, eliciting the most satisfying simper from Indi's throat. “Who made you so sopping wet, baby?” I recede and plunge in again, harder, and faster than the last brutal thrust. “'Cause I know it wasn't him.”

The cars next to us move forward when the green arrows light up and I wait for Indi's admission. I yank my hand away as the signal goes full green to turn right into the street where the hotel is.

“You're such an ass.” She faces away and buttons her pants as we enter the garage, but I can see her too-pleased reflection in the window.

“You're not fooling anyone with that look, Indi. I think you meant to say, 'I'm yours.'“

While I park, Indi growls and glares before snapping at the door handle, frustrated that she can't get out on her own. I hop out and jog around the back, shrugging off my blazer to place over her shoulders. Like a stealthy pro, she pulls my cap over her eyes and keeps her head dipped.

The door to the stairs next to the elevator bank requires a little force. The metal clangs open, syncing with a door from above. Rapid steps gallop down, three or four chattering voices getting louder on the descent. We rush underneath the stairwell, hiding in its shadow.

I draw Indi's body to mine, her back to my chest, covering her heavy breathing under my palm and shushing into her ear. My nose grazes her neck, accelerated pulse beating within its column. She smells like my soap, the dry-cleaning chemical on my suit. Like me. The unfamiliar voices trail off and die behind the shut door, but I keep my voice down.

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