Page 40 of Snap Shot

Gulp.“About that, you're supposed to let me out from the garage. There's a ton of photographers—”

His crinkled brow doesn't like that one bit. “You're in no shape to go out there alone.”

“Psht! I'mfine.” I go to push him away by the chest, but my palms linger on the solid plane of flesh.

The warmth of his touch lowers to my hips, grip softening. “No, you're not. You're drunk.”

“And? Drunk women go home alone all the time.”

Landon's angular jaw ticks. “Not when they have a place to stay.”

A series of exaggeratedha's push out. “I can't stay here. That's incredibly inappropriate.”

“Almost as inappropriate as you getting off to the thought of me at work.” Stupid, mischievous smirk makes a reappearance.

As does a flaming sear on my cheeks.

Walked right into that one.“Shut up,” I say through my teeth and a sneer.

Landon dips his head down, tannic breath skating over the crest of my upper lip, his mouth far, far, too close. “Make me.”

I shove myself away again and this time, the bully releases me, letting me fall to the couch. “Fine! I'll sleep here.”

Smug Radek looks more than pleased. “Let me grab you something.” He disappears down a hallway before I can protest.

Great. This is great. You've outdone yourself. You're in wine jail for the rest of the month, missy. You're off the rails. You can't be drinking and having sleepovers with—

“Here.” Landon holds out a pair of running shorts and a hockey jersey. “Sorry, couldn't find anything else that might fit. I'm in the process of redoing the closet and shit iseverywhere.”

“Thanks.” I fold them over my arm and look around. “Where's the washroom?”

“Right there.” He points at a door across the space.

When I move towards it, he follows behind.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don't fall again.”

“I'mnotgoing to fall—” My bare, unstable feet squeak to a stop at the washroom door. Or lack thereof. “What happened here?”

Landon cringes. “Renovations.”

I step into the half-bath. “Do you mind?” I say, shooing him away.

“Oh,right.” He awkwardly pivots back and forth, as if he doesn't know where to go in his own home. “I'll just” —he puts up two finger-guns, shooting left— “be over there.”

“Don't look while I'm changing.”

Landon stills. His mouth parts and I expect a wry laugh. Because why would he look? The unwavering reprise he responds with reminds me of the same promise he made so many years ago.

“I won’t.”

In full gear, I sat on a bench by the exit doors after practice. Alone, as usual. It'd only been two weeks since I joined the Lightning. Practices had been rough. The guys hadn't warmed to me.

Coach strode by. “Holy hell! You stink, Davé! Whatcha doing out here? Hit the showers.”

My shoulders retreated beneath their pads as I crouch, trying to disappear. “I'll shower at home.”

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