Page 42 of Snap Shot

“Sorry” —I give her my best puppy dog eyes— “I ran out of white.”

I don't fish for more questions when she skims over the details of her love life. By the way she downs the first glass, she's nervous. I can't help giving her a little crap, especially when she hides behind white lies and sarcasm. Explaining the backstory with Annalise goes smoothly, except for getting sidetracked when she nibbles on her luscious lower lip while jotting down notes. I focus too long on the hem of her skirt, wishing it would inch up further.

Here she is, trying to be as professional as possible after seeing your dick. She's practically an angel for coming here with food and apologizing afteryoucaught her touching herself while calling your name. Fuck, I can't think about that again. I'll get hard. I'm so screwed.

Somehow the tables turn and Indi fires shots at my sex life. It hasn't been six years since I got a decent tune-up, but I can't give her more fuel to judge me. Having a puck bunny dole out a quick handy or getting a blowjob after a night out isn't uncommon, but it’s not me. Sierra wasn't my first or last, but I loved her. Best sex I ever had. Sex is only good for me when it means something. Annalise serves as a reminder.

When I blink out of the wayward train of thought, we've drained the bottle. I peep into it with a squinted eye, giving it a good shake. Indi reclines, more at ease. I lie down, too. She shares the tiniest bit more, but still protects herself. And then it makes sense. A hateful bastard impacted who she became, professionally and personally. Something inside me clenches into a tight knot until...wait. Did she say she’s a virgin?

I dive off the couch to prevent her from face-planting into my floor. Her waist melts against my grip as I keep her upright. Indi's hands skate down my chest, leaving a warmth in their wake. My pulse quickens.

“I can't stay here. That's incredibly inappropriate.”

“Almost as inappropriate as you getting off to the thought of me at work.”

A perfect pink glow on the apples of her cheeks follows. “Shut up,” she huffs.

I lower to her eye-level, giving in to the pull of those goddamn plump lips. “Make me.”

Indi shoves me harder, and I drop her down to the sofa. The blush is now equal parts annoyance and demure. “Fine! I'll sleep here.”

Fleeting relief is replaced by sudden anxiety. The girl of your pubescent dreams is sleeping over. You're a dumb, dumb son of a bitch.

She fiddles with her thumbs and pulls at the fabric of her skirt.

“Let me grab you something.” Another stupid decision. Renovating means my closet has been scrapped and everything in it is nowhere near where it's supposed to be. I grab a practice jersey from my rookie year and a pair of shorts. They'll both be too big on her, but it's the best I can do. And how did I forget they took out the door to the half-bath to paint? Oh, right. Because the idea of Indi Davé staying the night has blown my brain to smithereens.

“Don't look while I'm changing,” she warns. It's the same tone as when she snuck into our locker room to shower because of those horrible middle school girls.

“Don't look, okay?” Her eyes were so worried, unsure. They held my heart in a vice.

“I won’t.”

But I did. It was an accident, some sort of unintentional impulse to look over my shoulder. Indi peeled away a sweaty shirt and leggings, revealing strong legs topped with briefs and a white tank. Gray duct tape ripped from the fabric as she undid its wraps, setting her incredible tits free to their actual size and exposing the smooth flesh of her midriff.

Cradled in a sports bra, her chest was the first I'd seen in person. I forced myself to look away.

Molten lava churns in my gut. Her eyes are going to send me to an early grave. Their genuine insecurity makes my heart ache. Especially now I know the root of it.

“I won’t.”

I lied again. I looked. And what a fucking sight. Her shirt slips over her head, delicate blades of her back squinching with the single, sweeping movement of unzipping her skirt to reveal the rounds of her ass. When she pulls on my jersey,Christ, I want to toss her onto my bed and fuck her until she's so sore, I'll have to nurse her back to health myself.

Back up, Radek. You can't do any of that. She's your lawyer. And what happened to “no women?” She's off-limits. I wrench my gaze away this time, too, blowing a breath into the ceiling and willing my cock to soften once and for all. Indi's sleepy, rasped-out words don't help.

“Can I have a blanket or something?” Long, tan legs shift under my old hockey sweater.

“What?” Fuck, she looks amazing. Stop staring.

“Maybeyou'rethe drunk one,” she says, poking into my chest. “A blanket, please. So I can crash on the couch.”

“D-don't be rid-ridiculous.” This girl has me so twisted. “You can sleep in my room. I'll stay out here.”

“Yourroom? Yourbedroom?In yourbed? Where you choke your chicken?” Indi snorts. “No, thank you.”

I roll my eyes. “Realmature, Indi.” My arms fold across my torso.

“The couch is fine.” She slaps the air with a sputter, then twirls with her arms extended. “And don't you have like amillionother rooms in this place?” It’s cute as hell.

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