Page 11 of Rookie Move

“Ah, whatcha looking at, Nessie?” Baz asked, his gaze narrowed on Desmond.

“Just debating if I want another beer. And I was paying attention and I’m not buying dinner. Get the rookies to do that,” he muttered, but Baz still watched him intently.

“I’m going to find a bathroom,” Desmond said, stepping back from the group.

“Bring back beers when you’re done doing whatever,” Baz said. Desmond just shook his head at the man and lifted his empty bottle in agreement.

He dropped the empty bottle in the recycling bin set up at the edge of the patio and headed inside. The house was packed with teammates and their significant others. A few kids ran around, but it was mostly adults. Bugsy had asked that the players bring their families and no casual dates, so no puck bunnies were floating around.

He got pulled into a conversation with Cheesy, the team captain, Harty, and Jake, one of the top line forwards. The guys had all been great and welcoming. Each team he’d been on felt like family, but there was something different about the Strikers. He could almost believe they actually were a family.

“Need some jokes for your pep talk, Cheese?” a woman asked, coming up behind the captain and wrapping her arm around the man’s waist.

“Amanda, I can come up with my own jokes.” There was exasperation in his voice, but Cheesy’s grin only read as affection.

“Can you?” she said, lifting her brow, and the rest of the guys laughed.

“Hi,” she said, looking at Desmond. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Amanda. The better half of your illustrious captain.”

“She’s a pain in the ass, but she probably is the better half,” Cheesy said, then smirked.

“Damn right on both counts,” she said.

Desmond laughed. “Nice to meet you, Amanda.”

“Welcome to the team. And don’t listen to him. His jokes are terrible without my input.” She grinned.

“I’m his captain. He has to listen to me,” Cheesy said, puffing out his chest, and the rest of the guys taunted him.

This was exactly what he’d been looking for: a fresh start with a great group of guys. And hopefully that big, beautiful Cup at the end of the season.

He stuck around for a while before finally making his excuses and heading down a hallway to the bathroom.

After finishing up, he pulled open the door.

“Oomph,” Rylie said, her hand landing on his chest.

He instinctively dropped his hand to her waist to steady her, resisting the urge to draw her into his arms and flatten her against him.

Barely resisting.

How did she have this immediate effect on him? It was stronger than it’d ever been with Melanie, and that made no fucking sense.

“You okay?” he gritted out when her fingers curled into his shirt and his gut tightened with need.

“Oh sorry, Desmond. I wasn’t—umm, I wasn’t expecting to run into you this way,” she said, taking a step back.

He had no choice but to let his hand fall from her waist.

“Because you’ve been avoiding me all day?” Where the fuck had that come from?

She straightened and he watched how her breasts pushed against her sundress. Breasts that he knew fit perfectly in his hands. He could still hear her soft moans, when he’d tormented the pebbled tips, echoing through his head.

Fucking hell, man.

“What? I’m not avoiding you. There are a lot of people here today and I’m the hostess, you know, because this is my dad’s—your coach’s—house,” she fired back.

“I know who your father is, Rylie.”

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