Page 33 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

I sigh. “Yes, they are. I don’t want one.”

I take a few more steps before I realize that Miranda stopped walking. Glancing over my shoulder, I try to determine why she stopped.

“You could commute. New York isn’t that far. Buses go to and from the casinos every day.” She has an excited gleam in her eyes.

Oh no. I need to quash this idea right now so she doesn’t get her hopes up. So I don’t start thinking about things I have no business thinking about. “You know all this time I spend with Trevor? I need to do that with every partner. This isn’t a job I can work remotely. For months each year, I’d be with that partner. And Trevor would travel for hockey. We’d never be together. That’s no way to have a relationship.”

“It’s a few months each year, and it overlaps, so you’d both be busy. Then you’d have free time to be together. It could work.”

“Okay. But I don’t want to make it work. I don’t want a relationship beyond now. So let’s drop this and focus on you and I enjoying being together again.” I loop my arm through hers and continue next to her, back to the barn.

When we arrive in Atlantic City, I go up to my room in Devil’s Den while Miranda goes to her office in The Nest. It doesn’t take me long to pack my belongings. What takes the most time is gathering my courage to call Teagan and tell her I’m moving out. I appreciate her generosity in letting me stay in this gorgeous suite. I’m hoping I don’t offend her or make her think I’m ungrateful.

Okay, Sophie, be a brave wolf. It’s just a phone call. Not a big deal. Taking a deep breath, I pick up my cell phone and dial Teagan’s phone number. A few minutes later I’m shaking my head over how silly I was to worry.

Calling down to the front desk, I arrange for them to keep my bags there so they can do what they need to get the suite ready for future use, then I head to the theater to work on the choreography for this week’s rumba. It’s a sexy dance all about sensual movement, precise footwork, and connection. It’s going to be a challenge to make it seem like we’re connected sexually when we’re not. I know the show likes to promote showmances and the fans like to speculate, but I don’t want my real life to be fodder for gossip. Especially when the relationship will only last as long as we’re on the show.

Nigel and Nancy show up and suggest we go over to the rink to get some footage of Trevor at practice. I protest because we haven’t cleared that with the team, but Nancy insists. I shoot Miranda a text so she can stop us at the door if necessary. No such luck. She thinks it’s a great idea and meets us to act as our escort to the practice rink. The team looks like it’s broken into four squads based on the four colors of jerseys they’re wearing—black, white, blue, and gray. Trevor’s in a blue jersey. I have no idea what the specific drill is, but Trevor shoots the puck to a skater on his right and then speeds toward the goal. The other skater passes it to a teammate across the ice, who then fires it to Trevor. Somehow the puck bounces off Trev’s stick and into the goal. They run a different version of the drill that has Trevor doing the passing and his teammate somehow redirecting the puck into the goal. Other squads run the same drill, but it looked best when Trevor did it.

“Hey,” he says when he skates over. He’s removed his helmet, and his copper-toned hair is darkened with sweat.

“Hi,” I say, feeling shy. “I wanted to see you on the ice. What was the drill you were doing?”

He looks over his shoulder toward the ice like he needs to jog his memory.

“Deflection drill. Practicing getting into position so we can take advantage of pucks

sneaking through and target them into the goal without actively shooting. Sometimes hockey is about lucky breaks just as much as it’s about pure skill.”

Chuckling, I nod. “So is dance.”

His smile is so warm, I’m surprised the ice isn’t melting.

I make a show of taking a big sniff and scrunching my nose. “Go shower and meet me for practice. Maybe we’ll get lucky with the rumba.” My cheeks flame when I realize my choice of phrase. “See you in the theater.”

Half an hour later, Trevor comes striding in the studio backstage of the theater. He must have rushed through the shower and raced across the Boardwalk into the hotel because his hair is still damp, but now it’s clean and he doesn’t smell all sweaty. Sometimes he smells good when he’s sweaty, but that’s after we’ve danced. Dance sweat is different from sport sweat. We do our banter bit and then jump right into learning the basic movements of the dance.

“The rumba is all about the connection between us,” I say for the camera’s sake. “It’s a sensual dance. Lots of rhythmic, fluid motion and hip action. We shift our weight to create figure-eight motions with our hips.” I demonstrate, then motion for Trevor to follow along. He kind of gets it, but he’s not getting the swivel needed. “You’re doing more hula hoop and less rumba. Here.” I place my hands on his hips and help guide him through the motion. Heat flares in his hazel eyes, and I wonder if he’s imagining us doing some naked rumba practice tonight in my new bedroom.

“Okay,” he says when he has the basics of the hip motion down. “What do I do with my arms?”

“You want to make sure you take up lots of space when you dance. Your arms will have their own fluid motions, and you want to make sure you complete the movements. Don’t cut them short. You can’t dance small. That’s something they dinged us on yesterday. I can match you, so you don’t need to dance down to me. I’ll follow you.”

The lecherous grin that spreads across Trevor’s lips will not get edited out. Damn it.

We spend the next two hours working on the beginning counts of the dance. Even though this is my job, the way we have to touch and move suggestively really turns me on. If the bulge in his track pants is anything to go by, it’s affecting Trevor, too.

“Are you packed?” he asks after Nancy and Nigel leave.

I smile. “Aye. Tonight I’ll be staying in the pool house.”

Pulling me close, he presses a kiss to my lips.

“What was that for?” I ask when we break apart after a few intense moments of kissing and above-the-belt caresses.

His eyebrows almost reach his hairline. “I couldn’t resist. Do you mind?”

Smirking, I rest my hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart tempts me to create a dance to match it. “Does it feel like I minded?”

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