Page 8 of The Pucking Player

Not Liam O’Connor. Not the poster boy for temptation, with his stupidly gorgeous face and stupidly sexy smirk and stupidly cocky promises.

He’s staring at me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he’s already plotting his next move. And I know men like him—men who take what they want without ever asking themselves if they should.

My father was one of them.

“Liam,” I say, my voice finally steady. “This? Whatever you think is happening here? It’s not going to happen.”

“You worried about your father?” He gives me his signature thousand-watt smile, caressing the back of my head, still firmly holding onto my hair.

Like he would be doing if he was kissing me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.”

I hesitate but still shake my head, as much as it pains me. He’s too dangerous, a shortcut to heartbreak hotel, just as I’m finishing up my interviews for acceptance to med schools. I can’t afford to get distracted now that I’m almost atthe finish line. “It’s not a good idea, Liam. I’m not the girl for you.”

He looks at me curiously, as if he can’t believe that I’m saying no. Then a wide, slow smirk spreads over his face.

“You’re exactly the girl for me, Sophie Novak.”

I swallow, my heart skittering like a rock over thin ice. “You met me literally five minutes ago,” I protest, but he cuts me off with a finger to my lips. Without me wanting to, they part ever so slightly. His eyes turn dark with lust, his gaze heavy and heated.

“Let me have just a little taste,” he murmurs, ignoring all my well-crafted arguments.

Without waiting for a reply, he dips his head, and then his lips are on mine, the world falling away. My mind has been wiped blank. His kiss is gentle at first, a soft, tentative brushing of lips.

This is where dreams go to die. One mind-blowing kiss at a time.

But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.

“Is this ok, angel?” he rumbles, gently licking my lip. A moan escapes me, and it’s the green light he was waiting for. His tongue pries my mouth open, demanding. I can’t help but melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair even though I told myself not to touch him. Desire is pounding between my legs, my knees giving out. He’s holding me upright with his other hand, his grip on my waist comforting and reassuring.

This is what weakness feels like,I think hazily.This is how you lose yourself.

Then he steps back, giving a low guttural groan.

“Now that I tasted how sweet you are, I don’t think I can turn back, angel.” He takes a black marker from his pocket. “What’s your phone number?”

I stay silent, fighting for control. Fighting not to become another chapter in a cautionary tale as old as the women’s movement.

He sighs and scrunches the sleeve of my blouse up.

“W-what are you doing?” I gasp in surprise, while he jots down a number above my left wrist.

“Call me, angel.” He grins, composed and in control again as if he hadn’t just unraveled me.

“Liam—” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.

“Have it your way, angel. You can call me. And if you don’t, I will chase you.” He pauses, brushing his thumb over my lower lip. “And don’t be mistaken. I’ll catch you no matter what it takes.”

And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

As I’m about to object, he puts his finger on my mouth. “Don’t worry about your father. I’ll take care of the blowback, angel.”

Just like Daddy promised Mom he’d take care of everything.

Thirty years later, she’s finally made partner after decades of “taking it easy” at work to support his career.

I find my words again. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, big guy, but it’s not happening.”

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