Page 8 of Pucking Dirty

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this shit." I motion for her to go ahead with hers. I already know it's going to be ridiculous. Damn near every word out of her mouth is full of fire and sass, as if teasing me is a biological imperative with her.

She waits for the bartender to place her drink in front of her—which looks suspiciously like a milkshake and nothing at all like alcohol—and then leans so close her perfect tits brush my arm. I feel her breath on the side of my face and my goddamn cock throbs.

"Rumor has it that a certain left defenseman may or may not have violated the sanctity of the locker room by jerking off in it," she whispers in my ear. "Alone."

A bark of surprised laughter rumbles from my lips as she drops back down onto her stool, grinning from ear to ear.

"Care to confirm or deny these heinous allegations, Whatley?" she asks, holding her milkshake out toward me like it's a microphone and she's a gossip reporter.

"Confirmed," I growl, pulling the straw into my mouth to take a big drink. I smell the alcohol right about the time I choke on it. My eyes water as the alcohol burns its way down my throat. "Jesus fucking Christ, Emilia. You could kill a horse with that thing."

She gasps in outrage, holding the milkshake against her chest like I just threatened to murder it. "Worry about yourself, Whatley."

"What the fuck is in it? Half a bottle of rum?"

"A little of this, a lot of that." She grins, popping the straw into her mouth to take a drink…and I've never wanted to be a straw more in my life. Her eyes immediately widen with shock and then start watering. "Oh. Oh, wow. That's way stronger than I expected."

"What is it?"

"A harmless peach milkshake."

I shoot her a look.

"A harmless boozy peach milkshake."

"So…our new shrink drinks boozy peach milkshakes, doesn't know how to knock, and likes to fuck with me. What else should I know about her?" I ask.

Her eyes widen.

"I told you that I heard a rumor," I say, shrugging. "Yours is more salacious than mine, but I still feel like I won this round."

Her lips twitch, her dimples popping out. "Why? Because everyone already knows about the team circle jerks?" She pats me on the shoulder. "It's okay, buddy. I won't tell them you violated the rule about being a team…player."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "You're a wild one, Emilia Lariat."

She takes a tiny sip of her milkshake, grinning around the straw.

I glance behind us to see the entire team watching us in various states of shock and awe. Archer looks worried. Jordan looks bored. Everyone else is blatantly staring.

Fuck. I should go back to the table and mind my own business. Flirting with the Coach's daughter is the last place my big ass needs to be when everyone at that booth may bear the brunt of my decisions.

I turn back to Emilia to find her staring at me like she doesn't want to look away. My fucking heart clenches, the desire to walk away rapidly dwindling.

What is it about this girl that's so fucking irresistible?

Everything, I quickly decide. It's everything. She feels…inevitable. Or hell, maybe we feel inevitable. I don't fucking know. This is far beyond my realm of expertise or experience. It's been years since I even went on a date. But I've always heeded my instincts, and they're telling me that this girl is important.

They've been telling me the same damn thing since I saw her standing in the locker room. Coach doesn't have to understand that, but I think maybe his daughter understands a little toowell. I see it reflecting in her eyes. She's just as caught as I am…and just as confused.

The little flash of vulnerability in her eyes as she stares at me has my resolve to try to keep things between us professional crumbling to dust. There's nothing professional about this. It's about as personal as it gets.

"Why didn't I know you were Lariat's kid?" I murmur, leaning closer to her.

"Maybe you don't pay enough attention," she says pertly. "Archer told the team I was his daughter."

"I was in the shower."

"Naked," she mumbles, her eyes glazing over as they slide down my body. "Think you can recreate that scene for me? For science, obviously. I, unfortunately, know what the rest of the team looks like. It's only fair I have your data for comparison." Her dimples pop out again. "My fantasy league still needs an MVP."

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