Page 6 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

“You got those overalls ready?”

He’s right there. Two steps, and I could hand them to him myself, let him get a good look at the body he missed out on. Maybe feel the glow that comes with Noah Drake’s attention one last time before I swear it off for good.

I am wet from the thought, and swallow hard.

“Yeah, one second,” I say, bending down and snagging my overalls in my free hand.

“Here,” I practically croak, tossing them out into the open area and turning my back to the temptation to follow.

I shake out his sweats and gather up one leg at a time, slipping my feet, shoes and all, through the cuffed bottoms. I wriggle them up my hips and roll the top twice at my waist before turning around to find Noah standing at the end of the row, watching me. My pussy gets wetter, and now my nipples are hard. I wish I wasn’t wearing this bra so he’d be forced to see them.

“You like the view?” I say in a wry tone. I was right. It feels good to let him look.Too good.

“Always have,” he says, his words coming quick and easy. His gaze lingers on my hips, and the tip of his tongue slips out between his lips. I hold on to the moment until his eyes lift to meet mine, and when my chest fills with so much chaos it becomes hard to breathe, I end it.

“If you’re not going to wash those, give them to me. You can go. I’ll see myself out.” I hold out my open palm, and Noah’s gaze sticks to mine. His mouth curls a hint more, that curled dimple, the backward C, creasing his cheek. I thrust my fingers out widea few times, urging him to quit playing games. I’m done playing mine, and he finally drops my pants in my hand.

“There’s some laundry stuff by the equipment closet in the back. I’ll finish up the paint and give you a ride home.”

“It’s fine. You can leave the rest for me. And I’ll just walk,” I say, flippantly.

“Frankie, don’t be like that. Let me give you a ride home,” he says through an exasperated sigh.

I glance at him over my shoulder and smile as I reach the equipment room’s closed door.

“I’m not being like anything, Noah. Except myself. Because that’s all there is here. There’sme,and then there’syou.Two separate things. Not together in any way. Ever.”

I twist the knob to open the door and pull the string for the light so I can scan the shelves for soap. I find detergent and grab it before shutting the light off again and closing my heart to any crazy ideas. All the heat from before is gone, and when I turn back around and meet with Noah’s soft eyes and drawn-in lips, I am impervious.

“At least let me drive you home.”

I pause when I’m parallel with him, turning so our toes nearly meet, and my closed-lip smile widens.

“You worried that magical snowstorm you’re predicting will bury me on my way?” I tease.

He blinks slowly and takes away the few remaining inches between us, his nose close enough to graze against mine.

I feel nothing.

I feel nothing.

“I’m not worried, Frankie.” He leans in, his chin over my shoulder and his breath hot against my ear. “I am obsessed.”

I take in a sharp breath as his chin tickles against the side of my neck. His mouth comes dangerously close to mine, but my eyes remain open—aware. I refuse to blink. Even when his gazedips to my mouth. And when he presses his tongue to the pad of his thumb. And when . . .

“You got a little paint here,” he hums, running his wet thumb from the edge of my bottom lip, down my chin, then slowly along my throat and over my collarbone. His touch grows slower and lighter, but he continues to paint a faint, invisible line down the center of my chest, between my breasts, all the way below my navel until his finger hooks in the front of his sweatpants.

He pauses there, tugging lightly before letting his hand slip away. I refuse to swallow. But I want to.

“You watch, Frankie. It’s going to snow this week. I just know it.”

I shift my gaze until our eyes are deadlocked. My breathing is measured, but my heart is racing. Is this what it’s like being a Noah Drake girl? Constant seduction. Random brushes with heat. Always feeling on the verge of having him feel something back. Always being left wanting more.

He backs away, and I take the reins of breathing my own air again.

“Too bad Santa’s got you on the naughty list. Boys like you don’t get everything they want, Noah Drake.” I purse my lips and hold on to the bitter taste in my mouth. It’s the only thing I’ve got to fend off the waves of desire crashing over me in his wake.

“You forget, Frankie Bardot”—he chuckles lightly and winks as he reaches the door—“IamSanta.”

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