Page 39 of Trade Deadline

It wasn’t that long ago that I was super confident, approaching guys in bars and grinding against them in clubs. I would be the one to make the first move on whoever was in my sights, but over the years, that confidence got knocked down, slowly chipped away by guys who didn’t value me.

In hindsight, it was athemproblem rather than ameproblem, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. And sometimes it only takes that one person to reignite that confidence, and tonight, that person is Blaine.

He makes me feel seen. He makes me feel like I’m the only person in this room. Hell, the only person in this goddamncity,and he makes me feel worthy.

That heat in his eyes every time he looks at me? It could burn this building to the ground. The feeling of loss is instant when he drops his hand and takes a step back. I follow him to fetch the ball, then we move onto the next hole. A bolt of electricity runs down my spine when he places the ball in my hand, and it takes everything not to melt into a puddle of goo.

I’ve never felt this kind of chemistry with someone before. So strong and great, like an intense magnetism. Just being around him gives me a dopamine rush.

Pull yourself together.

I let out a shaky breath, putting the ball down on the tee, and eye up the hole. This hole is a little more complex than the first, and I’m assuming the difficulty increases as we go. I give the ball a small tap and watch as it rolls toward the target. I hold my breath when it slows, waiting for it to go in, but instead, it settles on the edge of the hole.

“How are you so good at this?” Blaine cocks his head to the side. “Are you secretly a pro mini-golfer, and you were waiting for the perfect time to whip out your hidden talent?”

I chuckle. “No, Nate and I worked at one similar to this briefly in college. It allowed me to hone my skills.” I wink before walking to where my ball stopped; it only takes a little tap now.

I retrieve the ball and head back to where he’s standing. His eyes trail the length of my body before locking with mine. The look he’s giving me is close to the one from that first night. Like he’s starving, and I’m a feast. I’m pretty sure if we weren’t in public, he would devour me.

“Have we found something where I’m better than you?” I tease.

“You’re better than me in many, many ways.” He admits.

I scoff. “I highly doubt that.”

“Trust me.” He steps forward, taking the ball out of my hand. “You’re perfect.” He presses a kiss against my heated cheek, then steps up to take his turn.

How is this guy real? It’s hard to comprehend that this is the same guy who gets dragged through the dirt by the media.

I tug my bottom lip with my teeth, taking in how his broad shoulders fill out his dark green plaid button-down. Wide biceps strain against the material and rolled up sleeves showcase his thick corded biceps.

He’s fucking hot.

And when Blaine bends slightly to take his shot, I internally groan as the dark denim stretches across the tight, rounded globes of his ass.

Hockey butts. They are the holy grail.

There’s nothing I would love more than to drop to my knees, take those cheeks between my hands, and worship the most perfect creation that is a hockey butt.

“Are you checking out my ass?” Blaine asks over his shoulder, his brow lifted in challenge.

There’s no point denying it, I've been caught red handed.

I give an unfazed shrug. “And if I was?”

He drops his putter to the ground with a thud, his turn forgotten as he stalks toward me like a predator would his prey. His eyes blaze with desire, and the closer he gets, the more I unconsciously step back until my back is pressed against the wall. My own putter ends up on the ground at my feet.

Blaine raises his hands, his palms flat against the wall on either side of my head and leans in, running his nose under my jaw. His warm breath against my skin sends shivers down my spine, and my heart beats wildly in my chest. The blood running through my veins is thrumming with anticipation.

“I told you I was trying hard to be a gentleman. I can’t tell you how hard it is not to kiss the hell out of you right now.” He confesses in my ear, his teeth grazing my lobe.

I swallow the lump in my throat as my words come out on a rasp, “Then stop resisting and just kiss me.”

Our lips are only a breath away when he lifts his head. The soft fabric of his shirt brushes against the bare skin of my arms as I take a step closer. Feeling brave, I rest my hands on his hips, dipping my fingertips beneath the tails of his shirt to find the smooth, warm skin of his obliques.

He sucks in a breath at the contact. A ripple of pebbled flesh erupts under my fingers. His hand cradles my jaw, and I lean into the touch before my breath is stolen when his lips sweep against mine.

Holy smokes, Blaine Olsen is kissing me.

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