Page 11 of Trade Deadline

I come to a halt a few feet away, allowing myself to take in the blond hottie before he sees me. He must only be a few inches shorter than me. Hair shaved short on the sides, left longer on top, so much so that it’s beginning to curl. When I saw him during warm-up, it was the color of his eyes that captivated me. Bright blue, like the ocean in the Maldives.

And those sinful, plump lips?

Fuck. I can just imagine them stretched around my cock while those big blue eyes look up at me.

The jersey he’s wearing does nothing to hide his rounded shoulders. Black skinny jeans highlight long, lean legs that would look so fucking good wrapped around my waist.

“Blaine…” Ethan warns. “Don’t even think about it.”

But there’s something in my gut saying this guy might be different. It’s like my Spidey senses are telling me he won’t cause me media nightmares, despite the fact I can hear Hayden and Coach Harris’ voices in my head warning me about distractions.

Still…

“What if he’s different? What if he’s the right person you just mentioned?” I voice my thoughts out loud.

But as I take another step closer, I hit another wall of doubt.

Would someone want to get to know me for me? Not because I’m Blaine Olsen, NHL player with millions in the bank, ass all over the Internet, sitting second in the points, but forme? The guy off the ice, the guy who doesn’t like to be front and center of the scandals?

The guy who uses meaningless hookups as a chance to feel? Even if the feelings are only short-lived?

The guy who has never really known what it’s like to be loved by someone other than the person I shared a womb with and my family?

I have no fucking idea, and I still have no idea what I’m doing when I find myself closing the distance to this guy, sliding into a gap beside him and his friend at the bar. The warning bells are still buzzing in my ears.

“Hey.” I plaster on my most charming smile. “I think I owe you a drink.”

I can’t help but glance at where his beer spilled down on him earlier to see that his jeans are now dry.

He startles, those hot-as-sin lips parting on a gasp, almost like he’s shocked I remembered him, let alone come over. It takes all my restraint not to lean in and press my lips against that spot above his collar just to see if his pulse is fluttering as wildly as I think it is.

“I’m Blaine. I’m sorry for knocking your drink over earlier.” I hold my hand out.

He slips his hand against mine, and goose bumps erupt over my skin. I lean in closer, inhaling his delicious scent. He smells like citrus and pine, mixed with the lingering smell of the rink.

He says nothing, so I go on.

“Only a little bit, though.” I step in close, angling my head so my lips brush against the shell of his ear. “I would have fucking loved to have helped peel you out of those soaked jeans.”

His fair brows hit his hairline, and his eyes go wide. He stares at me, his mouth gaping like a fish. It seems to take him a few beats to come back to his senses.

“I’m Alex.” His voice is smoky, the kind that could get you hard just from listening to them recite the alphabet. “And I would have loved to have you help me out of my pants.”

Well, fuck me sideways.

And Alex?

Now that’s a name I haven’t moaned before.

I create some distance between us. One, I know I’m playing with fire, and I can sense Ethan’s eagle-eyed stare in the back of my head; and second, I’m already half hard from the way his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip.

He tugs at the front of his jersey nervously, bringing my attention to the “C”stitched to the front. What is it with Ethan trying to fucking cockblock me tonight?

“Alex, you wound me.” I place my hand over my heart, feigning hurt. “Here’s me hitting on you, and you’re wearing another man’s jersey.”

He looks down at his chest, letting out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I’ve had this for years. It’s the only one I have.”

When he raises his head, the expression on his face surprises me. He looks genuinely… apologetic?

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