Page 7 of Faking It with the Enforcer

“Oh, um. You don’t have to,” I say, shaking my head, even though I want him to. I just don’t want to be an inconvenience. That’s the last thing I want to be.

“I know I don’t have to. But I want to, and I insist.” He looks up, his gorgeous gray eyes meeting mine, and I melt a little. I don’t argue because Wolf seems like the kind of man who gets what he wants. Who people don’t argue with.

I suck in a breath, realizing that what I’m feeling right now goes deeper than a crush.

I want to be good for him. I want to please him, make him happy. All the better if doing what he wants means I get to spend more time with him and I don’t have to figure out the public transit system.

I quickly gather up my pale pink duffel that holds everything I’ll need for the day, my palms sweaty against the smooth straps. Once we’re bundled up against the January cold, I follow him to the elevator that takes us directly into a parking garage, where he leads me to a sleek SUV. Without a word, he opens the door for me, my arm brushing against him as I climb up, sending sparks of electricity racing through me, even though we’re both wearing heavy winter coats.

We pull out into the morning traffic, the weak sun struggling to emerge from behind wispy gray clouds. The streets are filled with traffic, the sidewalks bustling with pedestrians huddled in their heavy coats against the cold. I curl into the warmth of the seat, wanting to talk to Wolf but unsure what to say.

I’m unsure of a lot of things this morning.

“So, how long have you been dancing?” he asks in that deliciously gruff voice, his gloved fingers curled around the leather steering wheel as he makes a turn.

“Since I was four,” I say, glancing over at him. God, he’s so sexy. Those eyes and that hair and those lips and that bearded jaw and those shoulders and thick thighs…gah. I could melt into a puddle of lust just from looking at him. He’s just so…so hot. “My mom got a flyer in the mail about a free dance class, and she took me. I fell in love with it almost instantly, and I’ve been dancing ever since.”

He nods, his eyes on the road as he smoothly changes lanes. Even the way he drives is sexy, with one hand resting easily, confidently on the steering wheel.

“So that’s…what? Fifteen years of dedication? You’re…you’re nineteen, right?” he asks, then clears his throat when his voice seems to catch.

“Yeah, I’m nineteen.”

“Right. Nineteen,” he says quietly, almost as though he’s talking to himself. “That level of dedication his impressive,” he adds quickly.

I shrug, but a blush spreads across my face at his praise. He makes me feel like a little kitten. I want to rub myself all over him and curl up in his lap while he strokes me and tells me what a good girl I am for him.

My clit throbs at the thought, and I shift in my seat. Apparently, I’m not subtle either, as Wolf looks over at me with an arched brow.

“I can turn the seat warmer down if it’s too much,” he says, but I shake my head quickly.

“No, I’m fine. It feels nice.” A silence falls between us, and I lick my lips, wanting to keep talking to him. “How old were you when you started playing hockey?”

“I learned to skate when I was five, started playing hockey when I was six.”

“You must be both talented and passionate to have made it to where you are.”

He frowns at that, and it’s like the sun going behind the clouds. Was that the wrong thing to say?

But when he comes to a red light and glances over at me, his beautiful gray eyes are soft. “Yeah. Hockey’s my passion. Or…it was, for a long time. Maybe it still is. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders. “The game has changed. Or maybe I’ve changed. All I know is that it doesn’t…thrill me the way it used to. It’s like there’s something missing.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t know. Maybe I just feel this way because I’m a hell of a lot closer to the end of my career than the beginning.” He swallows thickly, and before I can talk myself outof it, I reach across the center console and lay my hand on his enormous, rock hard thigh.

“These things we love—hockey, ballet—have very, very short career lengths. My goal is to soak it all up while I can and enjoy it, trusting that I’ll know when it’s time to move on. If you don’t know, then you’re not ready.”

He rumbles out a sigh, nodding slowly. “That’s very astute.”

“What do you think you’ll do, after retirement?”

He pauses, taking a breath. “I don’t know. I always kind of…pictured myself raising kids, being a dad, but…” His gaze flicks over to me before returning to the road. “I’m very single and have been for years, so I don’t know how realistic that is.” He clears his throat again, then turns the conversation back on me. “What about you? I know you’re just starting out, but where do you see yourself in twenty years?”

I laugh softly. “In twenty years? God. I have no clue.”

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