Page 9 of Faking It with the Enforcer

“Better!” calls Coach Ferguson from the other side of the ice. “Keep working that play. I like what I’m seeing.”

The idea of Emily watching me play charges me up in a way I can’t fully explain. I can’t keep the thoughts of her at bay, but the idea of her watching me dominate on the ice is fuel I didn’t know I needed.

And so while we run the drills, work through the plays, my brain plays thoughts of her on a loop.

Emily, with her gorgeously delicate body and beautiful smile. She’s so tiny and yet there’s a strength in her, both physical and otherwise.

I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked up at me last night, her breath hitching slightly, her lips parted. I wanted to kiss her so fucking bad. I’d just met her and I wanted her in a way I’ve never experienced before. I still don’t fully understand it.

What I do understand is that I’m powerless against whatever is happening. These feelings are powerful and consuming, and impossible to ignore.

I skate hard as we start another drill, and my mind is filled with images of her. Her delicate neck, the curve of her collarbone, the way her red hair cascades down her slender back in messy waves. I can’t stop myself from imagining what it wouldfeel like to run my fingers through that mass of fiery hair, to tilt her head back and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.

I shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. I know. I fucking know. She’s way too young for me. Way too sweet and innocent for a brute like me.

But goddamn, the things I want to do to her.

I want to lift her up, feel her tiny body against mine as she wraps her legs around my waist. I want to spread her out on my king sized bed and explore every single inch of her with my hands. With my mouth. I want to discover every single freckle. I want to make her gasp and shake. I want to kiss her little pussy until she comes all over my face.

A whistle blows, sharp and loud, jerking me back to reality. Ferguson is glaring at me, arms crossed over his chest. I’ve blown the drill, letting my thoughts of Emily consume me instead of fueling me. My balls are aching, my cock throbbing in the confines of my jock.

Fucking hell.

I need to get my head on straight. I need to focus on hockey and stop thinking about Emily and all the depraved things I want to do to her, because it’s never going to happen. It can’t. She’s too young. Too sweet. She’s Mike’s little sister. She doesn’t even live here.

So many reasons to put her out of my mind, and yet…I want her. I want her body. I want her heart. I want her so much that it’s taken me over.

Fuck me.

“Hartley, get your head out of your ass and pay attention!” Coach’s voice booms across the ice.

I shake my head, trying and failing to dislodge the thoughts of Emily that have taken root in my brain. I can feel the eyes of my teammates on me, their smirks hidden behind gloves.

“So,” says Kincaid, skating over, a knowing glint in his eyes. “What’s her name?” He knocks his shoulder into mine, giving me a friendly shove.

I grunt. “Shut up and mind your own business, Campbell.”

Tanner skates over, a grin on his face. “Don’t tell me someone’s tamed the infamous lone Wolf?”

I feel a growl building in my chest, but it’s not for Tanner. It’s for the situation in general. Because I am a lone Wolf. I don’t date, and I’ve preferred it that way for a long time. Now, a woman I’m actually interested comes along, and there’s no fucking way I can have her.

Great joke, universe. Real fucking funny.

Irritation prickles at my skin, making me hot and itchy. I’m not in the mood for this shit. Not when I don’t fully understand my attraction to Emily. Not when I know I can’t have her.

“Drop it,” I say, my voice a low warning.

They laugh, skating away, and I clench my jaw, trying to bring my focus back to the drill.

“Hartley, you’re up!” barks Coach Ferguson, and I nod, skating into position. I take a deep breath and use every ounce of willpower I have to shove Emily to the back of my mind. I can’t afford to be distracted right now. I have a job to do, a game to prepare for.

We finish up the grueling practice with a few final words from Coach about tomorrow’s game, and then we hit the showers. The hot water cascades over my tired shoulders, washing away the sweat from practice. And even though I know I should be going over plays and absorbing everything we worked on today, I can’t stop thinking about Emily.

Her smile.

The sound of her laugh.

The way she smells like spring.

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