Page 100 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

“He seems like the kind of guy who likes everyone,” I commented, clearly fishing for more information.

“It comes across that way, but he’s got some major tells. When he doesn’t like someone, he’s got this fake smile he gives them. He’s nice, but he doesn't give them the full Asher charm.” He cocked his head. “He was definitely giving you that,” Logan grumbled, sounding almost…jealous.

“You guys have quite the bromance,” I said wistfully.

“He’s a good guy,” Logan agreed, setting his hands on my shoulders, his touch sending sparks cascading across my skin.

“Why exactly does he call you Socks?” I blurted out, trying to distract him.

A smirk curled my lips at the blush that suddenly rose up on his cheeks. Nothing like seeing a six-foot-four tatted man blushing like a schoolboy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, suddenly staring at the ceiling.

I huffed out a laugh. “You should just tell me, get the burning secret off your chest. I know it’s killing you,” I teased.

He crossed his arms across his chest, and I got a little distracted for a second at the sight of his muscles. He was just so fucking…pretty.

“I have no secrets. I’m an open book. Oh look, that’s a cool bird,” he commented, pointing out the window behind me.

Lifting an eyebrow, I pushed a finger into his abs. “You’re not old enough to have developed into an avid bird watcher, York. Give me the deets.”

“Why is it so sexy when you last-name me?” he groaned, reaching out and pulling me from the chair and into his chest as he pressed a kiss against the side of my neck. “And is that something I have to look forward to in our old age—bird watching?”

I tried to keep my head on straight as his lips moved down my skin. But it was freaking difficult. He was way too good at this.

“Socks,” I gasped, pushing against his chest. “I want to hear about socks.”

He growled and bit down gently on my shoulder before pressing his forehead against my skin. I had the insane urge to cry. This was intimacy, wasn’t it? This was what it felt like to be close to someone, to feel their soul and not just their body when they held you.

I wanted to push him away. The closeness would just make me weak, and life had never gone well for me when I was weak.

Maybe just a second more, though…a second more of him holding me like I was worth something.

“In high school I got black-out drunk and then somehow ended up walking around a party with nothing but a sock on.”

I giggled, and he lifted his head to smirk at me. “You think that’s funny, do you?”

“I mean, I hate the thought of everyone seeing your perfect dick, but it is a funny visual,” I snorted.

His grin widened. “Oh, the sock wasn’t on my foot…” He winked as my jaw dropped.

And that did it for me. Just imagining him walking around with a sock hanging off his dick was too much. I laughed hysterically as he smiled down at me with a sort of dazed look in his eye.

“I love that,” he murmured, gently pushing a piece of hair out of my face.

My laugh abruptly stopped as I blinked up at him, a warmth sliding down my skin. “What do you love?”

He stared at me knowingly, and my hands slid to his chest like they’d been possessed. I could feel the words he wanted to say like they were a tangible thing. Suddenly I was panicking, my heart racing, my fingers curling into his shirt as if I could ward them off.

“The sound of your laugh,” he finally said gruffly, and a sliver of relief slid down my spine.

Along with a hint of disappointment. But I wasn’t going to think about that.

“I hope someone got pics,” I mumbled, trying to break whatever spell he seemed to be always casting over me.

“If they exist, I’m never showing you them.”

I huffed out another laugh, which instantly turned into a sigh when he pulled me farther into his arms, so that my head was resting against his firm, muscled chest.

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