Page 44 of Faking It with the Forward

My eyes acclimate to the dim light coming from the window as he grabs his pillow and blanket, tossing them next to me before climbing in. He winces again at the pain in his back.

“Roll over.” I nudge his shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Let me check your back. Roll over.” He shifts, the bed sinking under his massive weight. “On your stomach.”

He lies flat, giving me an impressive view of his muscular back and, well, amazing ass. Taking a deep breath I ask, “Where does it hurt?”

His hand reaches behind him, and he gestures to his lower right side. “About here.”

I run my fingers over the spot he’s talking about. “I’m just going to get in a better position.” I straddle his body and sit on the back of his rock-hard thighs. The thin material of my shorts is barely a barrier.

He groans, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“Am I too heavy?”

“Light as a feather, Sunshine.”

He bends his elbows and rests his cheek on his hands. The position makes his biceps flex and that flutter of want is back. I want to blame it on being in the presence of perfection, the expanse of muscles running down his back, but I can’t. He’s ripped. It’s like muscles on muscles, each section of his back carved and buffed out of stone. There are other guys on the team with bodies just as fit—but none of them make me feel like my ovaries may explode.

I press the heel of my hand down and he moans in response, “Fuck, that feels good.”

“So it’s right there.” I feel around, poking and prodding. His body twitches when I find it.

“Yep, that’s the spot.” He exhales. “Fuck, your hands are like magic.”

Using my thumbs, I make tiny circles in the area, attempting to work out any strain. Slowly, the length of muscles along his back untense. After a few minutes, he turns his head and says, “The other night you said you know everything about me, what does that mean?”

“It means I read up on all my players. It’s my job to be familiar with your medical files, articles about your career, status reports. If it’s been documented, I’ve read it.”

“Medical files I get, but why do you need all of that other stuff?”

“Because your history tells a story. Like, how you broke your femur in the fourth grade, not on the ice, but on the monkey bars during recess at school. I know that it healed clean and hasn’t caused you any problems since.”

“Okay,” he says thoughtfully. “But why stats?”

“Because if you’re a center forward and the number one scorer in the region, then the wear and tear on your shoulders and wrists are going to be higher than a simple defender who takes and gives a lot of hits. That tells me what muscles and ligaments need to stay strong and healthy for you to achieve maximum results.”

He makes a little face, like he’s impressed. “What else?”

“I know that you’re lactose intolerant which is why you drink your coffee black and you try to eat gluten free, but that’s not an allergy, you just want to stay as lean as possible.”

He lifts his head and a small grin curves his mouth. “Twyler Perkins, are you stalking me?”

I pinch his neck, applying pressure where I know he’ll feel it. He seizes and presses his face in the mattress, suppressing a howl.

But I’m on a roll and keep going. “I know you’ve only had the one girlfriend, Shanna, who you dated all through high school and college, but suddenly broke it off last year—although now I know that you were the one that broke up with her. I don’t think you really said why.”

“We had different ideas on my career,” he says, eyes fluttering shut.

“I know New York wanted to draft you last year and you said no, which means you’ll become a free agent after the season is over. It was considered a risky move when you had a sure thing locked up.”

His breathing evens out, but I can tell he’s not asleep, just fully relaxed. Quietly, I add, “I know you call me Sunshine because it bugs me, and you try to shock me by saying outrageous, dirty things.”

“That’s only partially true,” he answers without opening his eyes. “I say outrageous, dirty things because I’m a hockey player and that’s just kind of how we are. It’s a bonus that you look so fucking cute when you blush.”

I’m pretty sure he saysthatto make me blush. I move away from the area I was massaging and spread my hands across his back. His skin is hot to the touch, and I just want to explore him, feel the power and strength under my fingertips.

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