Page 4 of Daring the Defender

“Oh, right.” Her face falls. “I forgot.”

“What? Forgot you had a hot date tonight?” I click the button to resume the game. “Break the heart of some love-lorn guy?”

“What?” Her voice rises two octaves.“No.”

I look her up and down, better now that the light is brighter and she’s shed the jacket. She looks vaguely familiar, so maybe she has been here before. Possibly with Axel. Now that I can see her, it’s obvious she’s got a good body, curvy, and her tits are nice. Get her out of that matronly skirt, and into something shorter, a little tighter, that shows off those legs and–fuck. I just talked myself into a semi. Good job, Reid. I clear my throat. “Hey, just saying. You’re cute. Seems like you’d have a boyfriend, or at the very least, someone wanting to be your boyfriend.”

Her cheeks turn red, and damn, I like the way that looks on her. Flushed and flustered. I expect her to make a run for it, but she just nods at the game I’m only half playing. “Your team just got scored on.”

“Shit.” I turn my focus back to the game. “It’s just one goal. I can get the score back.”

She’s quiet next to me as I maneuver my player down the ice, the forward gets a pass past me, and I curse again. Maybe I’m the one that’s flustered.

“Your defense needs to block the passing lanes,” she says.

“I know what I need to do,” I snap. Yet her distraction and admittedly, my frustration, makes me miss the next play and they score again. “Dammit.”

“Told you.”

I eye the girl next to me. “You think you can do better?”

She shrugs, a coy smirk on her mouth. “Probably.”

“Go for it.” I hand her the controller, grab a piece of pizza, and lean back. True to her word, she does do better. Her defender is everywhere, blocking plays and slamming guys against the boards. She helps her team get the two points back and I laugh. “So you’re a ringer. You play hockey?”

“Gosh, no. Just this game.” She frowns in concentration at the screen. “My bro–friendtaught me.”

“Well, he must know his stuff.” I sit back, taking a long drag of my beer, and watch. Not the game, but the player. She’s perched on the edge of the couch, completely engrossed in the game, her teeth puncturing her bottom lip, making it fat and swollen. From the side, I get a better view and take in the firm swell of her tits and I get the urge to strip off that heavy sweater and see what’s underneath.

Who is this girl? Where did she come from? Is she some sexy, video-playing, Valentine's gift sent to my doorstep from Cupid?

And if so, what does that mean?

Nothing, I think. This girl has a strangely innocent vibe and she came here to see Axel, not get hit on by his roommate.

“Yes!” she shouts as the game-ending buzzer sounds from the TV. My team is up by one because of this girl. She holds up her hand in a high-five and I slap it, because even though she made a fool of me, she’s fucking cute. She grabs her seltzer and takesa long drink. Her nose scrunches at the taste but it doesn’t take away from her grin. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you get cold not wearing a real shirt?” She gestures to my cutoff shirt. “It’s freezing outside.”

“I run hot,” I admit. “Always have. I guess it’s the one reason I got into ice hockey. Being cold never bothered me.”

“I’m the opposite.” She tucks her hands into her sleeves. “My hands are freezing all the time.”

I take her by the wrist, engulf it in mine, and pull it to my chest. She watches me, not saying a word as I lay her palm flat on my sternum. I feel a jolt when her fingertips touch my skin–because damn, they’re cold, like ice cubes, but I still feel a sense of warmth spread across my skin.

It’s the sensation that drives me to reach out and push her hair off her cheek. She looks up at me and I finally see her eyes–a bright greenish-blue. Aquamarine. I’m struck again by the familiarity but instantly distracted by those dark pink lips.

I want to kiss her.

I’m thinking about kissing her.

Yep. I’mgoingto kiss her.

Fuck, I don’t even know her name.

Despite the free for all of the last month, I’m not the kind of guy who makes out with a girl without getting her name.

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