Page 5 of That One Night

I really don’t want to scare her away though, so I settle with a neutral, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “Just some bad news. I’ll be fine. I’m making a plan.”

I nod. “Plans are good. Plans are…well, I’m terrible at making plans,” I admit. “But I’m really good at understanding the merits of a plan. And when plans are madeforme, I stick to them like glue. You name it—travel plans, diet plans, workout plans. My whole life is basically one big book full of plans.”

She glances at me, her dark eyes narrowing. I can tell she wants to ask. Fuck, I wish she just would. She’sdyingto ask. She’s got that look. The I-know-you’re-a-professional-athlete-but-tell-me-which-sport look. I’ve seen it a thousand times before.

Most women don’t even care. It’s like they’ve got a radar for the pros. They sniff us out and track us like we’ve got big glowing red beacons flashing on top of our heads. Mystery Girl is not that kind of girl. After almost ten years of this shit, I have a pretty good radar for sniffing out the puck bunnies.

“So…are you gonna ask me?” I say, flashing her a smile as I finish off my beer.

“Nope,” she replies, hiding her own smile by eating some of my fries.

I lean in, giving her a nudge with my elbow. “Come on…you know you want to.”

“I really don’t.”

“Why?”

She glances up at me, those dark eyes so open and honest. Fuck, she’s stripping me bare with that look. “Because I don’t want this to end yet.”

Oh shit, this is taking a turn. I can feel it—webothfeel it. This isn’t puck bunny energy. In all those exchanges, I’m the one taking the lead. I pick the bunny; the bunny never picks me. This is totally different. Thisgirlis different. It feels crazy to say it when I don’t even know her, but she’s way out of my league.

“And…what isthis?” I say, stifling my goofy ass grin.

She holds my gaze. Her beauty is shredding me. “Okay, I’m just going to say something, and I need you to not freak out or bolt.”

I stiffen, smile falling, totally ready to do both. “Oookay…”

“I’m a zodiac girl.”

I groan. “Oh, fuck. Okay, umm…I’m a Taurus,” I say. “All I know is that apparently that’s ironic.”

She snorts, trying to cover the sound with her hand. Her eyes sparkle with mirth as she mutters, “Of course you are.”

“So, that means I lose, right? This is over before it begins? I should just pay my bill and leave, right?”

She holds my gaze again, her dark eyes rooting me to my barstool. My dick can’t help it, he doesn’t know we’re not taking this any further. I’m aching in my pants. Fuck, why did I have to wear my tight jeans? Too much spring training has all my jeans feeling tight these days. I need to go up a size.

Focus, asshole.

Right, focus.

But now she’s just sitting there, not making a move. Have we even been flirting? I know I haven’t. I’m just being…me. This is so different than my usual charm offensive. I feel like she’s the one with the puck, and I’m just waiting for her to do something with it.

Maybe I read this wrong. I’m lonely, and I’m sad about Amy, and this girl is really fucking gorgeous. I’m totally reading too much into this. She doesn’t want me. I sigh. “Let me get the check. I’ll see you to the elevator at least, make sure Chad McYachtclub doesn’t follow.”

As I reach for my wallet, she puts her hand on my arm. I go still. Like, I’m frozen solid. Just build me a marble plinth and ship me to a museum.

“I believe in signs,” she murmurs, her gaze lowering to focus on our shared point of connection.

Her touch is featherlight, but energy crackles between us with the heat of dry lightning. All I can focus on is the simple pattern of four stars on her thumb. What do they represent? And why is this touch more sensual than some of the sex I’ve had with the bunnies?

I can barely breathe. I swear, if this turns into a tease…if she winds me up just to laugh in my face and walk away…

“You believe in signs,” I repeat.

She nods. “Yeah, I do. And right now, all signs point to me taking you down to my room and fucking your brains out.”

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