Page 87 of Wicked Ends
“You think I’m going to let you watch my game wearing that?” Marcus said.
I wrinkled my nose as I considered his words. “You got something against jeans?”
“Nice try, Ari. The number… it’s Anderson’s, and since I don’t fancy murdering my best friend, you need to change—and while you’re at it, explain why you thought it was a good idea to wear a number that wasn’t mine. My name is the only one that should ever be written on your back, baby.”
I pushed him away, trying to drag some air into my lungs. He was too damn close, and tall, and sexy as hell in his training clothes.
“Kenna gave it to me. It’s no big deal,” I told him firmly.
But he was already rooting around in his sports bag.
“It’s a big deal to me. You want to put me off during an important game?” He handed me the spare shirt he’d found in his bag. He moved next to me and started threading my arms through the Anderson jersey.
“It’s a jersey,” I pointed out.
“Hmm, and it’s my name that should be displayed on that frankly outstanding body, no one else’s.”
Marcus pulled the jersey over my head, and I let him. We were only a few yards away from a busy corridor and could be discovered at any second… but it seemed whenever I was with Marcus, I couldn’t help myself.
He took his time tugging the new jersey down, his hands covering my breasts for a beat, thumbing my nipples that strained toward him though the lace.
“If you forget, maybe a pretty tattoo would go there nicely,” he mused softly.
He ran a finger in a line along my chest, right above my heart.
“It could sayMarcus’ Girl, or maybe…Bailey’s Babe.”
His mocking tone should have annoyed me more, but I knew him too well by now. Nothing was serious, and yet there was more genuine sentiment under those teasing words than I’d ever heard from a man before.
“Or how about I keep it simple and just say—mine.”
My breath caught. He leaned in and brushed a kiss against my lips, light as a feather.
“Is this breaking the rules, Professor?”
“Hmm” was all I could manage and wished he’d close the damn distance and kiss me again.
A throat clearing stopped my wicked thoughts in their tracks.
I jerked away, while Marcus barely flinched. He slowly turned to follow my gaze. A hockey player stood at the end of the corridor, leaning an arm on the wall and smirking at us curiously. He wore the black and red of the Raptors.
“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I must have got turned around.” He ran his gaze over us in a way that made it clear he was enjoying having caught us in an intimate position.
Marcus yanked the jersey down from my middle, where he’d still been holding it, and stepped in front of me.
“Does your coach know you’re wasting energy right before a big match? Williams seems like the kind to forbid that kind of contact pregame.”
They guy’s accent was British and thick as hell. He sounded like a guy born to mock, and someone who clearly enjoyed it.
“It’s none of your business, Sinclair.”
Ah, so this was one of the Sinclair brothers Kenna had been talking about. I got it. He seemed like trouble.
He smirked. His eyes took in the way Marcus had stepped in front of me.
“Say, isn’t she the new professor everyone’s talking about? The pianist? Must be a nice change for HHU to make headlines for something other than sucking at hockey.”
Marcus took a step forward, and the other player laughed.
