Page 49 of The Dating Coach
"Hey, champion," I said.
She turned toward me with a contented sigh. "Hey, yourself. Good game tonight. That second goal was beautiful."
"You watched that part?"
“I was too nervous to look,” she admitted. “Karen narrated everything for me while I kept my eyes closed.”
"And here I thought you didn't like hockey."
"I don't like hockey," she corrected. "I love watching you play hockey. There's a difference."
"Oh?" I moved closer. "What difference would that be?"
"Hockey is just a game," she said, her fingers now playing with the hem of her dress. "But watching you out there – intense and focused and completely in your element – that's art. Plus," she added with a grin, "you look really good in those pants."
"Just the pants?" I teased.
"The whole uniform works," she conceded. "But we both know you look best shirtless." She teased
The heat in her eyes hit me like a body check. “Gemma Spears, are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe,” she whispered, gathering her courage. “Would that be okay?”
I backed her against the railing, my arms framing her. “I’ve wanted to get you alone since you walked into the stadium in my number.”
“Just tonight?” she challenged.
“Not just tonight. Since you first glared at me over those molecular models,” I admitted. “You were fierce, determined—I had to know everything about you.”
Her brow arched. “And now?”
I leaned in, voice low. “Now I know you reorganize everything when you’re nervous, belt out terrible karaoke when you’re happy, and guard your heart like fragile glass—yet love with your whole soul when someone earns it.” My lips brushed her ear. “I want to learn more. Everything. If you’ll let me.”
Her breath caught. “That’s a dangerous proposition, Delacroix.”
“Good thing I excel in dangerous situations.” I closed the distance and kissed her.
It was different from our previous kisses – deeper, hungrier, full of promise and intent. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I forgot we were on a bar patio where anyone could see.
"Get a room!" someone – probably Frank – yelled from inside.
We broke apart, both breathing hard. Gemma's cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, and the sight made me want to drag her somewhere private immediately.
"We should go back in," she said, not moving.
"We should," I agreed, also not moving.
"Or..." She bit her lip, looking up at me through her lashes. "We could go home. Celebrate properly. Just the two of us."
"Gemma," I groaned. "You can't say things like that when we're in public."
"Then take me somewhere private," she challenged.
I'd never moved faster in my life. Within minutes, we'd made our excuses, endured the good-natured teasing from our friends, and were in my car headed back to the house.
"Just to be clear," I said as I drove, probably too fast, "this is happening? We're doing this?"
"Unless you don't want to," she said, and despite her bold words earlier, I heard the vulnerability underneath.
