Page 20 of The Proposal Pact
That goddamn jersey.
“I only take commands in the bedroom, and even then it’s a stretch.”
I stop dead at her comment, grateful that my back is to her. Because apparently my dick doesn’t care that she’s a little menace, a growing pain in my ass and not someone I’dever take to bed.
And I’ll blame him for the next thought that pops into my head.Oh, you’d take every command that I give you, baby, and say, “Thank you, Daddy” at the end.At least my brain still works and I have enough sense to keep my mouth shut.
I swear, this girl is testing me in every fucking way ever since I showed up here. From her clothes to her smart mouth to this ridiculous obsession with hockey. Which is what got us in this predicament in the first place.
Not to mention she is mess personified! Something I can’t stand. Where did she even come from? A tourist?
I sigh again, mentally willing my cock to simmer down, careful to only turn my head to look at her. “You’re the one who’s in a rush to catch your hockey game, but if you’d rather stay here, be my guest.”
I shrug and take one step before she yells out, “Don’t you move another inch. I’ll come in thirty seconds. Ha, look at that, it’s something my ex would say.” She snorts at her own joke.
Thirty seconds…I’d take fucking hours to punish that brat. Fucking hell…not what I should be thinking. At-fucking-all. I slap the palm of my hand over my face.
Menace, little fucking menace. That’s who she is.
True to her word, she comes out of her apartment no more than thirty seconds later, wearing that same Outlaws jersey with number 13 on the back, her hair still in that weird half ponytail but it’s too short to be in a ponytail and the tips spill over the top of her head like a fountain. At least now there is a pair of baggy yellow sweatpants with daisies on them covering her bright pink lacy underwear.
I grunt in approval, but my dick decided to send me another unwarranted thought:We liked the look before better.
Too bad, so sad, I mentally reply.
Trust me, it’s not lost on me that I’m talking to my own organs like a lunatic.
There is one thing you need to know about Loverly Cave. If you live here long enough, you catch the crazy disease. Clearly, I’m showing the symptoms already. That’s the only explanation for these thoughts, or the fact that I’m taking her with me to the station to watch her damn hockey game.
“What about my door?” she asks, looking at the splintered wood around the lock, and I wince again. Okay, so that was a little too overzealous of me, but I had to make sure no one was getting hurt. And I’m not apologizing for that.
“I’ll take care of that too,” I grumble, not knowing who I’m angrier with. Myself or her.
Somehow, we make it all the way downstairs without another word but that’s where my luck ends.
“Oh, oh, oh.” She jumps up like a toddler hyped-up on too much sugar, holding the bottom of her jersey with one hand. “Can I ride shot gun?”
I shoot her a look. “I don’t even know your name…so, no.”
“It’s Sophie! There, now that’s settled,” she says brightly, and before I can respond, the girl—Sophie—is already opening the front passenger door and sliding herself into the seat.
With just a shake to my head, I follow and start the car. At least I know her first name.
“This issomuch better than riding in the back,” she says, grinning wide.
“I’m afraid to ask how you know that.”
“I’ve been there, obviously,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Obviously,” I deadpan, not half as amused as Sophie is. “Care to tell me willingly or do I have to do the hard work myself?”
“Are you going to buy me a drink?”
I pause, getting caught off-guard by this girl once again but then say, “Why would I buy you a drink?”
“Because that’s what guys do when they want to get to know a girl. So?”
“No.”
