Page 65 of In the Net
Forgetting my excuse for coming out here in the first place, I fix the usual teasing expression I use with Harper onto my face as I stroll up to her.
“Not wearing your boyfriend’s jersey to his game?” I ask.
A challenging look sharpens in her eyes. “In your dreams.”
Ever since that night at the club, she’s been acting more stubborn. As if giving me an attitude could make either of us forget that I almost made her come against my leg.
“Don’t you want to be a supportive girlfriend?” There’s a mocking tone in my voice. Luckily, this area of the arena is prettyempty right now, and she’s the last person in line, so we don’t have to worry about being overheard as long as I keep my voice low.
She lifts her chin with a defiant tilt. “Maybe we’re having a fight. Maybe I’m mad at you and don’t want to sully myself with your name on my back.”
My blood pumps thicker. I’m not sure when her acting combative like this went from being annoying to being thrilling.
“I’ll buy you a jersey to wear. It’ll look better. What kind of hockey girlfriend comes to a game without wearing her boyfriend’s jersey?”
“No need,” she protests.
My jaw ticks. Verbally sparring with Harper might be growing on me, but the idea that she really doesn’t want to wear my jersey has a bitter taste filling my mouth.
A color peeking from the tote bag slung over her shoulder catches my eye. It’s the same shade of blue that’s strewn all over this arena.
“What’s this?” I ask, my eyes pointing to her bag.
Harper’s cheeks turn a rosy shade. Embarrassment seeps into her expression. “Nothing, that’s just …”
Ignoring her, I grab the blue fabric and tug on it—pulling a Brumehill Black Bears jersey out of her bag.
I hold it up to let it unfold, finding none other than my own name and number on the backside.
A cocky, triumphant grin beams on my face. Harper’s face is so red it’s almost glowing.
“You had my jersey all along.” Without even seeing her wearing it, just knowing she has it with her, a possessive, primal feeling pounds in my chest, even stronger than I imagined it.
She tilts a shoulder, trying and failing to act casual. “I thought?—”
I interrupt her by stepping forward into her space. “Know what I think?” I dip down, my voice lowering to a rasp next to her ear. “I think you wanted to wear my jersey, but only after I told you to.”
A look of recognition crosses her deep green eyes, like she’s been caught out. “That’s ridiculous.”
My smirk is devilish. “I think my girlfriend likes to tease me. And I think she likes me telling her what to do.”
Harper’s face is incandescent. Her cheeks look warm enough to use as a space heater.
I grab the strap of her bag and tug it off her shoulder, holding out my jersey to her in my other hand.
“Put it on,” I command.
My voice is firm and demanding. I imagine Harper and me in my room, or hers. I’m using the same demanding voice, but I’m sure as fuck not telling her to put a piece of clothingon.
I watch the slim column of her neck bob on a swallow. Wordlessly, she takes the jersey from my hands and slides it over her head.
Masculine pride thrums through me as I take a step back to get a full view. A pleased hum rumbles in my throat.
“Good girl.”
The words leave my mouth instinctively, and a jolt goes straight to my cock when they do.
Judging by the round shape that forms on Harper’s pink lips and the glimmer that sparkles in her eyes, I think she liked them, too.
