Page 34 of Jace
His deep laugh makes his chest rumble, and I love the feel of it. “Not a puck bunny, no. Wrong sport, bud.”
“Ah that’s such a shame,” I murmur, still distracted by his body beneath my hands. “So what’s the equivalent for a puck bunny in your sport then?”
“A Jersey Chaser.”
“Oh, I love that. Sounds better than a tiger tamer. Can I be your jersey chaser?” I look up to him and find his focus solely on me, dimples visible beneath the dark scruff as he actually fucking smirks.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“If you’re going to chase me or not.”
God, the things he says. I swear I sometimes see a challenge in his eyes, in his words. I don’t even know if he’s aware of how he’s projecting, or that he even has a clue about how that shit comes across. And I’m not one to point it out for him. No, he has to make that call for himself. And as long as he has a girlfriend…
And yeah, as long as he has Kaylee and as long as hethinkshe’s straight, in my mind that makes that he is. Which he probably is anyway, and I’m probably reading way too much into his behavior. He’s just being my friend, he doesn’t have intentions. I think.
Doesn’t mean I can’t flirt a little, though. I’m stillme.And I’m still drunk.
“Who says I’m not chasing you already?” I wink at him, and fuck, his breathing actually stutters for a bit before he chuckles.
“Too bad I’m already taken then.” He’s giving me what I think is a flirty smile, dimples popping out, and I just sort of short-circuit.
“Hmm, yeah too bad,” I say as I reluctantly pull back. I love it when he teases me, but I don’t wanna be a homewrecker either. And I have a weird feeling that if I push too hard, he might even comply before he’s fully aware of what’s happening.
Mr.Straight, my big gay ass.
I grab a couple of shots behind him on the kitchen island and offer one to him, letting the moment pass.
“Are you sure you need more to drink?” he asks, eyebrows raised, when I almost spill half the contents.
“Bottoms up, babe,” is my answer to that, and he humors me, so we both take the shot. After I slam my glass back on the counter, I look up at him, a drop from my hair hitting my nose.
“You’re still dripping wet,” Ty says, pushing my wet, champagne drenched, hair out of my face. I automatically lean into the warm touch, smiling serenely, the alcohol buzzing nicely through my veins.
“Hah. That’s not something a guy has said to me, in like, ever.”
“Stop with the jokes. You can use our shower and put on some of my clothes; you reek of alcohol.”
“‘S very sexy,” I slur, really starting to feel the alcohol hitting hard now.
“Yes, very. Now come on. Let’s take you upstairs, jersey chaser.” He gently pushes me to a door, unlocks it, and helps me up the stairs.
“Why was it locked?” I find it in me to ask.
“Because we don’t like all the party people to wander off in our bedrooms without our consent.”
“How very un-college-y of you.”
He snickers. “True. Blame Lamar and his ungodly cleanliness. Just wait there,” he says when we get to a landing with a few doors and another stairway. “I’ll get you some clothes.”
He manhandles me so that I’m leaning against a wall, and when he’s satisfied that I won’t topple down, he disappears in a room at the end of the hallway.
So that’s where his bedroom is.
Funny thing that for all we hang out, I've never actually been here before now. I want to follow him, just to see where he sleeps, but my legs won’t really cooperate.
I sag against the wall, my head pounding, and close my eyes because I swear the hallway fucking tilt sideways. Fuck. Maybe that last drink was overkill.
