Page 9 of Face Off
I’m staring, but it’s hard to look away. There’s this energy about her that makes my palms sweaty and my heart pound in my chest like I’ve been running for miles.
It’s not the hangover, either.
It’sher.
My lips curl into a smile.
“Hey,” I call out, and her eyes flutter open and cut over to me. Bright green, and dangerous enough to make me think she could eat me alive. “Can I help you with something, sweetheart?”
She scoops a duffle bag off the floor and slings it over her shoulder like it’s as light as a feather. Her hips sway as she walks toward me, and she’s got to be pushing at least 5’10”. The hem of her shirt rides up above her belly button, and I notice the muscles spanning across her stomach.
Fuck me.
I’d be shocked if I didn’t have heart eyes right now. Athletic women are my goddamn kryptonite, and this one clearly knows her way around a gym.
“Yeah, actually,” she says. “I’m looking for you, Maverick Miller.”
Guess it’s my lucky fucking day.
I grin, flashing her the trademark smile that gets me any number I want. “Well, here I am. Fans aren’t allowed back here, but we can head to my place after my meeting if you don’t mind waiting an hour.”
She stops in front of me and lifts a perfectly shaped eyebrow. I wait for the agreement that usually follows, but she doesn’t say anything. She just stares, and I blush when her mouth pulls up into a smirk that almost makes me drop to my knees.
The goddess sets her hand on my chest, and I take another good look at her.
There are freckles all across her nose and cheeks. They look like little constellations, clusters of stars I’d like to draw into pretty shapes. Her shoulders are sculpted, and she’s wearing lipstick, a dark shade of red that nearly matches her hair.
She drags her nails down the front of my shirt in the cruelest form of torture I’ve ever experienced. I puff out a strangled breath, and my throat goes dry.
“Does that line normally work?” she asks, her voice sultry and low.
I think this woman is going to kill me.
“Hundred percent success rate,” I croak.
“Even when you have a hickey on your neck?”
I touch the skin under my silver necklace and shrug. “Yeah.”
She stands on her toes and brings her lips to my ear. I smell vanilla and something flowery. Her breath is warm, and I wonder what she would feel like underneath me.
“It’s a shame it’s only going to be ninety-nine percent effective now. The only thing I want to do with you, pretty boy, is kick your ass on the ice,” she whispers.
I swallow and try to get my bearings. She’s so close, and I fucking love it. “You think I’m pretty?”
“You would only hear that part, wouldn’t you?”
“Is ice play some sort of kink of yours?”
“God, no.” She takes a step away, but I want her to come back. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted you’re hitting on me.”
“Flattered,” I blurt. “Definitely flattered.”
When she laughs, it doesn’t sound like she thinks I’m funny. “For being the captain of an NHL team, I thought you would’ve done your research.”
What the hell does that mean?
The woman turns and heads inside the arena like she’s been here a thousand times. I’m left gaping after her, confused and soothing the sting of rejection.
