Page 8 of Love and Other Penalties
Finn’s traded his hockey gear for dark jeans and a gray sweater that does unfair things to his shoulders, and he’s looking around the cakery like he’s never seen cupcakes before. His gaze lands on me behind the counter, and that dangerous smile appears.
“Afternoon, Kitten.”
Mae practically vibrates with delight as she links her arm through mine. She’s so a member of the Bobcat Banter, and she’s probably voted for Finn a thousand times. “Well, well, well. Look what thecatdragged in.”
“I’m just here for coffee,” Finn says quickly, but his eyes haven’t left mine.
“Of course you are, dear.” Mae steps away from me with the grace of a woman half her age. “Ivy, why don’t you get thishandsomeyoung man some coffee while I finish up those cupcakes you were sopassionatelydecorating?”
With that, she disappears back into the kitchen. I shoot my father a look, but he’s helping a couple who seem to have a lot of questions about cupcakes. I flinch when I realize that the man holding the hand of a brunette is none other than Dax Rogers, the starting goalie for the Bobcats.
“He’s a good friend.” Finn steps closer to me. “He’s going to join us on the ice next week.”
My gaze flies back to his. “Why?”
He grins at me like he knows a secret I don’t. “I told him we needed a chaperone.”
“Oh, my—no.” I make the sound of a game show buzzer. “Wrong. Penalty. I’m calling a penalty.”
Finn laughs, and mm, he can’t do that in the presence of my father. He’ll know something is happening between us with one single look.
I dodge away from Finn and move to fill a to-go cup with coffee. When I turn back to him, I find he’s taken a seat at a table in the corner. It’s the smallest one, meant for one person to sit there and nosh on cupcakes while they write in a journal or tap out something on a tiny laptop.
It’s definitely not made for two people to squish around and chat, but that seems to be exactly what Finn wants me to do.
“Do you have any gluten free options?” Dax asks, and I shoot him a look. My father looks like he’s been hit with a bag of almond flour, and Dax gives me a grin that tells me he has more ridiculous questions to ask so Finn and I can…I don’t even know what.
Yes, you do.
I face him again and find him watching me. I join him at the table and squeeze myself onto the bench seat beside him, as there’s no chair to sit opposite him.
“You didn’t text me your address,” he says. “So whatever happens here is on you.”
“Are you joking right now?” I hiss the words at him and then take a sip of his coffee. I so don’t need the caffeine right now, and I practically bolt out of my skin when Finn takes my hand in his under the table.
“Why didn’t you send me your address?” His voice is quiet, wounded almost, and I follow his gaze down to our joined hands. My skin feels like someone’s rubbed popping candy all over it, and the tingles reverberate all the way up into my shoulder, and then along my scalp.
“I—are you serious about this?”
“Look at me, Kitten.”
I raise my eyes to his.
“Do I look like I’m not being serious?”
I shake my head no, because not an ounce of teasing or sarcasm sits anywhere in his expression.
He takes out his phone and sets it on the table. “Okay, then. Take that and put your number in it, please. Then I won’t have to spend an hour going over possible questions my buddy can ask your dad so I can get five minutes alone with you.”
I swipe his phone off the table and do what he’s asked, then hand it back to him. Our eyes meet again, and all the toe picks in the world can’t stop me as I lean toward him.
I can’t believe I’m doing this in the cakery, where my father can see me. Or near the window, where any citizen of Briarwood can walk by, snap a picture, and have Finn and I on the Internet in less than twenty seconds.
But Finn leans toward me too, and all signs indicate he’s going to kiss me. My heart shrieks with anticipation and delight while my brain is still trying to convince me that this isn’t going to happen.
So when his lips touch mine, a spark of surprise shoots through me at the same time a fireworks show starts. His hand migrates into my hair at the back of my head, holding me in a possessive yet gentle grip that I can’t get enough of.
He growls, which is such a tomcat move, but I’m certainly not going to tell him I like it. I think the way I’m kissing him back right there in my dad’s cupcakery does that just fine.
