Page 16 of Full Tilt
As I inched closer, Jenna’s Angel perfume drove me wild. “Is it because your petty little girlfriends and their husbands don’t like me?”
Keeping her gaze averted, she rolled her eyes. “Your comment insinuates that I can’t make decisions for myself and that I’m easily led by others. I’m not into you, and I’m also not into leading people on when I don’t find them attractive.”
The temptation to pull away was strong, but I maintained our close proximity just so I could relish in the way the hairs on her neck stood up each time my breath fanned her face. This girl was hot as hell, but she was also sorely mistaken if she thought she’d get another chance with me when her friends weren’t around to witness us leaving together.
I didn’t do second chances. My parents could vouch for that.
“I didn’t have you pinned as a stuck-up little princess, more a down-to-earth girl with her head screwed on straight.”
This time, I did pull away, and she immediately turned to look at me. It could’ve just been my imagination, but I swore I saw a hint of regret in those deep blue eyes.
Shame.
“Stuck-up princess?” She cocked her head to one side, annoyance evident. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by your immature response to being turned down. You’re barely out of diapers.”
My hand gripped my pint glass so hard that it was one squeeze away from shattering all over the floor. “I’m far from immature, Jenna.”
I smirked down at her. She was at least five feet eight, but I still towered over her, and I liked that I did. It would be so easy to throw her around the bedroom, and I knew she was into that kind of thing—I could sense it.
“Not that you’ll ever get a chance to find that out.”
She only found my response amusing when she swiped her glass from the table in front of us and started for her friends who hadn’t noticed us talking at the back of the room.
I should’ve let her walk off, but instinct had me wrapping my hand around her upper arm; her soft skin was smooth against my callous palm. I was determined to have the final word. “No one is to know about this conversation, Jenna. You already made one mistake, blowing me off tonight; don’t make another and gossip to your pathetic little friends.”
Even though she didn’t respond, I could tell she’d gotten the message just fine, and I released her with a cocky grin that doubled as a warning. With that, she gave me one last glance before she disappeared and joined the rest of our group.
I crankthe heat higher on the shower until the hot streams of water threaten to scold my skin.
Another day, another unwelcome flashback of a night I should’ve forgotten fucking months ago. I might as well get a transcript of the conversation inked into my body since my mind refuses to let it go.
It’s been a week since I snatched Jenna’s drink and pulled her to the side in Lloyd’s Bar, warning how I could make her life hell. At the time, I was convinced her smug smile was to hide the way I intimidated her, but now—as I lean against the shower wall in the locker room—I’m starting to think the only person suffering is me. Maybe I did a bad job at hiding my attraction to her and she could tell.
My dick bobs just below my navel, determined to remind me that despite my hatred for Jenna Miller, I would still destroy her body, given half a chance.
Her voice annoys the shit out of me, chipping away at my patience with its high-pitched tone. I could silence her so easily, make her gag as I pushed right to the back of her throat. Words would fail her when I slammed her against a wall and buried my cock deep inside her needy pussy, ripping the air clean from her lungs.
“Fuck me. Are you trying to have a shower or a fucking sauna in here?” Jack’s voice permeates my thoughts, quickly followed by a hard knock against my shower stall door.
“Easing my aching muscles after an intense practice. You should try it sometime.” I reach over the door and grab my towel, wrapping it around my waist as—mercifully—my dicksoftens. “Working hard, that is … although a shower would probably help you too.” I pull the door open and find my captain standing on the other side.
Fully dressed, he folds his arms across his chest, his lips pressed into a thin line. He’s trying to rise above my gibes and failing miserably.
I release a laugh on his behalf and push past him.
“I’m not here by choice,” Jack calls after me, and I stop before exiting the room. “I need to talk to you about the upcoming away series in Boston.”
I motion down my dripping wet body. “What part of my current state makes you think this is an ideal time to go through our schedule? I have it all on email anyway.”
Jack steps toward me, trying to keep his temper. He’s hated my guts since the day I walked onto this team, determined not to give me a chance. My best guess is, his initial issue had to do with the hit my dad had put on Zach Evans way before either of us was playing pro hockey. At least now—in my second season with the Blades—I’ve given him a more valid reason to curse the ice I skate on. I’m a way better player than he thought I would be when I got traded, and that realization eats away at him. I might be on a warning with the GM, but I’m still picked to start most games, and today, I killed it in practice.
All the guys on this team want a happy little hockey family with no issues, where they can crawl up each other’s asses. If your face fits in the locker room, then they’re willing to accept mediocrity on the ice. Half the guys on this team are yes men who should be in the AHL.
I’m the opposite of that, and my golden retriever captain hates it.
“I couldn’t give a fuck about your current state, Tommy. I want to go home to my wife. I’m not about to wait for you tofinish up on your unnecessarily long shower while you chew over your average practice session.”
I smirk at him and his bullshit.
