Page 34 of Rule 5: Never Crush on the Captain
Evan is kissing me. His arms hold me, as if I’m something precious, and his mouth explores me. Lust surges through me, overwhelming my initial confusion.
I’m not going to stop him.
I’m not going to think about all the reasons why this is a super bad idea.
I’m just going to...enjoy.
And so, I do.
Our lips dance together, then I feel his tongue. My cells jump, my nerves rejoice. Everything is different and new and better.
I move my fingers along his back, ascertaining it’s him. His broad shoulders, his heat, his muscular frame.
Then he draws back.
Right.
Of course, he was going to pull back. Did he really initiate the kiss? Or is it my imagination? I try to remember, but my mind is fuzzy, as if I’m the person who just hit his head.
And oh God, Evan hit his head. I’m taking advantage of him.
He unzips the tent flap.
Shame surges through me. “I’m sorry—”
“Why?” Confusion ripples through his voice, then he grasps hold of my hand. “Let’s move this to a room with a lock.”
“Oh.” I stare at him. I can see him better now that the tent flap is open. He doesn’t look upset. In fact, he looks—
“Let’s go.” He pulls me up. We rush toward the steps, then I copy his tiptoe pace as we ascend the staircase.
Finally, we reach his room. He shoves me inside, then locks the door. Then our lips, our mouth, our hands are on each other again.
Evan is as tall as I am. I’ve never been with anyone who matches me in height. I’ve never been with anyone male, anyone with whom I’m not pretending. Pretending this is great, pretending I’m enjoying myself, all the while wondering...what if. What if I were clutching a man, if a hard chest were pressed against mine instead of a soft bosom?
I don’t hook up with women anymore, even though the temporary rotation of puck bunnies during away games seemed happy about the experience.
It’s been years since I’ve touched...anyone.
And now I’m touching the person I care about the most.
My heart zings and patters. It’s about to explode.
I move my hand through his hair, and it’s short and spiky, not long and glossy. It’s him. It’s really him. Just like the image I pretended for so long not to admire.
His kiss is strong and forceful. Whatever is happening between us affects us both. I let him lead me to the bed, then let him crawl over me. His legs straddle either side of me, and he unbuttons the flannel pajama top that he lent me.
He stops our kiss and lifts me up to tear off the pajama top. “This okay?”
“Yeah.”
He grins, then continues to kiss me. It’s amazing but...
“I don’t understand,” I say.
He hesitates.
“You don’t seem surprised,” I say.
