Page 50 of False Play
Oh. Right, okay.
“When I’m flirting, you’ll know.”
She let out a disbelieving laugh. “So, this isn’t you flirting?”
“Nope.”
“Good to know, I guess.”
“You sound disappointed.” God, I hoped she was. I hoped that deep down, she wanted some of my attention. Because I was desperate for hers.
She scoffed. “You wish.”
I let out a knowing chuckle. “Any more rules?”
She shook her head. “We should sign a contract.”
I looked at her, dumbfounded. “What?”
“Write down the rules on a piece of paper and sign it,” she said.
I could practically hear Donovan and Hayes laughing in the back of my head. This was turning out to be too similar to the books Donovan’s wife read. We were a cliché rom-com in the making.
“Or we can be normal adults and follow the rules,” I countered with a weak laugh.
She grabbed a piece of pepperoni and ate it while shooting me a knowing look. “I’d rather have a binding contract so you don’t get any ideas.”
“Ideas? Me?” I tilted my head, voice light. “I wouldnever.”
Her laugh was sharp before she took a bite of her pizza and shook her head in disbelief.
“I’ll sign whatever you want. But I have some stipulations of my own,” I said then frowned slightly, not knowing where the fuck that came from.
Stipulations? What the fuck are you talking about right now?
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do I have the feeling I’m going to hate whatever you’re about to propose?”
I smirked. “I want us to go on a date once a week, as long as my schedule allows it.” She tried to speak, but I placed my forefinger on her lips and shushed her. “We need to sell this to the public, Kenny. You know how much scrutiny I’m under. If they catch wind of this being fake, we’ll be fucked. We should also go to every work event together, of course.”
I couldn’t believe I was listening to my idiotic friends.
But it sounded fun and harmless. I’d never dated. I didn’t have to when women practically jumped my bones anywhere I went. Buying them a drink or two was as far as I’d gone to hook up with someone. It made me sound like an asshole—believe me, I was aware—but that was the typical dating life of a professional hockey player.
“You called me Kenny,” she whispered, stunned.
My finger still hovered over her lips, and the way her warm breath hit my digit had me taking a sharp inhale. I could practically feel the puff of air on my cock.
Damn. I needed to get laid. Since when did a trickle of breath turn me on?
A lazy smile pulled at my lips. “Don’t get it twisted. I’ll still be calling you Jonesy from time to time. Just because I love keeping you on your toes.”
That comment won me a glare and a swat of my hand. “You’re lucky I didn’t pinch you. Don’t ever shush me again.”
I faked a shiver. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“You have a masochist kink or something?” she asked, amusement lacing her tone.
Only for you, I almost blurted but held back the answer. Instead, I said, “I like to have fun in bed. Don’t you?”
