Page 15 of Penalty Kiss
Then, without warning, she pushes her hands hard against my chest and jumps back.
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other. Her lips are swollen from my kiss, her eyes wide with something that looks like wonder. Like she's just discovered fire.
Breathless, shocked at her own boldness.
"Thank you," she says but her voice is full of regrets. "For... for everything."
And then she runs.
"Wait," I call after her, but she keeps going. Literally running away, her sneakers slapping against pavement as she disappears into the night.
Leaving me standing in a dark alley, hardenough to dent the boardsand completely stunned.
I lean against the brick wall, trying to catch my breath and make sense of what just happened. My body is still humming with arousal, my lips still tingling from her kiss, and my brain—my poor, concussion-rattled brain—is trying to file this under "real memory" instead of "extremely vivid hallucination."
I stare after her, trying to process the last five minutes. Did I just get the best kiss of my life from a complete stranger? Did she just disappear into the night like some kind of sexy runaway Cinderella?
I look down at the very obvious problem in my jeans and laugh—actually laugh out loud in an empty alley like the concussed idiot I apparently am.
"Well," I tell the brick wall, "that's one way to welcome a guy to town."
Just wish the welcoming committee stick around for a while.
I adjust myself as best I can and head back to where I left the convertible, my brain trying and failing to categorize what just happened.
The woman was in trouble. I helped. She thanked me with a kiss that rewrote my understanding of human biology. She ran away.
Simple enough, except nothing about it feels simple.
Great, listen to me. I sound like one of those shirtless-man-romance-paperbacks my teammateMarcus's wife won’t stop shoving in his gym bag. Fate, forbidden love, happily-ever-after.
Throw me into the penalty box if I start brooding.
The drive to Sugar Mill Lofts is a special kind of torture. Every bump in the road is a reminder of exactly how aroused I still am, and my brain keeps replaying the kiss on an endless loop—her taste, her sounds, the way she felt pressed against me.
Lily left the keys under a flower pot—small town trust that would give my city friends hives.
The lobby is empty, which is a blessing because I'm still sporting enough of an erection to embarrass myself and anyone unfortunate enough to encounter me. I take the stairs two at a time, my body humming with leftover adrenaline and arousal, and let myself into the unit Lily prepared for me.
It's perfect. Clean lines, exposed brick, furniture that looks expensive without trying too hard. The kind of space that says, "adult recovering from brain trauma" instead of "hockey player who collects speeding tickets and inappropriate text messages."
But I barely see it. All I can think about is her. The taste of her mouth. The sound she made when I pulled her against me. The way she felt in my arms, like she belonged there.
Did she tell me her name?
I drop my duffel bag and head straight for the bathroom, stripping out of my clothes with hands that are still unsteady. The shower is one of those walk-in deals with about six different spray settings, and I crank the water to just shy of scalding.
The cut over my eyebrow stings slightly—a reminder that I'm supposed to be taking it easy, not rescuing strangers and making out in alleys like some kind of romantic comedy hero.
Under the hot spray, I finally let myself process what happened.
She recognized me from Lily’s van. Which means she's local, or at least familiar enough with Cedar Falls to know about Sugar Jar delivery service. The way she kissed me—like she was starving for it, like she'd been thinking about it—suggests she likes me.
The thought makes me harder, which I didn't think was physically possible.
This small-town jogger just ruined me for every woman on the planet. My brain might be concussed, but my dick has perfect clarity—it's already planning the wedding.
I wrap my hand around my cock and immediately have to brace my other hand against the shower wall. I’m so hard it’s painful. Even my own touch feels like too much. But I need this. Need the release, need to work through the images flooding my brain.
