Page 99 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“Gray,” I whisper.
Hot green eyes. Lips brushing over mine. “Hate it,” he says firmly then lifts his head. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”
“Then what?—”
“The game.” He nuzzles at my throat, lips brushing over my skin. “I know you’re still not the biggest hockey fan, but I’d love it if you would come watch.” A kiss that has me shivering, my hands plunging into his hair, holding him close. “I’d make it worth your while, baby,” he says earnestly, “I promise.”
It feels so good to have him close like this I’m having a hard time focusing on his words.
“I know you will,” I say, arching against him, trying to turn his head so I can kiss him.
He takes my mouth in a flash of tongue and teeth, leaving me breathless and limp and…slow to register the note of desperation in his words.
Of worry.
His lips trail to my ear, his tongue flicking out and making me shiver. “Come to the game, Red.”
The game.
Why had I wanted to avoid the game again?
It’s hard to remember now—with him so close, with his mouth on my skin, with his hands running over my body, lightly teasing my curves, drawing me flush against him.
“Okay.”
Triumph in his eyes…until his phone rings.
We both still.
“Ignore it,” he mutters, fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, trailing up my side.
“You can’t be late,” I protest, though it’s more sigh than words since his tongue is flicking out to taste the sensitive spot behind my ear again.
He spins me, bracing my hands against the counter. “We have plenty of time.”
The phone cuts off.
Then immediately starts up again.
“Just answer it,” I say, breaths coming in rapid gusts, “so we can get back to?—”
A wicked grin as he snags his phone from the counter, swipes across the screen.
“Hell—”
“What the fuck are you doing, Gray?” Courtney snaps.
His hand drops away from my body and he steps back so quickly I waver on my feet.
Shame. Worry. Desperation. Hurt.
It spurs me into motion and I jab at his cell, immediately silence the next call that comes through.
Then block her number—a new one, I see, since the last time she’s called.
Meanwhile Gray’s turned into a statue, his gaze averted, the only thing that makes him appear slightly human the flickering muscle in his jaw.
“That’s why I don’t want to go to the game,” I whisper.
