Page 12 of Truce: Declan
I'm easy to read when it comes to Jasmine. It's a short story, simple, and doesn't have a happy ending, which isn't entirely bad since I have a beautiful woman sitting across from me on the sofa.
"You don't want to hear it," I say, sparing her the details.
"Sure, I do," Charlotte says and scoots closer. She rests a hand on my lap. "We all have a past. Lay it on me. What's your baggage?"
She has the power to calm me in a way I never knew possible. I exhale a soft breath. "I fell for her when the NHL drafted me. We hooked up. Hung out. Dated exclusively, or what I thought was exclusively, and then she ghosted me. I assumed she couldn't handle the pressure of the spotlight until I saw on the news that she married another hockey player. It's a pretty short story."
"Damn. Does he still play hockey?" Charlotte asks. She gives me that slight head tilt which I find absolutely adorable. Her gaze is on me, never wavering.
"Yeah, he's with the Island Bruisers."
"What's his name?" she asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Grant Brass. You've probably never heard of him. He's always in the penalty box or benched for shady shit that he does on the ice."
There's a flicker in her gaze. The name clearly does mean something to her, but as quickly as I see the recognition, the flash of familiarity, it vanishes.
"And you haven't spoken with your ex-girlfriend since?" she asks.
"No, I certainly wasn't invited to the wedding three months after we broke up."
"Ouch. Not that you'd want to attend the event, but three months sounds like a shotgun wedding," Charlotte says.
"Enough about her." I reach for Charlotte's hands and place our wine glasses on the table before dragging her into my lap. "What about you?"
"What about me?" she asks, her voice soft and musing while she straddles my hips. Her fingers comb through my hair, caressing my scalp and neck. "I'm an open book. Ask me anything."
"Anything," I repeat, the words momentarily lost on me. I wouldn't even know what to ask her.
There's a stillness, a quiet from the night that surrounds us. The storm has passed.
"Have you ever been in love?" I ask. It's an easy question but a difficult answer to hear. I'm not sure why I want to hear about her past. Maybe she doesn't feel any stroke of jealousy, but I can't say the same.
Charlotte smiles and shakes her head, carefree. "Never. I'm saving my heart for the right person."
I chuckle at her words. "Saving your heart?"
"Well, I'm not a virgin," Charlotte muses.
I try not to choke on my wine at her admission. She's bold and outspoken. I like that about her. That's not the only thing I like. I am a man, and my cock keeps reminding me that she's the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on.
"Do you want to watch the rest of the movie?" she asks, reaching for the remote.
For a moment, I think I might get a reprieve until she starts the flick back up, and I inwardly groan.
"I swear if you're trying to friend zone me—"
"I'm not. We can pick something else to watch," she says and hands me the remote control. The gesture feels domestic, and I take a second to shake the cobwebs from my head.
I don't do domestic.
I don't date women. Well, I grab drinks, sleep with them, and then generally move on to the next one. Long-term commitment is not a part of my vocabulary after Jasmine. Neither is spending the night or staying over. I've already stayed longer with Charlotte than any other girl, except for my ex.
"Or we could do something else," Charlotte says, shifting on the sofa, resting her hand on my chest as she gazes at me suggestively.
A wry smile crosses my features. "Something else," I say, pondering her words. "What did you have in mind?" I'd bet my life savings thatsomething elseis code for sex, but I like dragging it out with her.
The teasing and flirting is a new kind of foreplay that I find entertaining. I'm used to the ladies coming up to me, making it known they want to fuck, and then leaving after a wild romp in the sheets.
