Page 29 of Shiver
My lips press together, but I don’t open my eyes. I’d like to say I could justify my anger at that. He saw it and kept it from me. But then again, how many others have told me the same thing, and I got mad at them?!
“I wouldn’t have believed you,” I manage to get out, hating the truth in my words. I’m a stupid stupidhead.
“I know,” he says. “I was actually contemplating how to make you physically see what she was up to without being involved.” His voice is closer to my ear when he murmurs, “Not because I wanted to hurt you, but because you’re better than that. You deserve better than that.”
His words send chills down my back, though I don’t know why.
“Thanks,” I say. “This is probably the best way to find out.” Then I laugh harshly. “That just sounds stupid.”
His fingers dig into my skull slightly, and I stop laughing. It doesn’t hurt. It feels good enough that I almost moan. But I’m embarrassing myself enough right now by being a weak, pathetic crybaby who has a cheating girlfriend that I determinedly ignored the warning signs of. Fuck, I outright ignored being told about.
“I was so pissed when I saw her hands on you,” I whisper. “But maybe I wasn’t pissed for the right reasons.”
His fingers don’t stop. Don’t hesitate. “Why were you pissed?” he asks quietly.
We’re interrupted whenanotherknock on his door stops the conversation. “Jeezus,” I mutter. “Are you selling drugs now?”
Rake chuckles as he pulls his hand away. I pout at his back, this time watching as he heads to the door. It opens. He takes a paper bag from the man on the other side and closes it again. I track him to the kitchenette, where he stuffs it into the fridge.
Then he’s on his way back to me, his dark eyes on mine. “Actually,” he says when he’s at my side again. This time, I’ve shifted so I can continue to see his face. His long fingers return to my hair and I find it hard to catch my breath. His small smile makes my stomach flip. “I’d planned to feed you full of shit, entertain you with the television, and then make your ass run on the treadmill downstairs to work off all the carbs I fed you.”
My eyes widen slightly. “The door?”
His smile widens a little. It’s never a full smile. Nothing big like he’s happy. But it’s probably as big as I’ve ever seen it. “For you. I scheduled deliveries throughout the evening. To celebrate your win.”
My chest tightens as I look at him. I get a sudden urge to pull him closer. Actually, I find the urge is too much to ignore and my hand is fisted in his shirt.
Rake watches me, keeping his eyes locked with mine. Hand still moving soothingly through my hair as I grip his shirt tightly. My lips part, but I have no words.
When’s the last time someone has ever done something like this for me? Forme?“I didn’t even score last night,” I whisper.
He chuckles. “You were still amazing last night, Egon. You’re one of the best, if notthe best,on the team.”
His words wash through my system like warm honey, settling in my core. Making my heart pound and my cock twitch. I force in a shaky breath as I continue to be locked in his gaze, unable to look away. When he says things like that…
“I was pissed,” I whisper, “because she was touching you. I’d have been angry if I’d seen her with someone else. Buttouching you…” I can’t finish. Because I don’t understand the words that would follow.
You’re mine.
ELEVEN
EGON
At the fourth delivery,I force myself out of Rake’s bed. I’d love to stay right there with his hand in my hair as I hold him close, but I can see it’s going to get weird. Not him being weird. Me being a fucking lunatic.
I scowl at my jeans when I pick them up. While they’re not dress pants that I’m forced to wear for game days, they’re not as comfortable as shorts, the only other type of clothing I own. Before I can make myself step into them, Rake hands me a pair of sweats.
“Thanks,” I say, dropping my jeans and my gaze.
“Mhm.”
I slip into them, keenly aware that I’m wearing his clothing. Which is ridiculous. I’ve worn other guys’ clothes before. I’m a messy hockey player. Spilling or forgetting a change isn’t new. But I’m keenly aware of the fact that I’m wearingRake’s sweatpants.
That he’s worn.
Okay, maybe I’m a little more messed up over Temca than I want to let on. Or maybe I’m going to lie to myself that I’m messed up over Temca, so I don’t have to concentrate on what the hell is really happening in my head.
He’s mine.
