Page 38 of Dirty Pucking Player

One of his sandy eyebrows wings up. “You drank with your father?”

I laugh as he hands me the glass. “Sort of. When I was old enough, he would let me take a sip of his drink, probably because he thought the burn would deter me. But it kind of backfired on him. I actually liked it.”

“A woman who can play hockey, coach it, and drinks scotch?” He presses his free hand over his heart and settles into the couch next to me. “My dream woman in the flesh.”

A hot flush spreads across my cheeks, and I take a sip to hide it. Alcohol does the same thing, and I’d much rather Bash think it’s because of the booze instead of the compliment. But he saw it, and even if he hadn’t, he knows how women react to him. How I react.

He’s used his looks and charm to get into the pants of many women over the years. I have no doubt. That probably makes me stupid for being here and thinking this is any different. But it feels different with Bash. It has since the first time he winked at me and grabbed his crotch.

My anger morphed into something else, and the way he looks at me suggests it has for him, too.

I take a sip of my drink. His friend has great taste. “You know this is dangerous.”

He raises an eyebrow at me and takes a sip of his drink. “What is? Having scotch?”

Smartass.

“This.” I wave between the two of us.

“I thought we were past all that. If we aren’t, then why are you here?”

I clasp the glass between my hands and squeeze. “I don’t know what’s happening here.”

He leans forward and sets his glass on the coffee table in front of us then shifts on the cushion to face me. “Yes, you do. You’re here because you feel the same thing I do. There’s something here. Something between us pulling us together. Something more than our heated tempers.”

I shake my head. “I’m not saying there isn’t, Bash. I just want to know if I’m risking my career just to be another notch on your hockey stick.”

He frowns and opens his mouth, but a knock at the door interrupts him. It may have saved him from saying something I don’t want to hear, something I may need to hear.

I should go.

The longer I stay, the more the temptation to act on this attraction is going to grow. It’s inevitable. The only way to escape it is to leave and stay far, far away from Bash Fury. I need space. Somewhere I can think. Somewhere I can’t be influenced by his panty-melting grin.

But I don’t want to leave. Not really. Not when I consider what I’d be doing if I were at home.

Thinking about Bash Fury.

I’ve had time since our first kiss to consider what it means, what it will mean if things go further. And I keep coming to the same conclusion—I can’t avoid my attraction to Bash. Even if I tried to keep things professional between us, this kind of pull would continue until we collide with potentially catastrophic consequences.

He shoves to his feet. “Time to eat.”

I release a shaky breath.

Thank God for the momentary reprieve.

But it is only momentary.

He and I are going to have to come to some sort of understanding—one way or the other.

* * *

BASH

Who would’ve thought watching somebody eat could be an erotic experience?

Certainly not me. But with every bite Greer has taken, my dick has twitched and grown so much, my pants now feel like they’re three sizes too small.

I reach down and surreptitiously adjust my semi.

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