Page 23 of Same Time Next Year

“That kiss made you horny, didn’t it?”

“Why do hockey players have to be so blunt?”

“Have you seen a hockey net? There is barely a sliver of daylight between it and the goalie. You can’t hesitate when you see opportunities. There is never time for finesse. Hence the tendency to be blunt.”

“That’s a game. This is real life.”

“You’re right, I’d use a lot of finesse with you, if given the opportunity.” My head falls back, the agony in my nether regions still very much alive and kicking. “But there wouldn’t be any finesse tonight, believe me. I’d probably snap your headboard in half.”

She moans.

The very distinct sound cuts through the crowd and pops my head up like rye bread in a toaster. Is that a tremble flowing through her thighs? What is going on with her? Sure, I’m going through hell, but we stopped kissing a few minutes ago, and she’s still out of breath. Sure, the swimsuit edition in the trash was a strong hint that Britta is attracted to me, but something more specific is going on here.

“It turns you on to know I’m one stroke from blowing up, doesn’t it?”

Pink drenches her cheeks.“Sumner.”

“Tell me I’m right.” I reach over and settle a hand on her thigh, even though it makes my situation worse. “You love that I’m down bad, don’t you?”

“I-I don’t know. This kind of thing has never turned me on before.”

“It’s okay that it does. I’m just wondering why.”

Eyes downcast, she starts to answer and stops. “I don’t know.”

I turn slightly and lower my mouth to her shoulder, kissing the soft skin beside the strap of her dress. “Because you’re the only one I get hungry for. And you know it.”

Her hips twisting sensually in the seat. When she attempts a laugh, it’s shaky. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

That sentiment is still hanging in the air when the house lights in the arena drop even lower, and everyone stands, screaming. The headliner is walking out onto the stage, guitar in hand, his backup band throwing themselves into the first song. It’s rock music, but it’s a little smoky, with a drumbeat in the rhythm of a heartbeat. A lot of bass.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.

Those words continue to ring in my head. I’d never consider myself seductive. Not on my best day. Seduction is for women, isn’t it? It’s for Britta. Not a giant, like me. Her very existence is seductive. No one has ever used that word to describe a six-foot-five hockey player. But I remind myself of the swimsuit edition she threw away. I think of the way she kissed me. I hear her moaning over the fact that I’m stiff as nails. And I start to wonder if I might be able to seduce her after all.

On a scale from one to ten, how much heartache would that cause me?

They don’t have a scale big enough to measure it. Because sex wouldn’t change the fact that she doesn’t want a real relationship.

She’d hold her ground. And I’d want to put myselfinthe ground.

Britta takes a few minutes to drain her drink before finally standing, like the rest of the crowd. Her movements are fluid and sensual, her hands smoothing extra slowly down the front of her dress, palms sliding over the curves of her ass, presumably to get out the wrinkles.

Lord have mercy.

Before I can ask her why she hates me, a new song comes on that sends the audience into a tailspin. A hit, maybe? Britta seems to like it if throwing her arms up over her head is anyindication. The way she begins to circle her hips without moving the upper half of her body rekindles the fire in my stomach that we stoked earlier with that kiss. She tips back her head, and light from the stage spills over the smooth curve of her throat, her cleavage, those hips still working, grinding. And her hands in the air means her skirt is too high on her thighs for my sanity. When she moves a certain way, I can see the outline of her thong through the material, and my dick throbs in response.

I’m sure this makes me a caveman, but I do not like other men seeing her like this. With that blissful look on her face, her hips moving like they might if she was riding somebody. A hot streak of jealousy moves my feet before I register my own actions, and I position myself behind Britta, blocking her from the rest of the mezzanine. And that might handle some of the jealousy, but now I’m looking right down at that ass, that thong outline so close to my dick, her smooth, exposed back, and my hunger elevates to a dire level.

I put a possessive hand on her hip, just in case people haven’t figured out who she came with and who she’s leaving with. “Whose seducing who now?” I say, just above the curve of her neck, inhaling her cherry-lime scent, my hand beginning to massage her hip.

God, I want to fuck her so bad.

“I’m dancing, Sum.” She blinks up at me over her shoulder with mock innocence. “If I was seducing you, you’d know it.”

I grip her other hip and drag her backward a step, groaning when the tight curve of her ass presses flush against my lap. My cock. “You’ve been seducing me for almost two years, whether you meant to or not.” Those last few words are uttered through gritted teeth because she’s still dancing, giving me all this mind-blowing friction, her flimsy skirt riding up against my denimfly. A standing lap dance that I’m probably not going to survive. “You’re being cruel, sweetheart.”

“No one is forcing you to stand there and take it.”

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