Page 40 of Behind the Net

Her mouth slides into a rueful smile. “I don’t want to get back on the ice,” she whispers, nose wrinkling. Even in the dim light, her freckles are so pretty. “I’m scared of getting hit again.”

This moment in my kitchen feels like we’re the only people on the planet. In the back of my mind, a warning bell rings, but I ignore it. I’ll deal with that later. Right now, Pippa needs me.

I give her a squeeze. “You can do it. I got back on the ice, and it was okay. Remember when my mom had a panic attack? You nailed it, songbird. You did everything right. You’re tough as nails deep down, I know it.”

Her brow rises. “Songbird?”

I didn’t mean to call her that—it just slipped out. It’s perfect for her, though. “Mhm.”

She bites her bottom lip. She wants to do it. I know she does.

“Tell you what.” I give her arms another squeeze while I study the blue of her eyes. “Half a song. That’s all.”

The long line of her throat moves as she swallows, gaze locked on mine like I’m a life raft. I want to be that for her.

I let her go and straighten up. “Come on.” My tone has turned authoritative. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” Her eyebrows go sky-high. “Like, right now?”

“Yep.” I stride to the couch and drop down, slinging an arm over the back. “Now.”

Her gaze lingers on me on the couch, on my abs, my pecs, my arms, and for a brief moment—my crotch. My dick twitches with interest, and there’s a pulse of something hot low in my gut.

Let her look all she wants.

“Quit stalling.”

“You’re so bossy,” she says, shaking her head as she disappears up the stairs to get her guitar. She says it in a resigned way, but there’s something else in her voice. Something amused by my bossiness.

I lean back and lace my hands behind my head, and when she returns, guitar in hand, she stops short at the sight of me.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Can you put a shirt on?”

Her gaze snags on my stomach, and I feel like smiling again. I know what I look like. “Why?”

I know why, but I don’t care. Watching my pretty assistant get flustered is fun.

She gives me a flat look and gestures at my torso and arms. “All of that.”

There’s a pressure in my chest, warm and crackling, like laughter. My mouth hitches into a smirk. “No.”

“Stubborn, too,” she mutters, and I smile at her.

She freezes, watching my face with a funny look. Like awe or something.

“What?”

“You’re smiling.” Her pretty lips curve into her own smile. Her gaze roams my face, and my skin prickles with awareness.

Suddenly, I want her a lot closer. In my lap. Straddling me, maybe. Her hands in my hair, and mine in hers.

She tucks her chin down, cheeks going pink again. “Alright, Jamie Streicher. Your smile makes me feel like playing.” She takes a deep breath and strums. The opening notes ring out.

She starts to sing, and something in my chest locks into place.

CHAPTER20

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