Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (45)
I look up from the floor to find white heels, long brown legs, and the light blue dress hugging every curve. The contrast is striking against her glowing skin. As my gaze slides up, I find the fabric draped off her shoulders, leaving her neck and shoulders exposed. I wonder how good she’d smell if I buried my face there. The thought has me ripping my gaze away so quickly, my pulse jumps.
“You hate it.”
I swallow the thickness in my throat to have the courage to finally look at her face, and it’s the killer. I might have blacked out for a minute there. Her dark hair is waved, so it frames her face along with the earrings that shine almost as bright as her eyes. There’s a brush of pink across her brown skin, and she pulls her glossy lip between her teeth as she waits for my response.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
“I definitely don’t hate it.”
She steps forward, and I can tell my response isn’t enough. Fuck, if she knew what I wanted to say, we would never leave this room. I stand, just because I know seeing her tower over me in those heels won’t be good for my imagination. But my step away from her has her studying me. Her hazel eyes narrow, and a smirk lifts her lips.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. Desperate, needy, fucking insane. There’s too much I want to say, and too much I want to do. With Sage’s gaze lifted up to mine, it feels like a challenge. Like I need to wipe that smirk right off her face, and give her a better use for those perfect lips.
“Don’t be scared, Elias. I don’t bite,” she teases.
I step into her orbit and lean forward to nip her earlobe. “I do.”
Suddenly the teasing note that tinged the air around us turns molten. My gaze settles on her lips for so long that she shifts uncomfortably.
“You look beautiful. Unreal.”
She blinks, long lashes and a dark swipe of color over her eyes making the hazel pop. “Oh,” she squeaks. “In that case you look pretty unreal too.”
I raise a brow. “So, you’re only complimenting me because I complimented you?”
“You know you’re hot, Elias. People beg you on a daily basis to take your shirt off.”
And now I can’t stop fucking smiling.
I don’t know if it’s her intoxicating scent or that we’re finally alone in the apartment, but I tilt my head and say, “Is that what you want to hear, Sage? How hot I think you look in this dress and how much better it would look sliding off your body?”
Her eyes bulge and her lips part, as if her retort gets stuck in her throat, but she recovers quickly.
“Who knew after breaking you out of your shell you’d become such a flirt?” Her words are nonchalant, but the heat that puts a deeper tint on her chest and neck gives her away.
“I guess it just takes the right woman to come along.”
“And I’m the right woman?”
“The perfect one.”
BOUNCING MY LEG only makes my anxiety worse. Any minute now one of the coaches or managers is going to come up to me and realize what an utter failure I’ve been to the team since my arrival. It feels like my stats are printed on my forehead with the way everyone is staring at me. It might all be my anxiety talking, but there is no use trying to convince my brain that everything is okay.
I had attributed the appreciative glances I received on my way inside the venue to having Sage as my date. I mean, the girl is stunning, and her curly styled hair, hazel eyes, and glowing complexion make me look like a plain cardboard cutout in comparison.
And the girl wonders why I buy her fucking flowers. I’d empty an entire flower shop just so she could decide on her favorite.
Tonight, I’m happy to have the attention away from the reality of me as a player. Coach can give me props on my assists and gameplay all day, but as long as that goal isn’t in the net, I’ll always be behind the rest of the team. Marcus Smith-Beaumont’s expectations of me are proven right every single day, and this relationship is my only hope to get on track.
A warm touch melts into my palm, and Sage’s small hand with her pearly manicured nails—that she swore she didn’t want, when I insisted—intertwine with mine on the table.
My leg stops shaking because the concern pinching her brows throws me off. Concern for me.
“Drinks!” Kian and Dylan barrel toward us, putting four shots of some type of colorful alcohol in front of us.
Summer reaches for one, but Aiden puts a hand over hers. “What’s in it?”
“It’s basically juice, stop being a hard-ass,” says Dylan.
Sage chuckles beside me, looking at my two best friends who act like clowns whenever they’re together.
“I’ll take one,” Sage says, surprising me.
“Me too,” says Summer.
Aiden slashes me a look from across the table, clearly giving up on monitoring how much our friends are going to drink tonight. Just like that the four shots lift off the table, clinking together before they are knocked back.
“Amaretto and tequila?” Summer splutters.
“That’s evil,” coughs Sage, gulping down the water I hand her as I’m laughing at her sour expression. When I look to the bar I spot Socket and Owen taking a bottle from the open bar and slipping through the balcony doors. Then my gaze catches on Marcus watching me from across the room, his face giving away nothing but still managing to drop an icicle of dread into my stomach.