A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She wipes her hand against her skirt and sticks it out.
“I’m Sabrina James. I’ve heard all the jokes about being a witch, and no, I am not hung up on Dean Di Laurentis.”
I take her hand in mine and use the contact to pull her an inch closer to me. It’s baby steps with this one.
“John Tucker. Glad to hear it, but you should know that Dean is like a brother to me. We’ve had each other’s backs on the ice for four years, lived together for three of them, and I plan to stand up at his wedding and hope he does the same at mine. That said, he’s my friend, not my daddy.”
“Wait, you’re getting married?” she says in confusion.
It’s kind of amusing that out of everything I said, that’s the bit she’s harping on. I smooth a hand down the outside of her arm and loosely circle her wrist with my fingers. “In the future, darlin’。 In the future.”
“Oh.” She picks up her beer and then puts it down when she sees it’s empty. “Wait. You want to get married?”
“Eventually.” I chuckle at her astonishment. “Not today, but yeah, one day I want to be married and have a kid or three. You?”
The bartender comes by, and I nudge another twenty in his direction.
But Sabrina shakes her head. “I’m driving. One beer is my limit.”
I order us waters instead, and he’s back in a flash with two tall glasses.
The lights flicker again, sending a jolt of urgency to my gut. I’m going to have to close this deal soon or lose out entirely.
“Thanks,” she says as she sips the water. “And, no. I don’t see myself having kids or a husband in the near future. Besides, I thought you hockey players liked to play the field.”
“At some point, even the great ones retire.” I smirk over the top of my glass.
She laughs. “All right. I’ll give you that. So what’s your major, John?”
“Tucker. Everyone calls me Tucker or Tuck. And it’s business admin.”
“So you can manage all your hockey money?”
I still haven’t let go of her wrist, and with each exchange, I’m eliminating all the distance between us.
“Nope.” I nod toward my knee. “I’m too slow for the pros. I got banged up in high school. I’m good enough for a scholarship here, but I know my limits.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” There’s true regret in her voice.
Dean’s a fool. This girl is as sweet as they come. I can’t wait to get my mouth on her.
And my hands.
And my teeth.
And my hard-as-steel cock.
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
I slide my arm along the bar until Sabrina’s essentially standing in the circle of my arms. Her feet are tucked between mine, and if I shift my hips slightly forward, I’ll be able to make the contact my body is dying for. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all the years I’ve played hockey, it’s that patience is rewarded. You don’t take an immediate shot when your stick gets the puck. You wait for the right opening.
“I never really wanted it,” I add. “And I think it’s one of those things you have to really want to pursue.”
And then she gives it to me. The opening. “So what do you want these days?”
“You,” I answer baldly.
Two things happen. The lights go out completely and she nearly drops her glass. The jukebox dies out and suddenly the bar seems way too quiet. Around us are a few shrieks of laughter, a few shouts of dismay.
“Keep your pants on, children,” one of the bartenders yells. “We’re going to see what’s going on. Generator should kick in any second.”
As if on cue, a humming noise fills the air and then a dim glow of light illuminates the crowded room.
“You still thirsty?” I ask, stroking the inside of her wrist with long, gentle strokes. Up toward the inner elbow and back down to the wrist. Repeat. Again and again and again.
Her gaze drops to our joined hands and widen as if she just now realizes we’ve been touching for the last ten minutes or so. I lean in close and brush my nose against the outer edge of her earlobe, filling my lungs with her spicy scent.
I could stand here all day. There’s something great about drawing out the anticipation until it’s nearly painful. It makes the release all the more explosive. I have a feeling that sex with Sabrina James will blow my mind.
I can’t fucking wait.
After taking a deep breath, one that pushes her perfect tits into my chest, she eases back—not too far, but enough to create a sliver of distance.