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I smiled to myself and wrapped my arms tighter around her as we stared off into the distance. “You don’t like those commercials?”
“I mean, they’re fine. But it’s just so stereotypical for this area, you know?”
“Yeah, but stereotypical isn’t always bad.”
“Most places are like this though—”
“They’re most certainly not.”
“What about where you’re from?”
“Illinois?” I glanced around at all the trees and laughed. When I was drafted by the Evergreens, I didn’t think moving a relatively short flight from where I grew up would be such a culture shock. “I mostly stayed inside the ice rink and only ventured out when my parents forced me to, but no, I didn’t grow up around all these trees. Or these hills. At least not like this.”
“Oh,” she murmured.
I rested my chin on her shoulder, careful of how much taller I was so I didn’t hurt her. “How about something more fun?”
She turned, glancing up suspiciously. “Like what?”
“How about random questions? Just what spontaneously pops into your head.”
She smirked and wriggled out of my arms to face me. “That could be fun. You first.”
I tapped my chin and pretended to think, but the only thing that came to my mind was the only thing I’d been able to think about from the moment she got out of her car at the trailhead.
She had stepped out, her curls in a high ponytail, wearing a black tracksuit that hugged her curves. The jacket of it zipped up halfway, giving a delicious frame to the curve of her breasts in a pink shirt.
“Spontaneous, Savage,” she warned. “Quit overthinking it.”
My cock jumped at her use of my nickname. “Alright, Pink—”
“Pink?” She tilted her head.
The way she studied my face entranced me.
I stepped forward and cupped her chin in my hands. “Yes, Pink. If you get to call me Savage, I get to pick a nickname for you.”
“Why Pink?”
“The way you’ve worn pink almost every time I’ve seen you—”
“You’ve only ever seen me three times.”
“Yep, and you’ve worn pink two of those times. That’s almost every time.”
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed as she bit the corner of her mouth.
“And the way your cheeks turn the most alluring shade of pink when I look at you—” I stroked the side of her face and the pink turned to a deeper red. “And because all I can think about is seeing what other shades of pink you’re hiding.”
Her eyes widened, and I held my breath. As a professional athlete, it was easy picking up women. For better or worse, I really didn’t have to try hard if I wanted to hook up with someone.
But with Emily, it was different. There was a connection between us. I had only felt a connection like this with one other person—and that time I had been wrong. This time, I couldn’t be. In an instant, she had become important to me and I couldn’t lose her.
It was a hell of a lot harder shooting my shot with someone when I cared about the outcome. With some random person who my heart wasn’t pulled toward, it didn’t matter if they laughed in my face. But with her, I cared.
I wanted to be myself, but when so many people refused to take me seriously—only seeing me as some dumb jock only good for hitting a puck around—it was hard to know how someone as well-spoken as her would see me and love me for who I was.
And if Sebastian Bardot had a hold on her heart, who was I to think I had a shot? I mean, the guy was a genius in the kitchen and had a way with words that I would never have. Where I was constantly sticking my foot in my mouth, he was careful, methodical, and only spoke when he was sure of what he wanted to say.
