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“How do you think I feel, watching all the women traipsing after King Ollie, just begging for a taste?” I glance to the side to avoid his gaze. “I’m preparing myself for the day I come down the hallway at Cheerz to see you in the back with some girl on her knees in front of you.”
He pinches my chin between his thumb and finger and slowly turns my head toward him. There’s an arrogant smirk on his face, and his eyes have darkened a shade or two. “The only girl I want on her knees for me, Mads … is you.”
“I want my face to be the one you see when I break you apart.”
“But it goes both ways,” he murmurs, creeping closer until his lips hover in front of mine. He leaves me aching for so much more. “I’m fully prepared to get on my knees for you too.”
Why is the image of him, the hockey god, on his knees in front of me—for me—such an intoxicating thought? Probably because Ollie bows to no one.
He finally kisses me, but it isn’t as deep or as long as I’m wanting. And I wonder if this is what love is … want and desire, tangled with a loss of control and a sense of desperation.
Love.
I shiver at the thought even though it’s still so warm out that my skin has a light sheen of sweat across it.
Does being knee deep in affection mean craving this person so much that the thought of him touching or kissing or even thinking about another woman is enough to drive me insane? The push-pull of wanting him so close that I’m practically suffocating on his skin, only to shove him away when the intensity of it is too much to handle. I’ve never been this untethered, this out of control. I love it as much as I hate it. My feelings for Ollie are passionate and consuming. They’re terrifying and smothering. Because I suddenly sense that he’s the oxygen I breathe and I can’t survive without him.
Ollie pulls away from me as all my demons linger to haunt my thoughts. He starts the engine.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he backs out of the parking spot and drives onto the main street.
“You’ll see,” he says cryptically.
I lean back in my seat and enjoy the warm air swirling around the open cab as the vehicle picks up speed. I glance over and watch as the streetlights play over Ollie’s features while he concentrates on driving. He follows the road out of the town and onto the two-lane highway. With the radio humming in the background and the wind raging around us, we drift farther away from the small college town. He finally pulls off on a dirt road with plenty of ruts in the ground.
“Where are we?” I ask, grabbing the bar to steady myself as the Bronco climbs over the uneven terrain.
“Chase’s dad bought this land. He’s building a house on top of the hill.”
The incline becomes steeper as we keep climbing. When we finally round a bend, the foundation and framing of a new structure can be seen on top of the small mountain.
“Wow,” I breathe out, removing my seat belt when we come to a stop. I stand to look over the windshield. “This view is amazing.”
The surrounding land is rural and stretches as far as the eye can see. The city lights are twinkling in the distance, and there are a million stars shining overhead, lighting the dark sky.
“The house is going to be too,” Ollie comments, climbing out of his seat to walk over to the structure.
I follow him. The house is still in the very early stages of building, but the individual rooms are framed out and pipes are protruding from the concrete base where the plumbing will go. I swing around a cedar plank, careful not to get a splinter in my hand. My sneakers slide across the smooth concrete, layered with red dirt.
“I’m going to build a house one day,” Ollie dreams.
His eyes have a faraway look in them. I want a glimpse inside his head so I know exactly what he’s thinking right now.
“With the kind of cash you’re going to make,” I say, “you could build a house ten times this size.”
“I don’t need a mansion,” he murmurs. “Just a place to lay my head.”
“Do you have a place in Chicago yet?” I ask, ignoring the way my heart rate ratchets up at the thought of him moving away.
We haven’t talked about it. I haven’t brought it up on purpose. If I avoid mentioning it, maybe I can pretend it isn’t going to happen soon. But I realize it’s inevitable whether I acknowledge the next step in his career or not. We’re living on borrowed time.
“Not really,” he says distractedly.
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and walks to the edge of the cliff. I drift behind him until we’re standing next to each other.
“I have the number of a realtor, but I figured I would wait until August to get serious about finding a place. I don’t know the city well enough.”
“I’m sure the team will help you.”
