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Scott winks at me. “Yeah, Lowey. Maybe I’ll get another kiss like the mind-bending one from this morning, eh? See yah!”
Motherfucker. I fume at his back while he skates off the ice and heads into the locker room. I wanted to tell Rhett about that. Dick. Why am I surrounded by dicks?
Swallowing, I turn to meet Rhett’s dark gaze. I might be the one in the doghouse now.
“We said kissing was okay,” I remind him. I don’t need to be a hockey player to know the best defense is a good offense.
His nostrils flare. “How was it?”
“That for me?” I say, pointing to the smoothie, knowing he’ll snag the opportunity to feed me instead of making me answer questions.
He knows what I’m doing, but it’s too enticing. “Yes. Will you drink it?”
“If we can stop talking about me kissing Scott, I’ll drink all of it.”
I’m mostly testing him. There’s going to be a lot of testing him before I can consider trusting him again.
With his lips pressed together, he nods, and I take the smoothie, sucking back a large sip before I say anything. “It was like kissing a potato.”
He fights a smile. “See? But you like kissing me. A lot.” All of that Rhett Elkington confidence surges through him.
“You’re all right.” If I tell him how much I like kissing him, his head might explode.
“Fuck that, Meyer.”
Did he just call me a Mey?—
Yanking me flush with his body by the small of my back, he chucks his stick to the ice and uses his free hand to trap my head. His electric touch sends waves of tingles across my sweat-dried skin. Our mouths meet in a heated kiss, and I swear to God he’s trying to inhale my face. I don’t care. I let him. Rhett knows what he’s doing with that tongue. He takes what he wants and doesn’t leave anything behind. My cock isn’t just interested, it wants to hump his leg.
He pulls away, his smugness permeates the air.
“At least tell me when I’ve scored a goal.”
“Am I just a human hockey game to you?”
“Everything’s a hockey game to me. Speaking of which, you don’t have all that long to learn how the game works. You’ll be expected to attend as many of my games as you can. I’ll put some dates in the book. We’ll get together and watch some old ones.”
“No need. I have a whole family of hockey baboons to teach me.”
He huffs and kisses my forehead. We have no one to pretend for, but he’s made it clear enough that he wants us to be real. Is this Rhett Elkington, the boyfriend?
“Fine,” he says while clearly planning to give me his own version of hockey education.
“What did you mean, by the way? What did you think I’d forgiven you for if not being a cowardly gorilla?”
“I know I haven’t won all your trust back?—”
“You’re a long-ass way from it, Rhett.”
“I know, but I’ve got something, maybe a sliver of it, or you wouldn’t come near me.”
“A sliver.” It’s more than that and I can’t believe it myself. Rhett puts out a signal of safety and I’m drawn to it. Arguably, he wasn’t “emotionally safe” last week, but I know that if anything tried to hurt me, he’d pulverize it. I can fall into that kind of comfort. “And that’s enough, gorilla. Jack will be waiting for me.”
“All right, all right, but one more thing. You’re not mine yet so I’ll put up with you kissing potato head, but as soon as that changes—and it will—I’m not sharing you with anyone.”
“God, you’re dramatic.” But I kiss him one more time, just a peck, and skate off the ice.
* * *
