Page 38 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan

She goes quiet for a moment.

“You think I’m just this bimbo who doesn’t know the real world. You think I’m just this rich kid who doesn’t understand what it is to struggle—that I live with my head in the clouds just because I want to meet the love of my life.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that,” I say honestly. “If that’s really what you want, I think it’s admirable that that’s what you’re looking for.”

“But if you really thought it was admirable, why would you have a bet with me?”

“Because I don’t necessarily think it’s possible.”

I grab her hand to stop it from inching closer to my crotch. I know she’s drunk, but she’s playing with fire. I’m already hardening in my pants, and I don’t need her to feel my cock. She wouldn’t know what hit her. And she seems a little too innocent to feel my eight and a half inches right now.

“What are you doing?” she says, trying to pull her hand away.

“I think that maybe you?—”

I watch as she moves her face closer to mine.

“You’ve got the most beautiful brown eyes,” she says, touching the side of my face.

“And so do you,” I say.

I really need to remember who she is and where I am. I do not need to make this a complicated situation.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she says, running her fingers through her hair.

I nod slowly. “You’re pretty.”

“Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes. You’re beautiful.”

“Do you think?—”

I press my finger against her lips. “I think you’re pretty and beautiful and adorable and sexy. And if you weren’t Wes’s little sister, I’d have you back in my bedroom right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” she says, her eyes widening and her lips trembling slightly. “And what would we be doing?”

“I don’t know that you really want to know what we’d be doing,” I say, laughing. I run my fingers down the side of her face and just stare at her.

“I want to know,” she says softly, and before I know what’s happening, she’s leaning forward and her lips are on mine.

I kiss her back, and she moans slightly, her fingers reaching up into my hair, running down the nape of my neck. I can smell her peach lotion and her body spray, and I just want to eat her all up. Her lips are soft, pliable, and as my tongue thrusts into her mouth, she makes a whimpering sound.

She kisses me back passionately, and I feel her hands moving down the side of my shirt, trying to inch up underneath. She reaches her right hand to my bicep and squeezes. I reach my hand behind her head and run my fingers through her silky hair, kissing her deeply.

She leans back slightly and takes a deep breath, her face dazed and fuckable. I want to fuck her badly and am blown awayby the fact that she's kissed me. I'm blown away by the way she tastes, how she feels.

"That was nice," she says, blinking. "Kiss me again."

She presses her lips against mine, and I press them back against hers. She reaches her hand down to my crotch, staring at me, and then squeezes.

"Ooh," she says as she feels my hardness. I place my hand on top of hers and pull away slightly.

"If you continue to touch me like that, if you continue to kiss me like that, this night is going to go in a direction I don't think you were planning for it to go," I say in a gruff voice.

"But maybe that's where I want it to go, Tyler. Maybe I?—"

"No, no, no, no. Erica, we're not going to have this conversation while you're drunk. You're not going to kiss me, and you're not going to squeeze me."