“Alex, go help Nick,” Jordan hisses.
Her fiancé dutifully obeys. “They tried to get me to stink bomb the old man’s house last year,” he mutters to me. “Assholes, all of them. You really weird about the cow?”
Considering a cow to be a dog isn’t weird, is it? “Only so long as it makes Kami happy.” I raise my voice. “Yeah, dude. They make tap-dancing shoes for cows. It’s a specialty shop on the internet. You want, I can send you the link.”
Cranky Grandpa’s watching us. Pretty sure Alex knows it too. He claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s keep looking for that switch to stop the poison from the kittens, man.”
“Kami, you think we could get Sugarbear on ice skates?” I call.
“It really could be worse,” one of the J-men is saying to Cranky Grandpa.
“Nick, sweetie, just keep looking for clues,” Kami says.
We share a look, and I am so getting laid for this tonight. “Anything for you, hot stuff.”
She sucks in another smile, and we all go back to looking for the next clue while the older generations of Wankers and Johnson-Wankers glare at all of us.
I definitely owe Kami a make-up date.
And I can’t wait to pay up.
Twenty-Eight
Kami
I don’t know how I make it back to Nick’s Cherokee before I completely and totally lose it. We both hop in the car, look at each other, and start laughing so hard my eyes burn.
“Oh. My. God,” I gasp. “That poor couple.”
“Did you—hear—bowling—for roosters?” Nick howls.
“The flaming poop bomb!” I cry.
“The hay—in the car!”
Tears are streaming down my aching cheeks, and my stomach is cramping, but I can’t stop. Until a sudden thought strikes me.
I bolt upright and point at Nick. “No,” I declare so forcefully that he stops wiping his eyes, and his chuckles roll to a stop.
“No?”
Oh, shit. The puppy dog eyes. Not the puppy dog eyes. “No what?”
“No, you are not going to use any of those pranks on your teammates.”
There’s a subtle tug of his lips and a barely-noticeable lowering of his lids that very clearly says challenge accepted.
“If I get wind of even a hint of you pulling anything mentioned or inspired by tonight, I’m cutting you off sex.”
He tilts his head, all of his cockiness coming out to play in that smile spreading over his face and lighting his green eyes, and god help me, he’s so stupidly irresistible. My panties are already wet.
Just from one look.
“So you’re telling me I get to have sex with you again.”
My body cries out an oh, fuck, yes. “I d-don’t put out on the f-first date,” I stammer.
Because I really shouldn’t sleep with him tonight.
I should resist.
I should make him earn me. I should demand more than one day of him saying what I want him to say.
“It’s technically over,” he tells me. “So you could put out after our first date.”
“You haven’t taken me home yet.”
“What if I want to take you on a second date right now?”
Yes, please. “You have a game tomorrow.”
He pulls my hand into his, dwarfing mine. Thick veins run from his knuckles to his wrist, and the heat off his skin is warming my entire body. “Way I’ve been playing, I don’t think anyone would know the difference.”
“You’re going to play amazing tomorrow night.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’ll have sex with you if you have a shutout. But only if you have a shutout.”
He groans and squeezes my hand. “Fuck, Kami.”
“No pressure or anything,” I add, “but I really miss your cock. And I’ll be really, really sad if I can’t have it tomorrow night.”
“Are you coming?” he breathes.
“Um, not at the moment,” I breathe back, but holy hell, my body’s primed and ready for it.
“To the game,” he clarifies.
“I—yes,” I decide. I’ve given away every set of tickets so far, but tomorrow, hell yes, I’ll be at the game.
He’s suddenly crushing his mouth to mine, and I fall into his kiss.
I do miss this.
For all the ways he’s dense sometimes, he knows how to kiss me. When to go hard. When to go soft. How to stroke his tongue into my mouth to make my nipples so hard and my clit so achy that I have to straddle him.
My ass hits the horn as I climb into his lap. Neither of us reacts to the noise—he just helps me over, pulling my hips tight against his so I can feel the giant bulge in his jeans.
I rock against him, because oh, I’ve missed him too.
He’s kissing me like he’s starving, like he hasn’t seen me in three years instead of three weeks, like it’ll be three more years before he sees me again.
“God, I missed you,” he gasps into my mouth, and that heady feeling of being wanted, of being seen, of being valued, not because I take care of his pranks and laugh at his jokes, but because we fit—it’s all so intensely right that I don’t know how I survived three weeks of resisting him either.
I grip his shoulders while he squeezes my breasts, still licking into my mouth, those satisfied groans emanating from the back of his throat while I grind over his hard cock.
My right leg is squished between his steel beam of a thigh and the door. The bottom of the steering wheel digs into my lower back, but Nick’s fingers are sneaking under my shirt and stroking my sides, tracing the edges of my bra, and everything fades away except the heady sensations his fingers draw out of my skin.
His touch is feather-light, teetering on the edge of ticklish. He brushes my nipples through the lace of my bra, and pleasure rockets through my core.
“Yes, more,” I gasp.
He unhooks the damn thing with one hand, and suddenly he’s cupping both my breasts, lifting my shirt so he can lick first one nipple, then the other.
“Oh, god, Nick,” I moan, offering him more.
“So fucking delicious,” he rasps before sucking me all the way into his mouth.
Fireworks are ricocheting through my belly, sending jolts of electrified bliss straight to my pussy. I rock harder against him while he snakes one hand between us and unbuttons my jeans.
And then his fingers are stroking me, and he’s still sucking on my nipple, and the entire world is awash in pinks and purples and the silvery shimmer of impending orgasm.
I couldn’t stop my body’s instinctive rhythm against his fingers if I wanted to, and when he slips two inside me, then presses hard on my clit, I shatter without warning, screaming his name, my head thrown back against the top of the car, pleasure spilling out of me while my walls clamp and spasm around his fingers.
He grazes my nipple with his teeth, and my body spirals even higher and harder as my climax bursts free with enough power to light the night sky.
I bear down on his fingers and ride out the waves while he nestles his head between my breasts and whispers, “That’s it, beautiful. That’s my girl.”
When I finally sag against him, as useful as jellyfish, the only syllable I can force from my sleepy lips is, “Wow.”
“You are so fucking hot when you come,” he murmurs. He’s pulling my shirt down, but he’s also sneaking my bra straps down my arms, like he knows a thing or two about taking off a bra under a shirt.
He pulls it out my sleeve and pockets it.
“Did you—” I start, struggling to find where the marshmallow fluff under my skin ends and my bones and muscles begin.
“Gonna need a good luck charm for that shutout tomorrow night.”
I’m still enjoying the lingering fireworks show behind my eyelids, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You don’t—”
“Shh.” He puts a finger to my lips. “Nothing else has worked. Let a man have a little motivation. And you are definitely motivation.”
“You’re still very hard,” I point out.
“If you had the view I just had, you would be too.”
My right leg is going numb, and I’m becoming aware of that steering wheel in my back again.
He strokes my back and kisses my temple. “Kami?”
“Hmm?”
“I think I’m gonna like dating you.”
I snuggle closer to him, because yeah, I think I’m gonna like dating him too.
Twenty-Nine
Nick
I get to the arena early Wednesday so I can tape Kami’s bra into the back of my chest protector without the Bergers noticing.
Not because I’m embarrassed to be playing with a pink lacy bra, which still smells like her pussy since I fingered it the entire ride home last night—the bra, not Kami’s pussy, though I would’ve done both if it was safe to stroke and drive—but because if one of them knows, Felicity will know, and we can’t have that, now can we?
I might also get to the arena early because it’s been long enough, and I’ve been happy enough about Sugarbear, that now is mathematically the ideal moment for revenge against Zeus Berger.
Part one of my revenge plan, anyway.
It’s dumb. He’ll think I’m a total idiot.
And he’ll never see part two coming.
After everything’s set up, I head upstairs to wait for Felicity to get into the office. And because she’s Felicity, and she basically has thicker hockey blood than I do, which is fucking impressive, I don’t have to wait long.
“What did you do?” she asks as soon as she walks into her office, which is a hidey-hole between the marketing and accounting departments, since she works in both.
They don’t like her to get bored.
She sometimes works with the trainers in the massage and PT room too, when she’s not using Thrusty to make promo videos with all of my teammates.
“I came to say hi to my sister,” I reply innocently.