Collin and Rhodes are deep in a conversation about the season, and Lowell’s pretending he’s not listening for any sign of Hollis needing him. Miller is…well, he’s lucky he’s alive, that’s for sure.
I glare over at him. He’s been flirting with Emilia all night, and I could wring his neck for it.
I won’t lie, it was painful sitting next to her all through dinner. It’s easily the longest I’ve been so close to her in over two years. I had to stop myself no less than three times from reaching out and touching her…holding her hand…kissing her.
But there was no way I was going to let Miller sit next to her. I probably would have killed him. Hell, I still might kill him just for the hell of it.
“I’m grabbing another beer. Does anyone want anything while I’m up?” he announces, rising from the couch.
I jump up after him. “No way you’re going in there alone.”
“What? Why not?”
“Um, probably because you keep hitting on Mrs. Kelly.” And what’s mine—Emilia. Though I don’t say that part aloud.
“Uh, her name is Evelyn,” Miller says, rolling his eyes.
It doesn’t help his case at all.
“I’m going with you,” I say to him.
“Well, I’m going too. I need to check on Hollis.” Lowell hops up, jumping ahead of us both.
“Wow.” Rhodes shakes his head, then drains the last of his beer. “You’re all a bunch of pathetic losers. But I’m out of beer, so I guess I’ll go check in with Ryan.”
“Yeah, I think I heard Harper call my name for sure.” Collin grabs an empty bottle from the table and stands.
It’s like they’re all in a silent agreement that they miss being near their women, but none of them will fess up to it.
We pad across the house but stop short when Collin holds his hand up, motioning for us to get into formation like we’re part of the military or something. I kind of feel like we are as we shamelessly eavesdrop.
“I like him. I really, really like him. And he is going to be an amazing father to your baby, Hollis,” Evelyn says about Lowell.
Rhodes claps Lowell on the shoulder, grinning at him. The guy smiles less often than I do—and that’s really saying something—but we all know how important it was for Lowell to be accepted by Hollis’ mom. It’s all he’s been talking about at the rink for the last week. He’s been sweating bullets, but I knew he had no reason to be worried. Lowell is a good guy, and Hollis is lucky to have him as the father of her child.
“Honestly?” she continues. “I’m just glad it’s not Thad. That man was a total douchebag. I can still say that, right?”
“Oh my gosh, thank you!” Emilia agrees with her, and I can imagine her throwing her hands in the air, her red hair that’s always up in a damn ponytail holder bouncing around with the movement. “I have been saying that for years! He gave me such bad vibes.”
“He really did. He reminded me of your father, actually,” Evelyn tells her daughter.
“I had no idea that was what you thought about him, Mom,” Hollis says.
“I didn’t want to say anything because I knew how much you loved him, and you seemed happy. I thought maybe it was just my own insecurities about my marriage falling apart, and I didn’t think it would be fair to put that on your relationship. In the end, it turned out I was right, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted. I know you girls think I’m overprotective and all I want to do is smother you, and while that may be partially true, I do it because I love you more than anything and only want what’s good for you. I hope you’ll understand that soon too. I can tell your man out there with the cute butt does.”
I glance over to find his wide eyes glistening under the soft hallway lighting. It’s crazy to see how much he’s changed since this past summer.
Hell, it’s crazy to see how much Collin and Rhodes have changed too, but love does that to you. It turns you into someone else. If you’re lucky, it’s a good someone else. If you’re unlucky…it can do so much more harm than good.
And that’s what I’m afraid of—losing everything for a good time that doesn’t last. I’m not sure I’m willing to risk it. It’s the reason I haven’t given myself to anything other than hockey. People let me down. Hockey doesn’t, at least not in the same way.
“All right, who is in here talking about my cute butt again?” Collin announces as he rounds the corner.
We follow closely behind him, filing into the kitchen one by one. Emilia’s eyes track mine as I grab fresh beers from the fridge, passing them out to the guys. I point to a bottle of wine, silently asking her if she wants another glass. She nods and I pour her one, sliding it her way.
Our fingertips brush around the glass, and while everyone else is too busy to notice the hitch in her breath, I’m not.
I don’t miss it because I fucking felt it too.
That charge. That spark.
She downs half the glass in one drink.
“Just because someone mentions a nice butt, doesn’t mean they are talking about yours.” Harper pats her husband’s cheek, pulling our attention.
He snorts. “Right. Sure.”
“They could be talking about mine.” Miller turns around, jutting his backside out for all to see.
“I can assure you, it was not your ass,” Emilia deadpans, glancing down at it anyway.
Yep. He’s dying.
“Rude. I think for that, you owe me a present.”
Miller glares at her, not noticing that I’m shooting the same fucking look his way, but Emilia sees it, and it’s enough to have her throwing back the rest of her drink.
“Is that your way of asking if we can do gifts now?” Harper asks.
He folds his hands under his chin. “Please, Mom?”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, let’s go. Everyone to the big room.”
“All right, don’t everyone fight over sitting next to me,” Miller says, leading the pack. He throws his arm around Emilia, winking at her. “Especially you, gorgeous.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t make a move to push him off. Is she fucking doing this to me on purpose? Does she want me to lose my mind?
We all gather around the tree Harper and Collin have set up in their big, open entertainment room. It’s one hundred percent them—a black tree with red lights decked out in horror-themed ornaments. The “star” is Freddy Krueger’s knife glove. It would be weird in any other home, but since they’re both horror-obsessed, it works.
Miller tugs Emilia down next to him, and she just allows it.
She fucking allows it.
My blood is boiling. I feel so damn stupid for wanting to march over there and stake my claim in front of everyone, for wanting to scream She’s mine.
But she’s not mine. Hell, I haven’t even kissed her in over two years.
I want to, though. I really fucking want to.
“I’m going to grab more wine,” Emilia says, rising from the couch and heading for the kitchen.
Miller juts his bottom lip out, pouting when she walks from the room. “I’ll go too.”
He tries to follow, and I shove him back down. “Not happening.” I scowl at him. “I’ll go.”
I don’t leave any room for him to argue or for anyone to question my motives. I follow behind Emilia and find her in the kitchen, her back to me as she reaches into the fridge for a new bottle of wine. She sets it on the counter but doesn’t make a move to open it. Instead, she rests her hands on the countertop and hangs her head.
She looks worn out and tired, and the only thing I want to do is walk over there and make her feel better.
Maybe it’s the alcohol making me feel more daring or maybe I’m just an idiot, either way, I cross the kitchen.
I can tell the moment she realizes I’m standing behind her. Her body shifts and she stands up straight, but she doesn’t tell me to leave. She doesn’t tell me to get away. She just stands there.
Almost like she’s waiting.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be standing this close to her.
But I can’t help it.
I have to touch her.
She doesn’t stop me when I reach out and fit my hand around her waist. She doesn’t stop me when I tug her back against me or when I drop my lips to her exposed neck, not even when I press a kiss there.
A tiny moan escapes her. It’s soft, nearly not a noise at all, but I hear it anyway.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I spin her in my arms and lift her, dropping her onto the counter.
“Smith…”
I step between her legs, taking her face in my hands. I slide one hand through her hair, gently tugging the ponytail holder free. Her red curls cascade down her back and over her shoulders.
I lean back to admire her. She looks like a fucking angel sitting there staring up at me with her lips slightly parted and eyes full of lust.
“Fucking perfect.”
A small gasp leaves her lips when I repeat the same words to her from our first night together.
“What… What are you doing?”
“Reminding you who you belong to.”
Then I crush my mouth to hers. She stills for only a moment before melting into me, and I tug her closer, swallowing the low moan that escapes her and deepening the kiss.
It’s heaven. She tastes like heaven. Just like I remember.
No—better.
Her lips are soft and sweet and absolutely fucking perfect, just like the way she fits against me is perfect.
I slide my hands through her hair, dragging my fingers through the long, silky strands, and I’m flooded with memories of how good it felt wrapped around my fist as she sank to her knees in front of me.
I pull her closer, her legs going around my waist, and there’s no mistaking the evidence of what she’s doing to me…or of what I’m doing to her.
Having her against me again…it feels entirely too fucking good. I want to yank her off this counter and carry her to a bedroom and have my way with her.
Hell, I don’t even want to do that much. Right here in this kitchen, I want to slide her panties aside and plunge my cock deep inside her, want to see if her pussy still feels like the perfect fit.
I keep one hand wrapped in her hair, the other moving to her thigh, where I slowly slide my hand under her dark green skirt. It’s one of the few times I’m glad she’s wearing one. I don’t waste any time—because I have no idea how long this moment will last—and run the back of my knuckle right over the soaked spot on her panties.
She whimpers against my mouth, her hands clawing at my biceps, trying to get closer. Her body slides against the counter, searching for any sort of friction she can get.
I oblige. I press my knuckle harder against her, finding her clit, and I’m so fucking glad I’m kissing her so I can swallow the loud moan that leaves her.
I’m so wrapped up in her that I nearly miss the footfalls in the hallway.
She doesn’t though. She goes stiff in my arms, wrenching her mouth away from me. Her eyes, full of fear, flick to mine. She’s on the counter not facing the hall, but I can see over her shoulder.
“Is someone there?” she whispers, too scared to turn around and see for herself.
“No.”
And thank fuck too.
We’d be screwed. There’s no way we would be able to explain this to someone.
“Oh, thank gosh,” Emilia mutters, dropping her head against my chest.
I don’t know who was just heading this way, but I’m glad they turned around.
I’m not sure I’m ready for repercussions of this. Which just proves even more that this is a stupid idea.
A stupid idea that feels really, really good.
When my own breathing returns to normal, I tip her face up to mine, hating how her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth in worry.
“That was…” She swallows, and I already know I’m going to hate her next words. “A mistake,” she finishes. “W-We shouldn’t have done that.”
She’s wrong.
She knows she’s wrong too. Maybe this wasn’t the place, but doing that…it was inevitable.
She shoves at my chest, and I step away, allowing her to slide off the counter. She brushes her hands through her hair, smoothing her clothes back down. She runs the back of her hand across her lips like she’s trying to rub away the kiss, but it’s no use. Her lips are swollen and used, and she looks every bit like she’s been kissed.
“I… We… We can’t do that again, Smith.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She nods, her lip back between her teeth. “I…okay.” Another nod. “All right. I’m…I’m going back out there.”
Now it’s my turn to nod. “Okay.”
She moves past me, and I reach out, wrapping my hand around her wrist to stop her.
“Smith…”
It’s not my name, not really. It’s a plea. She wants me to let her go, but the truth is, I’m not so sure I can.
And I don’t know how to feel about that.
“Wine,” I croak out.
“Huh?”
“You came in here for the wine. Don’t forget the wine.”
“Oh.” She marches back past me, grabbing the bottle, then turning back my way. She mutters a quiet “Thanks” as she disappears back to the party.
I don’t know if it was for the reminder or the kiss.
All I know is…I am so screwed.
