Face Off (Seattle Serpents, #2)

by Teagan Hunter

“I’m going to go put a shirt on.” “That would be preferable.” The grin he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me, but thankfully, he says nothing, shuffling off into his bedroom, Daisy right at his heels.

He’s giving Daisy filtered water. I love that he’s giving Daisy filtered water.

“I told you, you’re late. You⁠—” “I know that. I guess I’m just confused. Do you make house calls to all your patients?” “Yes.” It’s a lie, and we both know it. But somehow Lawson doesn’t call me on it.

He nods to where the pup sits, right beside his feet again, her tongue lolling out as she looks up at her dad. Yeah, me too, Daisy. Me too.

He sets the dog down and she looks between us like she’s confused by what’s happening. Don’t worry, Daisy, so am I.

“Are you kidding? All I do is hold her. She’s obsessed with me, aren’t you, baby girl?” Baby girl. I don’t know why, but Lawson has never struck me as a pet name sort of guy. Hearing the word fall from his lips just now though… Well, I don’t hate it. I will not be jealous of a dog.

He takes a deep breath. He’s more nervous than Daisy is, and it’s…cute. Ugh. What is wrong with me? This is Lawson for crying out loud. He’s not cute. Not at all.

“That’s it. Just keep staying still. Yeah, like that. Good girl.” Good girl. Fuck me if those two words don’t zing right between my legs. I ignore it, especially since I know it has absolutely nothing to do with the man saying them, then pull free the second shot.

I can’t help but wonder if I’ve slipped off into another dimension where I’m suddenly into Lawson or something.

Even though it’s going to be incredibly inconvenient and I’ll need to call the clinic and let them know I’ll be out the rest of the day, I’m going to do it. Not for Lawson, but for Daisy. This is just for Daisy.

He hugs me. Wraps his dog-filled arms around me and squeezes. Leather and cedar and warmth blanket me as I stand there stunned, completely unable to move. I want to move. I want to move so damn badly I’m tingling. That has to be the reason I’m tingling. Has to. It definitely has nothing at all to do with how good his hard body feels pressed against mine, or how perfectly I seem to fit against him.

He peels himself off me and—I swear to never, ever admit this out loud—I miss him almost instantly.

Is he really the stereotypical manwhore jock I made him out to be? Or is he…nice?

Images of Lawson like the ones from the other night flood into my head again, only this time, he’s not just shirtless—he’s taking everything off. He’s pulling his shirt over his head, dropping his hands to his sweats, sliding them down over his a⁠— Nope! No. No. I am not going there.

Daisy squirms in my hands, whining the second he’s out of sight, so I set her down, watching as she chases after him. I will not be jealous of a dog. I will not be jealous of a dog. I will not be fucking jealous of a dog.

I don’t know why I hugged her to begin with—it was a natural reflex—but once I put my arms around her, all I could think was, Why haven’t I done this before? She was warm and soft and felt so fucking good pressed against me.

I hugged her because I wanted to touch her. No—because I needed to touch her. It wasn’t because she was saving me either. It was more than that. It was me giving in to something I’d been wanting to do for far too long. Something I want to do again.

“Honey, I’m ho⁠—” “Shh! I just got her to sleep!” Rory chides, but that’s not what has me stopping in my tracks.

I care that she’s wearing my jersey. I care entirely too fucking much. I’m standing here trying my damnedest not to cross this room and rip it off her, and not for the reasons she thinks.

“Lucas…” She never calls me Lucas. It’s always Lawson. But not tonight. Not now, not when we both know what is about to happen.

I slip one hand around her waist, tugging her that last bit closer, then cup her face, tipping it back just a little more.

I see it then: my name and my number stitched across her back. Lawson. 25. A hunger I’ve never experienced builds inside of me as I stare at it.

I spin her back around and I kiss her. No—I claim her. Because kissing Rory isn’t just a kiss. It’s more than that. I know it, and she does too.

It’s everything I thought it would be. She’s soft where I’m hard. She’s cautious yet needy, pliable but dominant in a way only she can be as our tongues tangle together, dancing to music only we can hear. Her nails dig into my back, and I haul her even tighter against me, my grip tightening on her waist.

There’s no way she doesn’t feel what this kiss is doing to me, no way she doesn’t feel my hard cock aching for her, feel how badly I want her.

I sound fucking pathetic, but I don’t give a shit. I want this. She wants this. I know she does.

I’ll admit I was fully aware it was still on when I crawled into bed as the clock struck midnight. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off. I was tired. That was the only reason why. I’m sure of it.

But telling Auden I kissed Lawson? That sounds a hell of a lot worse. Maybe because it’s Lawson, or maybe because I liked the kiss way more than I’m willing to admit and can still feel his lips on mine. Or maybe it’s just because sharing my feelings is the most dreadful thing I can think of.

I think back to last night when Lawson was pressed against me. His hands on my waist, holding me close. The feel of his perfectly sculpted body on mine. The way he kissed me with authority and determination. No, not just kissed. He possessed me, and I was more than willing to let him.

The one thing I don’t let myself think about is how hard he was, how wet I was. It’s pointless. Utterly futile.

“Why wouldn’t I answer?” He pauses. Clears his throat. “Well, because you’re madly in love with me, of course.” I laugh. Maybe a little loudly and a little too hard and a little too forced. “Keep dreaming, Lawson.”

“And, Rory?” “Yes?” I ask, bringing it back to my ear. “Maybe try not to kiss me this time.” And the line goes dead. I sit in stunned silence, trying to figure out just how badly I messed up kissing Lawson and why, even despite that, I want to do it again.

I climb into my SUV and race home, eager to see if Rory’s wearing my number again. If she thinks I didn’t notice she went home wearing it, she’s wrong. I noticed. Oh fuck did I notice.

I noticed so damn much that when I climbed into bed, it was all I thought about until my cock was aching again and I had no choice but to fist it. I should have felt ashamed jerking off to images of her in nothing but my jersey, but I couldn’t be bothered. Not after that kiss. God, that kiss.

She bolted right afterward and I let her, but only because I knew without a doubt that wouldn’t b...

I have the oddest urge to bend and press a kiss to her cheek, like two spouses after a long day apart, but since I’m rather fond of my balls, I suppress the desire.

Lazy is not a word I’d use to describe Rory. I’d go more for words like strong, determined, smart, hardworking, beautiful, gorgeous, probably looks incredibly sexy in nothing but my jersey… And there goes my mind, slipping right back into the fantasy I can’t seem to shake.

I should be absolutely ashamed of the thoughts that run through my mind. Her writhing on my bed, my jersey riding up as she plunges her fingers into her pussy. Her in my shower, using the detachable head as a toy. Her bent over the couch, her ass in the air as she⁠—

“I watched the game.” Her four words interrupt all my naughty thoughts, and it’s hard work to get them to go away.

“It was hardly me. More like that one.” She points to Daisy, who is lying at my feet, nipping at one of the twenty toys scattered around my apartment. “She’d perk up every time they panned to you. It was kind of cute.”

To be fair, I like the other Rory too, but this version of her…it’s different. She’s different, and I’m realizing I like her kind of different a whole hell of a lot more than I thought I could.

“I highly doubt your brother is ugly if you share the same father. Your—” She clamps her mouth shut as realization of what she’s implied settles between us. “You telling me I’m hot, Wednesday? You’re not going to kiss me again, are you?” “Shut up,” she mutters, taking a long pull from her beer.

It wouldn’t come true, then, and I want nothing more than for all her wishes to come true. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her, and it’s the most gorgeous she’s ever looked. I couldn’t look away right now if I tried.

My gaze drifts to her lips, her full and soft lips…the ones I want to kiss again so fucking badly I physically have to grip the railing to keep myself from doing it.

“I wish I could see this every night. If I had a balcony, I’d be out here every night looking up.” “Use mine.” Her gaze snaps back to me. “What?” “Use mine.” “What are you…” “I’ll make you a key. You can use mine.”

“For you, Rory, I’d gather every star in this sky and string them high somewhere only for you, just to see you smile like that again.” Her breath stutters. “Making you a key is the best I can do until then.”

Can I truly be blamed though? It’s twice now he’s broken through all my defenses and left me wanting more from him. First with the kiss, then with The Balcony Thing.

I can’t or else I’m going to turn into a puddle of mush again. “For you, Rory, I’d gather every star in this sky and string them high somewhere only for you, just to see you smile like that again.” Fuck! I thought about it. It was cheesy. Beyond so. Something straight out of one of those Hallmark movies. And yet…I felt my knees buckle under me. If not for the railing, I would have gone down hard and fast, and I’m not so certain I’d have been embarrassed by it.

Wednesday, Maybe don’t use this key to poison my coffee or anything else nefarious like putting piranhas in my bathtub. We don’t want to leave Daisy without a dad, right? See you soon. Lucas

“How’s my girl doing?” “I’m good.” He tucks his lips together, his already vivid gray gaze burning brighter. “I was talking about Daisy.”