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“I’m moving in, Sticks. Welcome to Hell.”
“And would someone so self-centered sleep three feet from you every night in case you start screaming and wake the whole neighborhood?”
Wren needs protecting.
Oh, fuck. I’m a goner—and judging by the glimmer in her gaze, we both know it.
“I’m here, and I’m not leaving, Sticks.”
“Have you ever been fucked in the penalty box, Sticks?”
She groans. “Oh my God.” “You mean, ‘Oh my Stone.’
“No girl of mine is going to wear another guy’s jersey,”
“You’re mine, Wren Davis. What more do I need to do to prove it? Fuck you in front of Evan? Get my name tattooed on your skin?”
“Or your name on me? Now that sounds tempting…”
“Baby, I’m fucking obsessed with you.” His deep voice is hot. “I can’t sleep if you’re not beside me. I can’t eat if you’re at work and I’m not sitting there in a booth, watching your hips sway with your tray. Even during my practices and games, if I don’t know where you are at all times, I fuck up and nearly fall on the ice.”
“No, baby,” Stone growls. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. Especially when it comes to you.”
