Square to the Puck (Offsides #2)

by J.J. Mulder

I’m pretending to watch the game, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than where Nigel’s body is in contact with mine. I’m cursing whatever idiocy compelled me to put on so much thick clothing earlier. He’s got his arm over the tops of my shoulders, and when I inch a little closer against him, he drops his hand from the back of the couch and rests it over my hip. My heart ratchets up, beating furiously, and a burn of anxiety pools in my stomach. I don’t know what to do with my hands, which are currently in my lap. His leg is right there, pressed up against mine, black sweats contrasting with my grey. I take a couple fortifying breaths and carefully slide my hand onto his thigh, midway between his knee and his groin, which I have deemed to be a safe space. He jolts, and I snatch my hand back like it was burned—fuck. “No, sorry. You’re okay, I just wasn’t expecting that.” He tightens the arm he has around me, like he’s giving me a half hug. With his other hand he reaches across himself and wraps his fingers around my wrist, gently pulling my hand back to his leg. Before he lets go, he swipes his thumb over the inside of my wrist in a way that sends heat skittering up my arm. His leg is hard, solid muscle beneath my palm. He’s a big guy, but even so, my fingers curve across the top of his quad and rest along his inner thigh. Every nerve ending in my body is hyperaware of this fact. I’m not even touching him that close to his groin; much closer to his knee, in fact. But…I...