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To the girls who love hockey, especially when it’s written in ink.
She shifts to look at me. “Not talking to me is punishment?” “The worst kind.”
“Good to know. I’ll throw out all my hair ties because Aiden Crawford likes it when girls wear their hair down.” Wrapping the bandage around her ankle, I glance at her. “Not girls. You.”
“This is another thing I can hold over your head to make you do what I want.” I flutter my lashes. “You don’t need blackmail to get me to do what you want, Summer.”
“So you came to the farthest library on campus?” she presses. “Took me three tries.” “For what?” “To find this one.” “The others didn’t have what you were looking for?” I smile. “Not even close.”
“You have a sex playlist?” He appears unfazed. “Of course. Some girls are quiet.” “Girls? Do you know how awkward it is when guys don’t make a sound?” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I make plenty.”
“And how long does it take for you to like someone?” She thinks for a minute. “How long have I known you?” “A month,” I say. “There’s your answer,”
“You dance?” I ask when he lifts my hand onto his shoulder. “No,” he says. “But I want to with you.”
In a quick decision, I lean over the console, and his breath hitches before I plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then I exit his truck like it’s on fire.
“If you want it, you’re going to come to me.” He lifts my hair from the shirt, pushing it back. “The next time I have you, it won’t be to prove something or to win some competition. It’s going to be because you know the only guy that can satisfy you is me.”
“Come here and kiss me.” She looks around the packed hallway. “Not happening.” The team shuffles, gathering before game time, but all I see is her. “Kiss me or I’ll kiss you, and it won’t be PG.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” I give him a blank look, and he smiles. “Well then, let me make it really clear. You could strip me of every championship and every award I’ve ever earned, but if I had you, none of it would matter.”
“I’m yours, Aiden. Treat me like it.” She’s mine. And she’s perfect. “You are,” I say, my throat thick.
“Babe, the only time I want to see tears in your eyes is when I’m hitting the back of your throat.” “How romantic,” she mutters, but her smile shines through.
