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“Has anyone ever been able to tell you no?” she asks on a whisper. My chest puffs with pride. “Never.” She grins, and Christ, it’s a glorious sight. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” My forehead crumples as she steps out of reach. “What?” “Enjoy the rest of your night,” she calls over her shoulder before she squeezes through the crowd, disappearing, and Jesus Christ, I’m actually gonna have to go home and do what she told me to: fuck myself. Well, fuck. I don’t like this.
His grin is explosive, handsome, sexy, infuriating. Leaning over the boards, he stares down the length of his stick at me, the tip resting on top of the glass. “Hi.”
He threads his fingers through mine and hauls me forward. “C’mon, pip-squeak. Let’s go get our faces painted.” “I’m twenty-five. I’m not getting my face painted.” * * * I got my face painted. Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. “You look so pretty.” “I have your damn jersey number on my cheek, Carter!” He folds his lips into his mouth in an attempt to hide his guilty smile. “So pretty.”
Then he shuts the door, hits me with two finger guns, and yells, “It’s a date!”
“You’re really getting on my nerves lately, Carter Beckett.” “I’ve always been there, Mom.”
My thumb skims her lower lip. Her eyes flicker. “Can I?” Four. Three. Two. One. “Yes.”
“No sassy comebacks, Ol? Did I break you?” I press my lips to his, whispering against them. “You haven’t broken me yet, but I’m hoping if I’m a good girl, you will soon.”
“You’re obviously very physically attracted to him.” “Duh. I wanna tap that man like a maple tree.”
