Page 92 of Arresting the Hockey Player

“We were talking about a nap,” I say with a wry smile.

“Sure, if you say so.” Noah offers to take Zayn back, and I relinquish him to his father.

Zayn is all wiggles.

“I think we can probably let him run around on the dance floor for a little while. They moved the cake so at least he won’t ruin their wedding.” Noah lets Zayn down when we reach the dance floor. He’s not the only one running around like a maniac. Bristol is twirling on the floor, mopping it with her dress.

“I don’t think even a tipped-over cake would ruin their wedding.” Not that I’d want to see that disaster, but I’m pretty sure they’d laugh about it and shrug it off.

“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to find out.”

* * *

“Dance with me,” Noah says, taking my hand and pulling me out of my seat.

I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine. I haven’t kept track of what Noah’s had, but he’s been to the open bar a few times.

Zayn already crashed after an hour of dancing and is asleep on the sofa inside Kyler’s home. Maybe having a wedding in the backyard was genius, especially with kids attending.

Bristol is fighting sleep, dancing, and singing to the music, although I don’t think she’s got any of the words right. No one cares because everyone is having a good time.

Noah strolls with me onto the dance floor, and the song is perfect for a slow dance. “So, I was thinking,” he says, and I chuckle.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

He scowls playfully and leans in, kissing me.

That’s how he’s learned to silence me, and I don’t mind it. If we weren’t in the middle of the dance floor at a wedding, I’d be deepening the kiss. But I’m trying to keep it polite, especially around the kids, like Bristol, who is still awake and watching us dance.

My arms wrap around his neck, my fingers playing in his hair as we sway to the music together. “We’d make beautiful children together,” Noah whispers into my ear.

I laugh. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”

“It’s my way of saying I want to put a baby in you.”

The heat from his words makes my skin burn. I bite down on my bottom lip, glancing away. “You’re cheeky.” For a man who’s been taking things slow with me, those words are rather unexpected.

“And I want to see Zayn with a little brother or sister,” Noah whispers. His eyes lock onto mine.

He’s serious.

My stomach does a little belly flip. “Someone has baby fever,” I say, dropping a kiss to his nose. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” He laughs. “Don’t tell the guys you called me cute. You’ll ruin the tough image that I have going for me.”

I lean in toward his ear, as though I’m about to whisper a secret into his ear, when I playfully nip his ear lobe, sucking and tonguing his skin.

He moans, and I’m grateful the music covers up the sound of his desire for me.

“Are you trying to turn me on?” Noah’s voice is rough and coarse. He pulls back just slightly, a wicked grin on his face. “Are you sure you want to go there? Because I can make you scream my name without us ever leaving the dance floor.”

“I want to see you try.”

TWENTY-SIX

Noah

Watching Charlotte with Zayn tonight has made the sweet feelings that I have for her turn primal.