Page 60 of Daring the Hockey Player

JASPER

I can't believeAmber's question. Okay, maybe I shouldn't be so surprised since she still enjoys games like truth or dare and twenty questions. But I did instigate this little truth-telling game, so she's not entirely to blame.

I should lie to her, tell her that I don't see her as anything other than a little sister. That she's cute but too young and immature to ever be with someone like me. If I say the right thing to leave a small scar, she'll move on. She might hate me, but at least we can both put this unresolved sexual tension to bed.

Well, not literally to bed.

I don't know how I'm going to manage to live with Amber and watch her date other guys. But that's a problem for another day. Right now, she asked if I've ever thought about her sexually.

My response?

I ran away.

I'm a fucking coward when it comes to Amber.

If I told her the truth—that I think about her all the fucking time—when I shower, I masturbate to the thought of her giving me head; when I try to fall asleep at night, I rub one out, imagining her pussy like a vice on my cock.

And the dreams, they're even more real. I can smell her scent, the sweet lilac and lavender body wash that makes my cock twitch when she's around. Just one whiff, and I get a hard-on.

But that's too much to divulge, and if she's going to live with me, there have to be boundaries and ground rules.

For starters, no sex.

At least not with each other. And if I have a say in the matter, I'd prefer her to remain a virgin because I don't want anyone else getting frisky with Amber, either. I bite down on my bottom lip.

I can't fucking tell her not to date. She's twenty. Single. She's bound to find men to go out with, or women for that matter. I don't know. I just don't want her bringing any of them home. Not that I'm keen on her fucking them anyplace else and then sneaking into the apartment in the morning or late at night.

I groan and head for the kitchen when I hear her soft patter of footsteps following me.

"Jasper?" Amber's voice is soft and sweet, like honey.

But if I indulge in what I want, I'm bound to get stung. Noah was right, she's off-limits, and that's if we weren't living together.

She's my new roommate.

I can't be fantasizing about bending her over in the shower or fucking her on the kitchen counter.

"I'm fine. I just needed some water." I grab the pitcher in the fridge with filtered water and a glass, pouring myself something to drink. "Do you want some?" I ask.

"Any chance you have something stronger?" Amber asks with a laugh. It's the nervous laugh, the one that escapes when she's uncomfortable and anxious. I've seen the ticks. The smallest things that others might not notice about her, I see. Her foot bounces. She fiddles with her fingers in her lap. Sometimes she even chews on her bottom lip.

There's a beauty in her nervousness, not that I'd ever tell her that. It'd probably only make her more anxious.

"Sure. Show me where the glasses are?" Amber asks.

I give her a quick tour of the kitchen, what dishes go where, and then retrieve a glass for her to have a cup of water.

"Thanks." She's forcing a smile, and her cheeks are overly flushed.

I'm betting she's wishing that she didn't ask that question five minutes ago. Maybe I can pretend it never happened? Does that make me an asshole for avoiding answering whether I've thought about her sexually?

Of course, I've thought about her sexually. I've thought about her naked too. And I've thought about what it feels like to fuck her on the ice with the entire arena watching and cheering us on.

They're just fantasies.

They can't happen. Certainly, not the last one. And maybe it's okay to keep those fantasies to myself to give myself something to enjoy when I need to unwind. I've never been interested in the puck bunnies—the girls who chase after hockey players to fuck, like we're a notch on their bedposts.

No, thank you. I don't need to stick my dipstick where my brothers have been, and I consider all of my teammates my brothers, not just Kyler.