Page 15 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

“College?” she asks, looking down at her drink, stirring it with the tiny red straw, before she leans her head back against the cushion and hums. “Yeah. But not the way people think. Not the parties or the freedom from parents. For a long time, I missed being on the field. Being part of something that clicked.”

I nod slowly. “You were a monster on the field, huh?”

“Damn right, I was.” She smirks, but it fades gently. “Until my shoulder and the world went sideways.”

“Injury?” I ask, and she nods. “Pandemic?”

“Among other things,” she says then glances at me. “You ever feel like the version of you everyone else sees was built in college, and now you’re stuck playing him, even though who you really are was before you were trying so hard to leave that person behind?”

I inhale a deep breath—the heavy she just laid down—and then exhale through my nose. “Every fucking day.”

She takes another sip then looks at me long enough that I feel it settle low in my chest. “I like you better drunk.” She grins.

“I’m not drunk,” I lie.

“You’re buzzed, then. Loose. Less filtered. It suits you.”

“Yeah?” I glance at her mouth before I can stop myself. “You suit me.”

Silence, thick and loaded, stretching long enough that I could do something reckless and she might not stop me.

I lean in her direction.

“Careful,” she warns, voice low and laced with challenge.

I reach for my glass instead, knocking back the last of the whiskey, and then lean back again, closer than before.

“Always,” I say, though we both know I don’t want to be.

Not with her.

Not tonight.

She lifts her gaze and looks around. The bartender at the end of the room is wiping down the counter in slow circles, trying not to stare but definitely waiting for us to take the hint.

Iz stretches, catching me watching her. “I should head up,” she says, voice low and husky from laughing and whatever it is she’s drinking.

“You should?” I tease, already feeling the pull.

She narrows her eyes and stands. “My girls are waiting.”

Right. Her tribe. Always orbiting. Always watching.

We walk toward the elevators together, shoulder to shoulder. Neither of us speak. Neither of us are in a rush. This energy between us still humming with whatever the hell has been building all night.

I wave my hand in front of me. “Ladies first.”

She steps in, and I follow. We reach for the button at the same time. Our fingers brush. That energy turns electric and crackles through the air like someone struck a match in a gas leak.

“Sixteen,” she murmurs.

I glance at her. “Sixteen?”

She clears her throat and nods.

“Huh. Me, too.”

As I press the button and the doors begin to close, I see her squirm, just a little, but I see it. As soon as the doors close, the silence becomes something else—charged, trembling, louder than any words.

We don’t even make it past the second floor before it happens.

Her hand grazes mine. Permission. My fingers catch hers, and we turn to face each other at the same damn time.

She reaches up and grips the back of my neck, pulling me down. I’m definitely a leader in the bedroom, but I’ll hand over the reins to her if that’s what it takes.

Then her mouth is on mine, and there is no holding back now.

No hesitation. No asking permission. Only heat, and hunger, and everything that’s been simmering between us since that first damn smirk.

I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and tilt her mouth to mine. She presses in, soft and fierce all at once. Her hands fist my shirt, and I swear I can already feel every ounce of her fire.

She tastes like lime and honey, with a hint of tequila. Like secrets I haven’t earned and promises I don’t deserve. Sweet and bold, a little reckless.

My hands slide into her hair, anchoring her to me. She pushes up on her toes, and I grip her hips and pull her closer. She smells like citrus shampoo and wind-chilled skin. Something sun-warmed and just-washed, tangled up in sugar and sage.

It’s a scent I’d follow blindfolded.

The kiss is hungry. Addictive. Not enough. I need more. So does she.

She gasps against my mouth, and I chase that sexy little sound with my tongue. Her nails bite my shoulders, and I feel her everywhere—in the drag of her lips, the curve of her waist, the low sound she makes when I groan into her mouth.

In the background, the elevator hums, floors pass, yet time wants to stand still.

Five.

Seven.

Ten.

She presses me against the wall, and I let her. Hell, I hope she stays this way—tits pressed against my abs, the warmth of her body, her scent, and taste. My thumb skims her jaw. Her teeth tug my bottom lip. Fuck yes.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

We’re still kissing when the bell dings, and we break apart like we’ve been caught doing something wrong as the doors slide open.

The air feels cold when she steps back, breath catching, lipstick slightly smudged. Her eyes locked on mine.

Sixteen floors.

Sixteen fucking floors.

We step out in silence, both turning in the same direction down the hall.

She walks ahead, not looking back. I match her pace.

She stops in front of a door.

So do I.

Two doors down.

She turns and lifts her keycard. I already have mine out, both of them. I hold one out to her.

She hesitates.

“I’m not asking to interrupt your life, Iz,” I say, voice low. “Just your night.”

She takes it, not saying a word as she swipes her key, walks in, and the door clicks shut behind her slower than necessary.

And that silence? It’s not a no.

The door between us opens, and Jake peeks his head out. “Iz make it back up?”

Thankfully, my jacket is slung over my hard-on, I nod. “Yep, safe and sound.”

“You doing okay?” he asks.

“I don’t think any of us are.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” He shakes his head. “You played your best game tonight; don’t let them take that away from you.”

“Thank you.”

He winks. “Get some sleep, Skinner, and yeah, pray this storm passes, or we’re gonna be stuck in the city another damn night.”

“You, too.”