Page 14 of Goalie Secrets

I’m suddenly a horny-as-fuck teenager fighting down a reaction.

Ed Sheeran croons through the store speakers. I try super hard to focus on what he looks like. Not saying he wouldn’t be attractive to someone, but he doesn’t do it for me.

Vanya reaches over to take a bite of the salted caramel pretzel cookie and moans so sexily, she might as well have tugged at my cock. Her high cheekbones hollow slightly while she chews. Her pink tongue sticks out to lick a sliver of caramel on her bottom lip.

Shit, Ed Sheeran is no longer enough. Oh fuck, oh fuck, think of something else.

Closing my eyes, I conjure an unsexy British trio.Ed Sheeran. Jamie Oliver. King Charles.

That does it. Whew.

“Is everything OK?” she asks after swallowing her bite. “Did you want the one I picked?”

“No! I, um, I was just…”Fighting a boner by envisioning the royal comb-over.

“I just remembered something,” I offer vaguely.

“I would have studied a lot harder and longer if I could stuff my mouth with something this delicious,” she says, licking a stray crumb from her thumb.

It’s hard to look away from the sheen on her bottom lip. My comprehension evaporated after she said “stuff my mouth.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” I answer, intrigued by her conspiratorial tone and happy to stop thinking of her mouth.

“Today is my birthday, too.”

“No way, really? Look at us, two Scorpios.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m twenty-six today. You?” I blurt automatically. Wait, that was inappropriate to ask, right? My mom would smack me on the head if she was here.

But instead of being insulted, Dr. Kapur leans in. “Guess.”

I take the word as an invitation to stare at her leisurely. It’s hard to describe her features, because her expression seems older than the details of her face. As in, her eyes are clear and the corners are unlined, and yet they also convey the sternness of a middle-aged librarian telling you to shut up.

“The big three-zero,” she announces hurriedly because I’m taking way too long to answer.

“Happy Birthday to us!” I raise my coffee cup to meet hers.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. “Or maybe that’s premature gratitude. This is walking distance from my place and therefore dangerously tempting. You might have introduced me to a new vice, Jeremy.”

“You think the salted caramel cookie is a vice? Try the chocolate espresso.”

I point to the warm, gooey masterpiece with large chunks of milk chocolate and the aroma of a café.

“Split it with me,” she says and pulls half off. I take the other half. We playfully clink our cookies and stuff our faces. She moans again but this time I’m ready, clearing my throat to muffle the sound.

“Where do you live?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee.

“Cassidy Ave, two blocks west of Main Street.”

I grab a napkin just in time to catch my surprised spurt. “Cassidy?Ilive on Cassidy. 508.”

“What? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not. That’s the house I grew up in.”