Page 2

Two

RIZZO

“Jewel thief?” I ask over our second round of drinks. We ended up at one of my favorite spots just around the corner from the event, a small, almost hole-in-the-wall Irish pub called Delaney’s where I can almost always come and not be bombarded. All the regulars and staff know me by now and don’t think much of my appearances anymore. The owner, Sean, actually grew up not too far from my mom, so I’d immediately loved the place and they’ve had more than one FaceTime chat while I sat at the bar, reminiscing over childhood haunts and finding all the people they knew in common. Small world and all that.

Nat grins and damn does she have a great smile. She’s beautiful, not just hot or sexy—though she’s those things too—but really fucking beautiful. Don’t ask me to explain the differences, but they exist, I promise you.

Whether she’s done up to the nines, like she is tonight, or in leggings and a hoodie hanging out at Shep’s place watching a game while we cook out, she’s gorgeous, plain and simple. Just because I know better than to fuck around with anyone within the organization doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed…or thought about her in ways that I really shouldn’t an embarrassingly large number of times. I tell myself that it’s just that whole it-being-forbidden-makes-it-hotter thing that keeps Nat on my mind, but that’s only half true, really. There’s something about the girl that caught my eye the second I met her. I’ve even slowed my man-whoring as Shep calls it since Nat came along. I’m not ashamed of the way I live my life by any means, but for some reason…I don’t know, I don’t want Nat to think of me as just the hockey playing fuck boy who can’t keep it in my pants. What the fuck is that about? I try not to read anything into it, but I can’t ignore it completely no matter how hard I try.

But it doesn’t matter either way. Nothing can happen between us like that.

She watches me over the rim of her glass, her gray eyes as mesmerizing as always. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that has eyes like that. They’re like gray marble, but with so much depth I sometimes feel like she’s seeing way too much. Shep always says I do that to him, see more than he’s trying to show everyone, so I guess Nat and I have that in common, but it makes me nervous when she looks at me that way. I like to dish out but not take it, apparently.

We sit close together at a small two-top table in the back corner beneath a glowing Guinness sign. She brushes my arm when she reaches for a fry and it sends a small jolt through me. And then I realize that this is the first time just the two of us have hung out. Sure, we end up chatting in a corner together when the group hangs out more often than not, or team up for Wii nights or cornhole, but everyone else is still there to keep us both in check—because with the way we click and the looks she gives me when she thinks I’m not watching, I know damn well that it isn’t just me that’s feeling it.

But now, there’s no buffer, no one to make sure we don’t do something stupid. There’s just me, and Nat, and my good-decision-making brain slowly fucking off and letting the other one located a little farther south take over…

I clear my throat and meet her gaze, waiting for an answer.

“Nope, try again.”

“Hmm. Witness protection?” I snap and point at her, eyes lighting up. “I know! You turned state’s evidence and put a big mafia boss in prison for life and now he’s out for revenge and you saw one of his henchmen in the gala?” She giggles and I can’t help but grin.

“You watch too much Law & Order . Plus to turn state’s evidence, I would have to be a criminal myself.” She quirks a brow.

“I could see you doing all sorts of nefarious activities, Natalie.” Her lips curl upwards and she shrugs a shoulder.

“Fair.”

I take another drink and try to figure out the absolute mystery that is Nat Morgan. She has a way of answering personal questions yet not actually answering them, and somehow you don’t really notice it until hours later. It’s an art, really. Very impressive.

I know that she’s from Seattle and went to Yale, which I actually only know because Hattie—or Mac, as we all call her—made a comment about being surrounded by all the Ivy Leaguers giving her a complex, and worked on the East Coast after graduation for a few years. I know she came back this way about a year ago after her mom died and that she’s not very close to her dad who’s a realtor or something. I know she’s way overqualified for her job as an assistant but seems content in it for now. I know she loves Kona Big Waves and cheese fries, and is an absolute menace when it comes to hustling guys at the pool table. I may or may not have been a victim myself and had to cough up three hundred bucks to the little con woman one of the first few times we all hung out. I will admit it’s kind of hot watching her do it to other poor souls though. Don’t ask me to explain.

But that’s about it. I don’t know much past surface-level stuff like favorite sports teams and that she likes to do Karaoke when she drinks (and can actually carry a pretty good tune). But I want to know. I want to know more about her, the real her that I get the feeling she’s hiding from the world for who knows what reason.

“Well, it’s gotta be an ex then,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

She hikes a shoulder. “I was avoiding someone, yeah. Aaron.” A stupid fucking jolt of annoyance and jealousy spikes in my chest. Who the hell is this Aaron guy? Then I frown, shocked at my response. I don’t fucking do jealousy, especially not with someone I’m not even dating. Not that I date at all. Whatever. Bottom line is that Nat can have as many ex-boyfriends as she wants. Why should that chap my ass?

…But what if he’s the kind of ex that Hattie—or Mac as we all call her—has? I don’t know much, but I know enough, and if this Aaron guy is even half as bad as Mac’s ex, then maybe I need to go back to the gala and have a little chat with him. I’m typically pretty easy going off the ice, but when the situation calls for it, I’m not at all afraid to get my knuckles bloody.

“He’s not like…stalking you, right?” I ask, not wanting to jump into her personal business if I’m not wanted there, but needing an answer at the same time. Her brow furrows for a moment but then amusement sparks in her gray eyes and her lips curl into a soft smile.

“Why? Would you go back and rough him up if I said yes?”

“Hell yeah I would. That shit doesn’t fly,” I answer automatically. Her brows rise in surprise and I know what she’s thinking, so I push on. “Look, I may be a playboy, so I know what you’re thinking, but I’m the kind that respects women, fucking worships them, and guys who don’t understand respect need to be taught some manners.”

Something shifts then, just a fraction, but it might as well be a fucking mile with the sudden heaviness in the small space between us. Her gaze seems to darken, shifting to my lips for a moment before pulling back up to meet my eyes.

“Worships them, huh?” she asks softly, and suddenly we’re talking about something else entirely. I hadn’t meant it to go that direction, exactly, but, well, it’s true. I lean forward, throwing my rules to the wind and deciding that we’re both fucking adults. If we want to hook up, we can do it and still manage to be normal around each other, I’m sure. Unless she wants more …I tell that voice to shut the fuck up. I’ll deal with that later. She knows how I operate and it’s not like my reputation is a secret or anything. She knows what she’s getting into if she decides to make the decision.

And my God, do I need to her to make it so badly I think I might die if she doesn’t.

“All night long, usually,” I say, voice pitched low and laced with all the promises she can imagine. She swallows hard and our gazes stay locked for an endless, agonizing, perfect moment. I don’t look away. I don’t flinch. I hold her stare and let her see that I’m completely on board if she is.

Finally, her lips curl and one light brow arches in challenge.

“Prove it, Thirst Trap.”

Fuck, is this really happening?

I don’t think I’ve ever called for a check faster or louder than I had the moment the words were out of her mouth. She giggled and I grinned, deciding not to even wait for the check, just throwing a couple of hundreds down on the table and grabbing Nat’s hand. I tug her from the chair, and thankfully have enough blood still flowing to the big brain to remember to put my jacket over her shoulders before pulling her out into the cold night. There’s still a lot of snow left from the big storm we got a few days ago—which had apparently stranded Mac at Shep’s place for a couple of days. The fact that they managed to keep their stupid just friends act in place through that is pretty fucking impressive, I’m not gonna lie, but it’s obvious how they both feel. At least to me. But maybe it’s just because I know Shep so well. Nat hasn’t come out and said she knows that Mac is in love with Shep too, but she’s hinted. One of these days the two of them will figure it out, I’m sure. If not, I know they’ll regret it…

I turn to ask Nat what the plan is, but before I get a word out, her hands are knotted in my shirt and she’s tugging me down towards her. Her lips slam to mine and my eyes fly wide in surprise before sliding closed in sheer bliss. I glide my palms along her cheeks, cradling her face and tangling the tips of my fingers into her hair as I tilt my head and deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open between my own. I gently suck on her full bottom lip and she moans quietly, tightening her grip on my shirt. I move one hand to her hip, pulling her against me as I walk us backwards, pressing her against the side of the building.

Fuck.

I could get way too used to kissing Natalie Morgan. I love kissing. I could honestly make out for hours and be perfectly content, so I do it often, but I can’t remember the last time a kiss felt like this. It’s hot and electric and there’s a deeper connection there that I don’t want to think about too much right now. It starts slow and deep, but there’s so much promise here, something entirely combustible that can burn us both to the ground if we let it. And fuck do I want to let it.

She starts matching me thrust for thrust, our tongues rolling and tangling, the kiss spiraling out of control in a matter of heartbeats. She isn’t timid or reserved. She’s giving as good as she’s getting, demanding what she wants as we figure each other out, and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on to no end. I’m happy with just about anything in the bedroom and have a reputation for trying almost everything you can think of at least once, so I’ve had a wide variety of bed partners. But a girl who doesn’t back down, who pushes me back and takes what she needs and matches me, that’s my sweet spot. That gets me harder than fucking steel and begging for more. That can bring me to my knees.

And this makes Nat far more dangerous than I initially thought she was.

She slides one hand to my pants, curling her fingers inside the waistband and using her grip to yank me forward, pressing our bodies more firmly together.

“Fuck, Nat,” I rasp against her lips. She rocks her hips against mine and bites gently against my lower lip, pulling it between her teeth in a way that’s got a direct line to my fucking cock. I’m hard as hell and ready to fuck her right here in the middle of downtown. No one would notice, right? “You keep that up and everything I said about respecting women is going to sound like total bullshit when I take you right here against this wall.” I can feel her smile against my lips.

“Is that a promise?”

“Dear God, woman,” I groan, nipping at her bottom lip in retaliation and palming her ass, using my grip to wrench her hard against me. “See what you’re doing to me?” I ask when she gasps quietly. I should probably take things slow but I get the feeling that slow isn’t what she wants. We’ll just ignore the fact that I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to. She’s driving me absolutely crazy in the best possible way. Every touch of her lips, every lap of her tongue, every rock of her hips. She knows exactly what she’s doing and God if it isn’t sexy as hell.

She laughs and I force myself to step away. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it fucking right.

And I have things to prove…