Page 85 of Pucking One Night Stand

My throat tightens, stupidly. I bite the inside of my lip, mostly to keep it together. Because I want to smirk, throw some sarcastic remark back at him, but I also want to curl into him like I’ve finally stopped running.

I tip my face up and kiss him. It starts soft. But we don't seem to be any good at soft, not for long anyway.

His fingers find the edge of my jaw and guide me in closer. My hand slides to the back of his neck. His mouth opens under mine, and just like that, we’re tumbling again.

Heat coils low in my stomach. His palm drifts to my hip. I slide my leg over his, drawing him in.

No lasagna. No bets. No father. No ex.

Chapter thirteen

Blake

Light bleeds in through the open patio doors, early, pale, and way too eager. My eyes crack open slowly, as though my lids are made of stone.

For a second, I have no idea where the hell I am. My body feels wrecked, in a good way. The sofa underneath me is soft. The air still carries the faint trace of non-alcoholic wine and scorched lasagna.

Then I feel her.

Cassy’s curled against me, her leg tangled with mine, and one arm is flung across my chest, like she owns it. Her face is pressed just under my collarbone, hair everywhere, mouth slightly open.

That’s when last night crashes back into my head like a freight train.

Her mouth, my hands, that goddamn bra she flung halfway across the yard like it wronged her.

Yeah. That happened. All of it.

My mouth tugs into a smile. And then, fuck!McCullum.

The thought hits like a slap.

Cassy’s father. The man who threw me off the team. The man I accidentally punched. The man who might very well still want to run me over with a ten-ton truck.

Do I tell her I want to talk to him? Let her in on it before I show up? Or just do it, clean and fast, before she has time to panic or talk me out of it?

If I tell her, we might fight. We’ve only just found our way back to...whatever this is.

No. Screw it. I’m talking to him. Without warning. I’ve got to fix it. Somehow.

That bridge is a mess of charred planks and bad blood, but I’m going to walk across it like hot coals if I have to. And after that, I’ve got to get back on the damn team.

I need to be out there, playing. Competing. Bleeding for something.

But what if McCullum throws down an ultimatum? What if he says something like, ‘You want back in? Then leave my daughter the hell alone.’

No. He wouldn’t. He couldn't. ...Could he? Shit.

Cassy stirs beside me, her body stretching against mine like a slow, sleepy cat. She yawns into my chest, then nuzzles closer like I’m some kind of pillow made out of sex and testosterone.

I wish I could stay like this. Just lie here, all damn day.

Her eyes crack open again and lock with mine. A wide, soft, ridiculously smug grin spreads across her face like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Morning, babe. Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she stretches again, her arms overhead like she’s reaching for heaven—or maybe just trying to make me look at her chest, which, okay, mission accomplished. “But my back’s aching a bit.”

She glances down between my legs, and that grin of hers goes full devil. “Wow.”