Page 6 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

“I seriously doubt that,” she whispers, holding my gaze for a long, loaded beat that makes me think she might find me nearly as gorgeous as I find her. Even though I’m not nearly as hot in a damp dress shirt and boxer briefs as she is in her underwear.

But before I can ask if she wants to kiss me and see if that makes the owie feel better, she clears her throat and sits back on her heels, pulling her cheek from my palm.

“But I hear you. I don’t want to make you feel worse by wallowing in my own guilt.

But I’m staying up to make sure you don’t die in your sleep from a knee injury. It’s the least I can do.”

My lips twitch. “I don’t think that’s how knees work.”

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you die on my watch. Not after you drove through a building for me. But I do need to pee before I assume my post.” She stands, wobbling a little before finding her balance.

The poor thing is half dead on her feet.

No surprise after the adrenaline rush she had earlier tonight.

“I won’t die,” I say, dropping the teasing tone. “I just need sleep, and so do you. So, go. Sleep. And we’ll make plans to get my knee checked out in the morning. I’m fine to shower and get to bed by myself tonight.”

“You promise?” she asks.

“I promise,” I assure her. “The best guest room is down the hall, second door on the right. It has its own private bath, and my mom left a few things in the bureau the last time she came for a visit. I think it’s just pajamas and workout clothes, but she’s about your size.

Just taller. Feel free to wear anything you find. ”

“Okay. Thanks.” She starts to turn away, then stops, wrapping her arms around herself as she faces me again.

“I just want you to know that I won’t cramp your style or abuse your generosity, okay?

I’ll rest up, then figure out where to go next tomorrow.

I can probably stay with Elly for a while once she’s back from her honeymoon, or with Charlotte if she?—”

“You’ll stay with me,” I cut in. “As long as you like. As long as you need.”

The words hang between us. She blinks, and I can see her working through all the reasons that’s probably not a good idea.

I cut in before she can speak, “I’m serious. You need a place to stay. I have two empty guest rooms. Seems pretty simple to me. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

“Yes, it does,” she says, biting her bottom lip before confessing in a sexy whisper that goes straight to my dick, “Wanting to bone a guy you used to babysit is weird.”

“I knew you wanted to bone me,” I whisper back, taking the win where I can. At least now I have a pretty good idea why she’s been avoiding me. “And there’s nothing weird about it. We’re both adults. I turned twenty-seven in May. My frontal lobe is fully developed and everything.”

Her mouth hooks up on one side. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I’m excited about it.”

“I’m not sure my frontal lobe ever fully developed.”

“I mean that would explain why you thought it was okay to live on a shelf like some kind of kitchen goblin,” I tease. “When Elly first told me, I thought she was kidding. But I should have known she wasn’t. You’ve always been a maniac.”

Her brow furrows again. “She shouldn’t have told you that.”

“But thank God she did,” I say, sobering. “Seriously.”

The vibes in the room grow heavy as we both imagine what could have happened if I’d no idea she was sleeping at her restaurant tonight.

Finally, I nod. “So, it might be time to take a step back and admit that your stubbornly independent streak might be impeding your ability to make rational decisions. And that it’s okay to accept help when you need it. Maybe? You think?”

She wrinkles her nose, then scrunches her lips for good measure. “Fine. Yes. Valid. But that doesn’t mean we should bone. Not boning is a rational decision.”

Deciding to leave that debate to a later date, when we’re both rested and I look hotter than I do right now, I incline my head.

“Agree to disagree, but it’s not rational to rush out of here tomorrow when I have all this extra space and you need a place to go.

Especially not when I’m promising to keep things purely platonic until you’re back on your feet. ”

She narrows her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” I assure her. “I want you begging for my cock because you’re desperate for it, not because you’re bartering pussy for shelter.”

“I wouldn’t barter pussy for shelter,” she says with another tired sigh. “Like you said, I’m too stubborn. I’ve already proven I’d rather live on a shelf than with a man I don’t like, so…”

“So, is that a yes?” I prompt after a moment. “Come on, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“You decide you can’t stand me once you get to know me better?” she whispers. “I know I’m a lot sometimes. Too much, some would say. Have said, and…” She shakes her head, trailing off with a wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say any of that out loud. I’m just… I’m really tired.”

“Then go to bed,” I say, silently wishing a raging, incurable case of athlete’s foot on every man who ever made this amazing woman feel like “too much.” She’s not too much. She’s just enough. The perfect amount. Perfect for me, anyway. “Sleep well and we’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

“Okay,” she says, avoiding eye contact. “Are you sure you don’t need help to your room?”

“No, I’m fine,” I say, not wanting an audience for my final limp to the finish line. “Feel free to grab a shower if you want. You’ll probably sleep better.”

“We should both shower,” she says as she backs toward the hallway. “Seriously, Parker. Floodwater is at least two parts poop. Everyone knows that. And you do smell like mud and sewage. I wasn’t kidding about that.”

I curl my upper lip. “Gross. And good to know. I’ll get my ass in the shower ASAP.”

“You should, and…” She leans against the doorframe, finally meeting my gaze again as she adds, “Thank you. For everything you did tonight. I’m really glad I’m not dead.”

“I’m glad about that, too,” I say, adding as she turns to go, “and Mack?”

She glances back. “Yeah?”

“You aren’t too much,” I say. “They weren’t enough. Also, fuck them.”

She huffs out a soft laugh, but her gaze is softer as she nods. “Thanks. See you in the morning, Parker.”

“See you.” I stay in the chair for a little longer, listening to her close the door to the guest room and start the water for her shower.

Then, I limp into my room and duck under the spray myself, leaning heavily on fantasies of how much more fun it would be to be showering together to ignore the way my knee throbs in time with my heartbeat.

Tomorrow, I’ll have to face reality—call Coach, the team doc, get an MRI, find out if I just fucked my entire career—but tonight I have fantasy Makena under the spray with me, complimenting my gorgeous cock.

And yeah, it’s crazy to be crushing this hard on someone I’ve spent a total of eight hours with in the past year, but…the heart wants what it wants.

And mine wants Makena DeWitt.

I’ve wanted her since I was twelve, and she was the first person to laugh at my raunchy jokes instead of telling me to behave myself.

I’ve wanted her since I realized she felt more like family than my mom or dad ever had.

I’ve wanted her since the New Year’s Eve we stayed up until midnight while my parents were out getting mean drunk at the country club, and she gave me a totally innocent New Year’s kiss on the cheek.

Twelve-year-old me thought it was the best first kiss ever. Even if she hadn’t meant it “that” way, even if I knew she still thought of me as a kid.

The years between then and now haven’t changed the way I feel; they’ve just given me the adult perspective needed to realize that the reason she feels like home is because she’s my person. My wild, free-thinking, dream-chasing, fearless, funny, secretly vulnerable person, and I’m hers.

Eventually, she’s going to figure that out and want me the way I’ve always wanted her.

It’s just a matter of time.

And if my knee never works again? If I have to retire at twenty-seven and figure out who the hell I am without hockey?

It was worth it.

Because she’s alive and sleeping in my guest room for the foreseeable future.

And she doesn’t want to bone you, and you promised not to try to bone her, the inner voice helpfully supplies.

True, Inner Voice, but I didn’t make any promises about jerking off to thoughts of how nice her nipples looked in that bra…

I finish, coming with a soft groan all over the tile, then dry off and collapse into bed, spent in every way a man can be.

I sleep like the dead for a couple of hours. Then, I wake to the smell of something sugary and delicious and remember…she’s here.

She’s here, and for now that’s more than enough.