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“ I cannot believe that you don’t go to your brother’s games more often. I would be at every single game if I had the chance. Hockey players are hot.”

I roll my eyes at Tess. When I told her that I needed someone to go with me to see a hockey game, she did not hesitate. Tess was right when she said that my rule was dumb and I think it’s time to break it. Hastings seems like a viable option, especially since he asked if I was going to Casino Night and kissed my hand before he left the other day at school. Plus, it will bother the hell out of Tristan, which is always fun.

But, I was not about to face Hastings alone. I needed my hype woman next to me. She showed up at my doorstep with Dean’s jersey in hand.

“You did not have to get me Dean’s jersey. I have a jersey with my own last name on it.”

“Well, I figured since you are possibly interested in him, you might as well wear his jersey. He may find it hot. Hockey men love when their women wear their jerseys.”

Tess apparently harassed Bradley to give us tickets close to the ice–so there we are, sitting basically right behind the Storm bench.

Another reason I don’t go to games all that much, other than my rule, is that it’s really hard to watch my brother get slammed into the sideboards or pummeled in fist fights. No matter how much he used to get on my nerves growing up, I don’t want to see him physically hurt. But I guess that’s the choice he made when he decided to pursue a hockey career.

“Welcome your Dallas Storm!” Music blasts through the arena speakers. Fans are screaming at the top of their lungs.

“Thanks for coming with me, Tess!” I yell over the chaos. The lights are flashing and I can barely hear anything over the crowd as the team starts making their way onto the ice.

“Always, girl. Oh look, there’s your soon-to-be man.” She points toward the ice while taking a sip of her beer. She wiggles her eyebrows like a silly school girl telling me that my crush is on the other side of the playground.

I shake my head and look onto the ice. Dean lines up next to Jageilski, and he is looking over in our direction. Then a number that I am all-too-familiar with–92–appears next to Dean. My brother follows suit next to Tristan. Dean taps Tristan on his peck and leans toward him to tell him something. Tristan’s eyebrows pull together and then makes direct eye contact with me.

As the resident singer belts out The Star Spangled Banner, I try my very best to not look onto the ice at all. I have a feeling that someone is staring at me, and unfortunately I don’t think it is my brother or the guy whose jersey I am wearing.

After the crowd sits down and the lights come back on, Tess leans over to me. “God, Tristan must really hate you, girl.”

I gasp as if I am surprised by this news. “You don’t say!” I take a sip of my beer.

“It was like daggers were piercing into your soul the whole time the national anthem was going on.”

“Classic Tristan Lawson. He has no other look for me.” Except for the first night I met him.

The first period seems to last forever. Neither team has scored. I swear, every time I see Bradley get slammed into the sideboards, I wince. I don’t know how Jen does it. I really do hate to see my brother get hurt all the time. At least they are only on the ice for a minute tops, maybe even less. It feels like an eternity, though.

Now I am sitting up close so I get to hear all the fun expletives and trash-talking. I smile when I see someone slam into Tristan or when he trips up. He also gets this very intense look when he is on the ice that I never noticed before. He is very focused. Even though I hate his guts, I can’t help but appreciate his dedication. Bradley has been talking non-stop at Sunday night dinners about how the captain’s spot is about to be available and how much he thinks Tristan deserves it. He is already an alternate, so anytime the current captain is not on the ice, he is the one who takes responsibility or confronts the referee if there is an unfair call.

He is a fan favorite for sure. I scan the stands around me and 90 percent of the people are wearing Tristan’s jersey. Some fangirls are even wearing the jersey with I assume shorts underneath, but at first glance it appears they are just wearing the jersey…and nothing else. I’m sure he loves that.

The buzzer goes off and the players skate off the ice. Dean waves over at me and smiles. I quickly acknowledge him with a wave and pull out my phone from my back pocket.

“I have to run to the restroom,” Tess says. “I know it’s not an ideal time because everyone is there, but I really need to go! Do you want anything from the concessions before I come back? More beer?”

I look at my almost-empty plastic cup and say, “Yes and can you get a pretzel with extra cheese please.”

“You got it! I’ll be back.”

“Thanks!” I try to open Instagram to mindlessly scroll, but alas I have no service because EVERYONE is on their phones. I turn my phone over and rock my leg back and forth. Then I get a notification. I’m assuming it’s a text from Tess.

I was wrong.

Tell me the number.

Why the hell is Tristan texting me in the middle of a game? Shouldn’t he be recovering or something? Wiping off that disgusting sweat that is no doubt dripping down his body?

The number of what?

Three dots load immediately. What is he playing at? This is a weird game that I don’t know if I want to play with him. Then a gray bubble appears on the bottom left hand side of my screen.

The number of goals I need to score in order for you to take off that fucking jersey that doesn’t have my name on it.

My jaw drops as I read that text message over and over again. Take off that fucking jersey that doesn’t have my name on it ? Is he serious? Why would I ever wear his jersey? Over my dead body, Lawson. But if he wants a number, I’ll give him a nearly impossible one. I may not come to a lot of games, but I know all the hockey terminology. Time to get into his head.

My fingers move across the keyboard.

I’ll tell you what Hot Shot: if you get a pure hat trick, I’ll do whatever you want.

About a minute passes by before a response. Maybe he realized that he isn’t as good as he thought. Maybe he realized how ridiculous that last text message to me was. I smugly sit back into the arena seat.

A moment later, I get a text that makes me very nervous. Because if there are two other things I know about Tristan Lawson is that he loves to play games and he loves a good challenge. And the scary thing is, he usually wins at both.

I’ll hold you to that, Cupcake.

My face grows hot again at the possibility that Tristan could pull a pure hat trick off. I am praying so hard that he doesn’t, because I am terrified of what he would make me do other than take this jersey off.

I try to calm down by reminding myself that statistics are on my side with this one. There is a slim chance that Tristan will score three goals in a row with no one else scoring in between. That’s why I was so comfortable betting that he would be unsuccessful.

“Are you okay?” Tess interjects, breaking into my thoughts.

I stand up so she can get back to her seat. I click the side of my phone and put it in my back pocket. She hands me my new beer and the delicious pretzel with cheese. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you look like someone just gave you the worst news possible.”

With Tristan Lawson, I fear that’s not too far off. I shouldn’t have provoked him. He’s dangerous when he is provoked.

Once Tristan comes back onto the ice, there is an intensity in his eyes that supersedes anything that I have ever seen before. Within the first minute of the third period, he glides fluidly and swiftly towards the goal and scores. Less than a minute later, he scores again. And out of what seems like pure luck in the last five minutes of the game, he scores one more time. After his final goal and his celebratory embrace with his team, he looks up and winks at me. My stomach does a somersault. I try to convince myself it’s because he won the challenge and my body is reacting to defeat–not because that wink lit a spark that I haven’t felt since the night I met him.

I head home right after the game because I have to start baking cupcakes for my coworker’s child’s fourth birthday party.

The second batch is in the oven when I hear a knock at my door. That’s weird, I didn’t get a notification that someone needed to be let in. I walk over to the door, lean against the wood, and say, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Cupcake.”

I jump back from the door. Why is Tristan here? Doesn’t he have to recover from tonight’s game? What does he want? Another knock breaks me out of my head.

“Are you going to open the door, Cupcake, or are you going to keep me out here looking like a creep in front of your neighbors?”

Tempting. I exhale and swing open the door. At the sight of him, my heart starts to flutter and my ears get hot. And I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t because of my hatred for Tristan. Did I mention how unfair it is that he looks the way he does? He smells freshly clean, with a hint of cedar and mint. He is wearing a backwards hat and his dark, wavy hair is peeking out underneath the sides. His intricate sleeves are on full display, along with the protruding manly veins on his forearms and semi-exposed biceps. My God, even fully clothed, he still evokes a silly reaction from my body, namely between my fucking legs. No matter, I am pushing those thoughts away to the ends of the earth because that would never happen in a bazillion years.

I block the entrance to my apartment. He’s not coming in here that easy. Not if I have any say or control. “What are you doing here, Tristan?”

He looks down at me and his eyes turn dark when he sees that I am still wearing Dean’s jersey. In the midst of racing home to beat the insane traffic from downtown and needing some baking therapy, I didn’t take off that jersey. Granted, I didn’t think that Tristan would check on whether or not that I did. Dammit.

“I scored a pure hat trick.”

I cock my eyebrow up, trying to look tough while wearing an oversized green hockey jersey and a bubble-gum pink knotted headband. Tim Gunn would not approve.

Why did I agree to do whatever he wants? If he has his way, he is going to make me do something embarrassing in public. Or make me touch a spider–my absolute worst fear, after skating. I hate spiders. Almost as much as I hate this man standing in front of me. There is a devilish look in his eyes as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. Great. He is probably plotting something extra devious for me to do.

“All right, you win, Hot Shot. Since I lost, what do you want me to do?”

Avoiding answering the question, he moves past me and points towards the kitchen. “It smells great in here. Are you making cupcakes?”

“Um, yeah. For one of my coworker’s little girl’s birthday party.” I lock the door and watch as Tristan runs a finger through one of the frosted cupcakes and sticks it in his mouth. The way my mouth is probably hanging open, one would think that I am watching that scene from Bridgerton where the Duke is licking the damn spoon, because it is giving me the same stupid tingly feeling all across my body. No one should look that hot licking his finger clean of frosting. But of course, Tristan Lawson would. It’s a cruel joke from the universe that my enemy has to be so irresistible at times.

Before I can snatch the cupcake from his massive hands, he does something that stops me in my tracks. He licks around the top of the cupcake, disseminating any frosting in its wake. It paralyzes me and my face gets extra hot. Thank God it’s a little warm in here because of the oven being on for the past hour or so. I can definitely blame the oven. I need to blame the oven.

“Mmmm,” Tristan finally utters. “You’ve gotten better.”

“Is this the price? You stealing a four-year-old’s cupcake?”

“Not even close.” He places what’s left of the chocolate cupcake down on the counter and meets me halfway. My body is nearly flush against his. If I thought it was hot in my apartment before, it feels like an inferno now. “I figured since I scored three times tonight, you have to do three things for me.”

Oh God, here it comes. He’s going to make me streak or write on my face with a permanent marker a la Ross and Rachel in Vegas, or something equally embarrassing.

I sigh. “Okay, shoot. What do I have to do, Hot Shot?”

He licks his lips and for some reason, that small action makes me want to lick his lips, too. What is happening? This is Tristan Lawson. My enemy for the past decade. I should not want to lick his lips and discover what he tastes like. Should being the most important word.

I cross my arms and stick out a hip, hopefully giving off an annoyed and pissed-off vibe. I desperately hope that it covers up how turned on I am right now. “Ugh, fine, tell me what I have to do.” Before he opens his mouth I add, rather plead, “But please, if I can request no spiders. I am deathly afraid of spiders.”

He inhales sharply, raises his eyebrows, and inches closer to me and says, almost sultrily, “I can’t guarantee that, Cupcake. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

My eyes flutter at how close he is getting. He is popping my innermost personal bubble, and instead of pushing him away, I am just letting it happen because I do not have the strength to fight him. Not right now.

“That’s the problem, I don’t trust you.”

“Too bad.” His eyes are so dark I swear every ounce of hazel has escaped them. Then he pulls something out of his jogger’s pocket. I can’t quite make out what it is until he places this object in my palm. I unravel the piece of fabric and see that it’s a tie. I look back up at him and raise an eyebrow. “A tie? What is this for?”

“No more questions. Just do what I say.”

Well damn. I’ve never been ordered around like this before, but am realizing at this very moment how much I might like it. Although I am still confused, I nod. “Continue.”

He steps forward, erasing what’s left of the space between us. Then he grabs the side of my arms and presses me against the counter. I sharply inhale as I lock eyes with Tristan, tightly grasping the tie in my hand. My legs are buckling at the sight of this man. He has bulked up these past ten years and his enormous arms are now locking me on either side of me, his hands gripping the counter as if his life depends on it. My breath is uneasy, mimicking my insides.

“First, I need you to take off that fucking jersey,” he growls. To his credit, that is how this whole thing started. Thankfully, I am wearing a sports bra crop top underneath and don’t just have a bra on. Like hell I am getting completely naked in front of Tristan Lawson. I don’t care if my body is betraying me right now and desperately wanting the opposite to happen.

With the limited space between us, I manage to grab the hem of the jersey and attempt to take it off my body. It gets stuck on my knotted headband and I struggle with getting it up over my head. I hear a deep chuckle from the other side of the fabric and before I know it, the jersey is free and dropped to the floor along with my headband. Great. My hair is probably sticking up at all ends. Is this what he wants? To see me embarrassed? Because he is doing a great job.

As I raise my hand to fix my hair, Tristan’s strong hand grips my wrist and stops me. “Don’t. I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“All disheveled. It’s hot.”

Did Tristan Lawson just call me hot? I don’t understand what is coming out of that perfect mouth of his but I am not not liking it.

“Okay, jersey’s off, Hot Shot. Happy? What’s two?”

He grins, clears his throat and says, “Put that tie around your eyes and prop yourself up on this counter. And make sure it’s tight, Cupcake. No peeking.”

My heart starts to race. I want to protest because I want to see every ounce of this man that I can. I can’t explain the shift that has happened in the span of ten minutes, but I have a feeling that we are past the point of no return.

I jump up on the counter, take the tie and knot it behind my head. Forget the spiders. A new fear has been unlocked. I am at the hands of my enemy and I have no defenses at my disposal. Oddly enough, I feel the safest I’ve ever felt in front of Tristan, despite me saying that I didn’t trust him mere minutes ago.

“This is a weird request, even for you Lawson.” I scoot my butt from side to side to make sure I am stable on this counter. Another chuckle escapes his lips and I can clearly visualize the stupid smug grin he has on his stupidly handsome face. I can sense him move away from me. A second later, I can smell the scent of a chocolate cupcake in front of me. Great, he’s going to smash all my cupcakes in my face, take a photo and leave me to clean up the mess. He would.

“Why do you have a cupcake in your hand? You’re about to smash it in my face, aren’t you?”

“Stop asking questions. Only answer them.” Geez bossy. Again, I am not hating it like I should. “Now answer me, yes or no.”

What? “Yes or no what?”

“Uh uh, Cupcake. No asking questions, remember? Just yes or no?”

My head is screaming, NO! Don’t do it! He is the bane of your existence! He is the disgusting playboy that you’ve known for ten years. More importantly, he is a hockey player. The very same hockey player that made you make your hard and fast rule in the first place. Don’t do it, Brooke!

But my body is telling me something entirely different. It’s screaming YES. Then I feel Tristan lean in and brush his lips against my ear. His breath causes my entire body to shiver and my breathing becomes erratic. “Yes or no. I need you to answer me, Cupcake.”

Eagerly, I say, “Yes.”

“Good girl. Right answer.” Then I feel his fingers mess with the button on my jeans. Just when I thought I wasn’t going to get naked in front of this man, I guess I was wrong.

“Tristan, what are you doing?”

Obviously not acknowledging my question, he unzips and pulls down my jeans until they are completely off my body. I thank my lucky stars that I wore cute underwear today. Lace bubblegum pink ones in fact. “I see we are into matching, are we?” Shit, he noticed too. I wouldn’t have expected Tristan to notice something like that.

“We are, in fact. Do you have a problem with that, Hot Shot?” I can’t help but be quippy with him after all these years.

Evading my question again, he continues, “These are sexy panties. Were you expecting someone to see them, Cupcake?”

“Maybe I was expecting a fine gentleman suitor to come by and ravish me.” Okay, I need to stop binging Bridgerton . “You know, just like you were expecting that ice girl the other night. What was her name again? Alison?”

I wish I could see his reaction. Every other sense around me is heightened now that I can’t see anything in front of me. The man isn’t even touching my skin and it’s tingly all over. I know that once he does touch me, I will most likely combust at this rate.

“Open that pretty mouth of yours.”

I pause for a few seconds, contemplating if I should rip this damn tie off my face and tell him to get lost. But that’s not what I do at all. I do as I am told. I open my mouth and the next thing I taste is frosting on my tongue. “Now lick and suck the frosting off like a good girl.”

I do as I am told and even though this frosting is delicious, it’s what’s underneath the frosting that I am now starting to crave. I want that massive finger in a very different part of my body right now.

“Holy shit,” Tristan whispers as I continue to suck on his finger, teasing him a little with my tongue. Two can play at this game, Lawson.

I release his finger, bite my lower lip and say, “Mmm. You’re right, I have gotten better.”

Just when I think I have the one-up on him, his hands grab my knees and spread my legs apart. I let out a gasp at the sudden motion. “I want to taste some more, Cupcake.” The next thing I feel is frosting being placed in my inner thighs. The cool sensation feels amazing against my thighs that are ablaze right now. My body involuntarily inches closer to the edge of the counter, yearning for Tristan to touch me, in any way, again.

Almost like he can read my mind, I feel his hands wrap around both my thighs and his hot breath against my skin. His tongue traces the trail of frosting he made for himself, coming dangerously close to my pussy with each lick, making me even more wet than I already am. He continues on the other side and stops short after the last lick of frosting. “Fuck,” is all I hear him mutter.

“Why did you stop?” My voice sounds breathy.

“I want to take you in like this.”

“And how is that? Defenseless and blindfolded?” I say sarcastically.

“No, fucking beautiful and perfect.”

What is happening right now? How did we get in this situation? I blame Bradley for ever meeting Tristan in the first place. I would be happily baking cupcakes right now, probably watching The Great British Bake Off , instead of sitting in my underwear on my countertop with the hottest hockey player in the world in between my legs, who just happens to be my arch nemesis. Not that this doesn’t make me happy. It absolutely does. I am just confused. I thought he hated me.

“Can I take this tie off, please?” I plead. I need to see his face right now. I hate that I can’t see his eyes. “Sure,” he says, presumably still kneeling on the ground between my thighs. I rip the blindfold off, undoubtedly making my hair even more disheveled. According to his standards, I must look like a goddess by now. When I look down at Tristan, his eyes are even more ravenous. He gazes at me like I am a damn snack. And I don’t hate it. No man has ever looked at me the way that Tristan is looking at me right now.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Lawson?”

He stands up and meets my gaze. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a fucking gazelle and you are a lion. Like you want to devour me.”

“I do want to devour you. And I am glad you took off that blindfold because I want to see your whole face when I make you come, Cupcake.”

Tristan lowers me down onto the counter and scoots me closer to the edge. He places my legs on top of his muscular shoulders and grasps my thighs even tighter. He’s taking his sweet time and it’s driving me crazy. He gently kisses slow trails down my inner thighs. He rubs his hand over my panties and my hips lift as I whimper.

“You like that, Cupcake?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He slides my panties down my legs and throws them to the ground, alongside the rest of my clothes. I feel two of his fingers slide inside of me and I let out a moan. I rock my hips as he is fingering me. He touches my clit and continues to pound his fingers into me. “I feel your pussy getting tighter.”

All I can do is nod.

“Go ahead and come on my fingers like the good girl you are.”

I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve really only had sex in a bed and it’s always been so calculated. So predictable. I’m always in my head during sex. Not now. My heart is racing and I feel my entire body getting flushed by what Tristan is saying and doing to me. Even though this is anything but predictable, I want to give in. I want to let go of control for once.

And I do just that.

“That was the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Tristan whispers. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you come.”

My chest is heaving and I drape my arm over my eyes. That was hands-down the best orgasm of my life.

“Now stay right there and keep your legs open for me. It’s my turn to taste you.” Tristan gives me a devilish grin and before I can come back with some sort of snarky statement, I feel his tongue against my wet pussy. God, this man knows how to work his tongue. He pulls my thighs closer to him and my heels dig into his back. I can hear him let out a moan and it’s the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard in my life. It only fuels my need for him.

“Oh my god, Tristan. Don’t stop!”

“Not planning on it, Cupcake. You taste so fucking good.”

This man is going to be the death of me. I prop up on my forearms to see the man I’ve hated for so long go down on me and I love that he is practically on his knees for me and making sure that I am feeling good. He is treating me like a goddess and I’ve never had that in my life. So many thoughts are rolling around in my head. All the implications of this. What does this mean? Is this just a one-time thing? Am I okay with that if it is? What if all he wants is sex? I am not that kind of girl. Never have been and even though this man is the hottest thing to walk this earth, I am not about to change for him. I want more than just this.

“Stop.”

He pulls back, confusion knitting his brow. “What?”

“Overthinking.”

He growls, “I need you to come on my face, Cupcake, and you overthinking isn’t going to help that become a reality. Just relax.”

And just like that, his tongue is against me while his finger rubs my clit and my body releases for the second time tonight. Is he trying to recreate what he did on the ice tonight and execute a pure hat trick with me, too? I am not opposed to that at all. I collapse back onto the counter and try to slow my breathing.

“That’s my good girl,” Tristan says in a deep voice. God is this guy trying to ruin me with his mouth?

I exhale and lift myself up on my forearms again. Confused, I say, “You just said my good girl.” I’ve never heard Tristan talk about any girl being his girl and he just uttered those words to me . Me. His sworn enemy.

Are we enemies with benefits now? Is that even a thing? Or are we more than that?

A dark grin takes over his mouth. His eyes are pitch black, consumed by hunger and passion and all the things I don’t expect to see in the eyes of my enemy. “That’s right, Cupcake. Because here on out, that’s what you are. Mine.”

Before I can even process what he said, there is a knock at my door that makes us both jump.

“Who the hell is at your door at eleven at night?”

I shake my head. I have no idea who is at my door. Then I hear Bradley’s voice: “Brooke? Are you awake?”

Shit. All the blood drains from my face. “Um, just a moment!” I jump down from the counter and frantically grab my clothes from the floor.

“Should I go answer it?” Tristan says, grinning.

I jump into my jeans. “Don’t you dare!” I whisper and give him a death glare. “Do you want to die tonight? Because that’s what’s going to happen if my brother ever finds out about…”

Tristan crosses his arms, clearly amused by my flustered state and awaiting the next words that come out of my mouth.

“About whatever just happened.”

I start to put my arms through Dean’s jersey and just as quickly, it is snatched from my hands.

“I never want to see you in this jersey ever again. It belongs in the fucking garbage. Not on your gorgeous body, Cupcake.” He throws the jersey in the trash.

“Brooke, what the hell is taking you so long? Wait, ew, is there a guy in your apartment? Should I come back?”

My mouth slacks open as Tristan is covering his mouth, attempting to stifle a laugh. I place my headband back on my head and say, “Yes… I mean no!” My voice goes up an octave as I panic. Tristan needs to hide now. “Just a second!” I yell back at my door. My neighbors probably hate me.

I turn back to Tristan. “You need to disappear.”

“There’s no way out of here, Cupcake. Unfortunately, I am not a Navy Seal. I can’t scale the walls of the building and make it down safely.”

“Fine. But stay behind the door and I’ll get rid of my brother.”

We both walk over to the door and I silently instruct Tristan to stand behind the door. Surprisingly, he does as he is told. Maybe he doesn’t want to die after all. I take a deep breath, flatten out my hair as much as I can and pull down my crop top as low as it can go and hope to God Bradley leaves as soon as possible.

I finally open the door and only expose my head in Bradley’s sightline. “Hey Bradley, what’s up, bro? What are you doing here at 11 p.m.? Isn’t Jen waiting for you?”

“Why did it take you so long to answer your door? And why are you so flushed?”

That’s when I feel a hand slowly slide up my leg. What the hell is Tristan doing? He clearly has a death wish. Even if Bradley doesn’t kill him, I might.

“Um I was…baking.” Not a complete lie. Tristan’s hand keeps creeping up my inner thigh and he grasps it, stopping short of where I want his hand to end up. I have to keep a straight face. If Bradley knew that his best friend and teammate was right behind this door, touching his sister in ways that made her feel alive, it would be a bloodbath.

“What do you need? I was about done with baking and am so tired.”

“Just wanted to check in with you. You kind of bolted after the game and you weren’t answering your texts. Sorry, I’m just protective of you and I was honestly kind of surprised you were at the game in the first place. And wearing Hastings’ jersey.” He has an accusatory look in his eye. What if I was starting to date Dean? What would Bradley do?

Tristan’s hold on my inner thigh tightens.

“Yeah. I just want to support you a little more. You know hockey isn’t my thing but it’s yours and you’ve always supported my dreams of becoming a baker full-time. And as for the jersey, Tess had an extra one in her car because I forgot yours before I left for work this morning. But you don’t have to worry about me wearing his jersey anymore.”

“Okay, well, thanks I guess. About time you come to more of my games! It means a lot that you are supporting me. I know how much you hate hockey.”

I shrug. “It’s not as bad as I thought.”

Tristan’s hand inches dangerously close to where his tongue was earlier. I need Bradley to leave now !

“Anyway, Brad, I am so tired. I am heading to bed. Thanks for checking up on me. It means the world.”

“Okay, I’ll let you go to bed. Love you sis!”

“Love you, too.” I close the door, lock it and smack Tristan’s hand away. “What the actual hell? Why would you touch me like that?”

Tristan grins. “Like what, Cupcake.”

I squint my eyes and scoff, “You know like what. I don’t have to tell you.”

“I think that you do.”

“I think it’s time for you to go, Hot Shot. You have stayed long enough. You got what you came for.” I begin to unlock the door and Tristan’s giant hand stops me.

“Are you sure you want me to leave?”

No? Yes? Definitely, yes. I can’t be alone with this man. It’s too dangerous. Especially now that I know what he is capable of.

I look up at Tristan’s face and he subtly licks his lips and his eyes are hungry again. I don’t trust myself around him and I have to come to grips about who is standing in front of me. I am too scared to think of the implications of us hooking up more than we already have. I have had a preview of what this man is like in the bedroom and it has shifted everything. The solid, bolded line of hate is beginning to thin out a little.

Do I want him to leave? No. I gulp. “Yes.”

I don’t know what it is, but Tristan’s eyes shift from hungry to defeated once those words come out of my mouth. He brushes his finger along my jawline, causing goosebumps to scatter across my body, and lifts up my chin so I can’t escape his gaze. He leans in and pauses right before his lips touch mine. My body tingles from his touch and I close my eyes, waiting for his lips to land on mine. Instead he moves his face along my cheek and tickles me with his scruff, then whispers, “Okay. I know you have a long day tomorrow. Good luck at the birthday party, Cupcake.”