Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
When I reach the nape of her neck, my thumb slides across her pale, creamy skin. I don’t want to stop touching her, and this is a problem.
A problem I like far too much. My chest heats as I steal another touch, grazing her neck once more.
She stifles a gasp, and I pause, absorbing the realization that she likes the way I’m touching her hair, maybe even the way I have to pull on it to braid it. When I near the end, she goes still, as if she’s holding her breath. I fight the urge to tug on the end of her braid. But I focus on finishing, neatly looping one strand over the other until I’m down to the middle of her back with little hair left.
“I don’t have a hair tie,” she says quietly.
“But we have a lucky clip.” I grab the clip once more and use it to secure the end of the braid. “Done. And with four minutes to spare.”
She turns around, and there’s something in her brown eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s not gratitude, though there is some of that. It’s more like curiosity with a touch of heat.
A part of me thinks that’s good. Another part thinks it’s a problem that this temptation seems mutual.
“Thank you, Corbin.” She lets out a laugh, then adds, “I should bake you a cake to show my appreciation.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m just glad I was here.”
“You don’t like cake?” From her tone, indifference to cake would be blasphemy.
“I ate some off your arm a few minutes ago.”
“But did you like it?”
I’d have thought that was proof. “Of course I like cake.”
“Why of course?”
“Because I like things that taste…” I pause, trying not to look at her mouth, but failing, “really fucking good.”
Maybe that came out a bit naughtier than it sounded in my head. Maybe I’m flirting with my best friend’s little sister. Didn’t have that on my bingo card for today.
“Like what?” she counters.
This woman doesn’t back down. And there are so many reasons I shouldn’t answer that question. Her brother’s the acting general manager for my hockey team, filling the role after the longtime GM retired last season. As if that’s not enough, with the season barely underway, a rough end to last year’s playoff hopes, and my daughter extremely busy with middle school in the city, my life is complicated enough.
But there’s something about the space in this trailer, or the lack thereof. There’s something about the flirty way Mabel asked, Like what? And there’s definitely something about the way she’s waiting for my answer like she needs it.
My gaze drops to a tiny bit of frosting still left on her forearm, then returns to her eyes. “Things like frosting.”
3
I’VE BEEN RADICALIZED
MABEL
I really shouldn’t do this. But I probably shouldn’t have done that whole smash-cake routine either. Let’s just call it the day for impetuous decisions, since I swipe off the cherry-pink frosting, step closer, then flick it at Corbin’s cheek, where it lands in a glop on his fair skin, right below his strong cheekbone.
He blinks, clearly taken aback.
I laugh, but not for long.
He darts out a hand, grabs my wrist and holds it tight. “Did you just fling frosting at me?”
It’s that stern, bossy tone he used with Ronnie, and I shiver. I like the tone as much as I like the possessive way he grips my wrist.
I bob a shoulder and answer, “You said you liked cake.”
“Did you think that meant on my face?”
“Better than on your pretty suit. I know how important the pre-game photos are.”
“So I should be glad you didn’t throw cake on my shirt?”
“I mean, it’s a good test of your devotion to it.”
He stares sharply at me. “Are you testing me, Mabel?”
I stand my ground. “Yes.”
With a look that says, You’re on, he lifts his free hand, swipes the sugary goodness from his cheek, then licks some off slowly.
Oh.
Oh my.
I believe I’ve just been radicalized by the unexpected hotness of a man eating something sweet. Why has it taken me so long to witness this thirst trap? But damn, the way his tongue flicks past his lips, the way he catches the last bit of frosting with the tip, the way he doesn’t break my gaze…His green eyes are locked on me the whole time as he licks. My chest feels fizzy. My heart is beating so fast.
He lets out a low, satisfied murmur as he finishes. “Believe me now?”
I swallow down my hormones, then nod toward the smidgeon left on his finger. “I would believe you, but I don’t think you got it all.”
He tsks. “You’re right. I didn’t.” In slow-motion, he brings the last bit of frosting to his lips, but with a quickness I don’t see coming, he smears it on my cheek instead.