I chuckle. “My goals?” We’re inside a trendy boutique downtown and I’ve already talked myself into splurging.

Becca rounds the rack of cocktail dresses and begins searching through the hangers on the other side. “Yes. Since you’re so dead set on this. Let’s talk about your goals.”

I’d told Becca about the kiss Justin and I shared. Well, it was more than just a kiss. Remembering the way his hard body caged mine in against my couch while we grinded together has inspired new fantasies every night for the past week. Which is unfortunately almost as long as it’s been since I’ve seen him. We’ve both had busy weeks, and we can’t exactly parade this little fling in front of my brother. Which has meant we haven’t gotten any time to explore that kiss further, but I plan on changing that tonight.

Justin invited me to a charity banquet the team is attending tonight. Becca’s required to be there too, but she’s had her dress picked out forever—a strapless black thing she always wears to these events—her words, not mine.

As far as Owen knows, Justin invited me as a friend so I can hang out with Becca and drink free champagne.

“My goal,” I say, shoving the plum colored sheath back onto the rack, “is to have fun. I’ve never had a fling before.”

Becca makes a noise of disagreement. For the record, she thinks this is a terrible idea. “That’s the thing though. It can’t be purely physical when you have major feels for the person.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t have major feels.” I don’t think. Do I?

She narrows her eyes at me, her full lips pressing into a line dramatically.

“Okay, I did. At one time, yes. But then,” I pause, gauging our surroundings. I can’t actually say that he punched my v-card in the quiet boutique with the owner hovering nearby. I straighten my posture and lower my voice. “After all that stuff that went down between us, I accepted that he’s not capable of more. He doesn’t do feelings and romance, and that’s fine. That’s not what I’m looking for at this stage in my life.”

Becca looks skeptical, but she doesn’t say anything else, weighing my words.

But I keep talking. “We have chemistry, we always have. And if I can have a little fun with that, then why the heck not?”

“Why not? Um, because it’s a terrible fucking idea, that’s why not,” Becca scoffs.

She abandons the rack we’ve been searching and heads to the other side of the store. I follow her, already eyeing an emerald colored dress I spot from across the room. I wonder if I can pull off emerald?

I pull a deep breath into my lungs and inspect the emerald dress—that beading on the neckline is way too much. Then I turn to her, trying to find the words that will make her understand what’s going on in my head, my heart. “Becca, you of all people have always been all sex-positive, female-friendly, feminist super power go rah, rah love.”

Her eyebrows dart up. And then she bursts out laughing. “Rah, rah love? Seriously?”

“Yeah, sorry. That was probably a little much,” I laugh. “But seriously Becca, think about it. Why can’t I fuck around and have fun? The guys do it all the time.” Understatement of the year. My brother and his friends make an Olympic sport out of no-strings sex, and they are all gold-medalists—many times over. I thrust my shoulders back. “And if anyone needs a redo, it’s me and Justin.” That part was true at least. I needed to erase the memories of that night and replace them with something sweeter. It’s more than a desire, it’s practically a necessity. I need this. I need to be the one in control this time. And I need Becca to see that.

Becca thinks it over for a moment, then heaves out a long sigh. “Fine.”

“Fine?” That’s it? She’s agreeing with me now? What in the ever-loving fuck? We’ve been debating this for almost three days now.

She shrugs. “You’re right, okay? If you can keep yourself objective about this—if you can promise me that you won’t get emotionally attached—that you won’t…”

I hold up one hand. “I promise you, I’m in it for the orgasms. That’s it.”

Becca finally breaks into a smile. “Girl, he better deliver or I’m going to tell Owen and we’re both going to kick his ass.”

I raise my brows. “You would never tell Owen. Would you?” My brother would not do well knowing that Justin and I had boned. There would be blood, and tears and yeah, it would not be good.

“Of course not,” Becca continues, eyes narrowed on a red dress. “But I will kick Justin’s ass if he does even one freaking thing to upset you. And I mean that. He’s all out of free passes. He’s got one shot at this, and the second he pisses you off, that’s it as far as I’m concerned.”

Her expression is as serious as a heart attack. God, I love her. “Deal.” I nod. I like that plan—he’s got one shot and the minute it turns not fun, I’m out.

Becca, grinning like she’s won this debate, nods once to me before turning to peruse a rack of dresses. Even though she’s a pain in the ass, I love her, and I’m thankful for our friendship, and her sage advice.

“Oh my God. This is it,” Becca says, holding up a hanger for me to see. There’s a pale-pink lace shift dress with a deep V-neck in the front and back dangling delicately from the hanger. It’s so pretty. It’s innocent, but also sexy. It’s me.

It’s also four hundred dollars, but I told myself I was going to splurge.

“It’s perfect. I’ll take it.”

13

* * *

Playing the Game

Elise

Everyone’s here tonight. Owen, the entire team, Coach Bryant, several players I don’t recognize out of their gear, Becca, me, and most distracting of all—Justin.

He’s dressed in a finely tailored black tuxedo, crisp white shirt and enough sex appeal to thaw an entire ice rink in three seconds flat.

We’d ridden together in a limo over to the event. I sat between Becca and Owen, but with Justin seated across from us in the dimly lit interior, my mind had immediately scrambled in sixteen different directions and my heart beat so hard I was scared everyone in the limo could hear it. It had taken some serious level of Jedi strength to force myself to not stare at him the entire ride, and based on the way his eyes smoldered, he appreciated my dress.

Once inside the huge ballroom, we made the rounds, mingling and exchanging hellos. I quickly had two glasses of champagne and then accepted Justin’s offer to dance.

I’ve never danced with him before, but the seven-piece jazz band is inspiring, and he’s a much better dancer than I would have imagined. Maybe playing hockey all those years has made him light on his feet, who knows.

He places his hands innocently against my waist while I rest mine against the lapels of his jacket. It’s been ten days since we made out and there’s an urgent sexual attraction buzzing between us, but we’re supposed to be acting like we’re just friends, so dancing is as far as it’s going to get.

There’s a faint dark bruise beneath his left eye, and I have the strangest impulse to kiss him there. My lips twitch with that secret knowledge.

“What is it?” he asks, amused by me.

I shake my head. He’s way too perceptive. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

“Tell me.” His voice is steady, and sure when I feel anything but.

“I just had this strange reaction—I wanted to kiss your black eye and make it feel better.”

His gaze locks onto mine, his blue eyes dark and filled with emotion as he watches me. “My eye feels fine, but I could think of a few other places that I’d like your kisses.”

I raise one eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

I meet his eyes. “How would I get you in trouble?”

He pulls me closer, under the guise of dancing. “Because when I suddenly get an erection while dancing with you, Owen is going to beat my ass. And I’ve been in more fights on the ice than I can remember, but I’ve never gotten into a brawl wearing a tuxedo.”

I can’t help the laugh that tumbles from my lips.

His eyebrows dart up. “You think that’s funny, huh?”

He presses his hips closer, and the laughter dies on my lips. In fact, all the breath leaves my lungs at once. Because holy shit. He wasn’t kidding about being hard. There’s a steely rod pressing behind his zipper, and all we’ve done is dance—at a safe enough distance to make any middle-school chaperone happy.

I grin up at him, feeling a little cheeky. “Hey there, big boy.”

He chuckles darkly, gaze hot. “Don’t.”

“Is that a hockey stick, or are you just happy to see me?” I tease.

“Elise,” he warns, voice now tight.

I’ve never felt quite so powerful, quite so desirable. He wants me. This sexy, god of a man wants me. The feeling is quickly becoming addictive.