Anatomy of a Player (Taking Shots #2)

by Cindi Madsen

  He grinned. I leaned in. If I let them, I was pretty sure lines would be crossed, and right now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be strong anymore.

  Chapter Thirty

  Hudson

  God, this girl was killing me. I was almost tempted to take her onto that floor and show her every dance move I had. My ankle throbbed like it knew what I was planning and wanted to warn me it’d be a bitch about it.

  I reached up and swiped strands of blue hair off Whitney’s face. “I’d love to take you out onto that floor right now, but I’m not really supposed to be walking, much less dancing. I sort of hurt my ankle.”

  She glanced down, even though my pants covered the black and blue. Her worried gaze shot back up to my face. “Sort of? It had to be more than ‘sort of’ if you’re here instead of at the game.”

  “It’s not really a big deal,” I said, surprised she was so concerned. “I told Coach I could play.” I would’ve, too, even though I probably would’ve played like shit. I’d tried to hide the limp—Dane noticed it, of course, and we’d exchanged words over it, with him saying it was better to sit out a game than wreck my ankle for a season.

  Then he’d added, “Remember last year? When Cotter blew out his knee and he didn’t get his scholarship renewed for this year because he couldn’t play? If you don’t watch it, that could be you.”

  Sometimes my best friend was an idiot, not to mention the guy who landed me in trouble, but sometimes he was the voice of reason. In the end, Coach noticed before I could decide if I wanted to come clean or not, I was sent for X-rays, and my team took off without me.

  Luckily it was just a bad sprain, and I’d sat at home all day yesterday icing it and keeping it elevated. By this afternoon I’d been completely stir-crazy, and come nine o’clock, I’d been bored out of my mind. So I’d wrapped my ankle, thrown on a costume, and here I was.

  With the very girl I’d sworn I was done with. So much for my plan.

  “We need to find you a seat,” Whitney said, wrapping her arm around my waist.

  “I’m really f—”

  “No arguing. Just come on.” Like she could really move me. I draped my arm over her shoulders, though, because it was a good excuse to touch her more, and her bare skin under my arm was as soft as I imagined it would be.

  Whitney asked a few wallflower dudes to move off the ledge—shushing me when I said I could just lean against the wall. “Do you need ice? I could probably find some ice.”

  “I’d say I’m fine, but I’d get in trouble again.”

  That adorable indention in her cheek flashed as she smiled. What was this girl doing to me? Part of the reason I’d come tonight was to get her out of my head. I’d seen the back of a girl with a rainbow skirt, killer legs, and tall, glittery pink shoes, and I’d thought her. She’s just what I need.

  Then she’d turned enough for me to get a better look, and I’d actually felt my eyes bulge, like in those cartoons where the character’s eyes pop out of their head, stretched until they can’t stretch any more. I recognized her features, but I could hardly believe it was the same person.

  “I knew you were a glittery pink kind of girl,” I said.

  She leaned in like she was going to tell me a secret, and I wanted to hear every one she had. “Shh, don’t tell anyone. Apparently serious journalists don’t wear pink or heels.”

  She flashed me a killer smile, but then her brow crinkled and she pursed those shimmery pink lips I couldn’t stop staring at. It was like watching an emotional kaleidoscope. “Speaking of serious journalists… About after the last game—I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

  The makeup she had on made her eyes even bluer, and they cut through me when her gaze met mine. “I can’t believe you still came to my defense after I ripped into you so hard.”

  “Don’t worry about it—it’s forgotten.”

  She started to run her hand through her hair, but then seemed to realize the wig would make that impossible. “I was just worried about looking professional in front of everyone, and I panicked and went for the meanest thing I could think of. It’s the second time I overreacted with you in the locker room, too, and I’m so sorry.”

  I grabbed the hand she didn’t seem to know what do with and squeezed it. With her tiny hand in mine, my stupid move of coming here was suddenly worth it. “Apology accepted. Again.”

  A warning sounded in the back of my mind, telling me that diving back in was only going to set us both up for a crash, and I should still be careful, apologies and concern over my ankle or not.

  She nodded and let out a relieved breath. “Want a beer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to check on Lyla, too, but I’ll do that and get a beer and be back in a few. Don’t stand up—just let that ankle rest.”

  “Yes, Coach,” I said, and she rolled her eyes and shook her head, but the smile was back on her face.

  I leaned back against the wall, marveling at the turn of events. My original plan on how to deal with Whitney had alternated between going into asshole mode whenever she was around, or ignoring her completely.

  But then that prick had stepped up to her. The way she’d wrapped her arms around herself and cowered her head, like she knew his words were going to sting—I immediately recognized the defensive stance, because I’d resorted to it so often in my earlier years. It was so unlike the Whitney I knew, too, and it shot me right through the chest.

  So I’d reacted.

  Now I was dangerously close to being totally wrapped up in the girl, and most likely totally screwed—there was no way this was going to end well. But I couldn’t help it, not when I felt happy for the first time all week.

  When Whitney and Lyla approached, I did a double take at Beck’s girl. It was interesting looking at them together—and in more than just a two hot chicks way. Lyla was clearly not quite comfortable with her outfit, while Whitney seemed more comfortable than I’d ever seen her, except for maybe that night on the couch. But now that I thought about it, she always fidgeted and tugged at her clothes when she was dressed more conservatively.

  “Lyla’s kind of over this party, and I really think you should get off your ankle, so I thought we could take you home,” Whitney said.

  “I’ve been there alone for two days straight, bored out of my mind.” My ass imprint was probably still on the couch, and I wasn’t in a big hurry to get back to it.

  She opened her mouth—ready to argue, no doubt—and I quickly added, “But I’ll go home if you come with me.” I put on my best poor, pathetic me face.

  Whitney glanced at Lyla, and they did their silent girl conversation, while I awaited the verdict. Whitney sat down next to me. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “You really need me to go Black Eyed Peas on you?” The serious expression didn’t match the nonsense that’d come out of her mouth.

  “I have no idea what that means. Do you have a Fergie costume in your back pocket?”

  “It means, do I really have to spell it out? You know, like the Black Eyed Peas spell a word in almost every song? I’m convinced that Fergie once lost a spelling bee, and she’s determined to show the world that she totally knows how to spell now.”

  I laughed. This version of Whitney was funnier than usual—a little bonkers, maybe—but in the best possible way. I wanted to kiss her. Just pull her close and get lost in those lips. She looked like she was waiting for me to say something, though.

  “Right,” I said, running a hand over my jaw. “There was a question somewhere in there. Apparently, I do need you to go Black Eyed Peas on me.”

  “I was trying not to care, and I do want to keep things patched up between us, but I think it’d still look bad for the sports reporter to leave with one of the hockey players.”

  I looked into her pretty face and decided that I was sick of tiptoeing around. Time to jump and worry about later, well, later. “Then it’s a good thing that we’re not either of those pe
ople tonight.”

  I closed the door of my apartment, locking it behind me, then spun to face the girl standing in the middle of my living room, looking around at the mess.

  “Yeah. I’d like to say it’s only like this because I hurt myself, but it pretty much always looks like this.”

  “You’re shattering my illusions here,” Whitney said, a smile flirting with her sexy mouth. She moved over to me to help me walk, and while my pride balked at it, again, it meant touching her. My ankle was pretty sore from what walking I’d done, but since it meant that Whitney had ended up at my place, I could deal with whatever pain resulted from the outing.

  I lowered myself to the couch and patted the spot next to me.

  She sat down, but she was a bit stiff, the ease that had been between us at the Quad different now. She put her elbow on the back of the couch and propped the side of her head against her palm. “So.”

  “So.” I leaned in, but apparently I read her “so” wrong, because she blurted out, “What’s your favorite thing about hockey?”

  “I thought we weren’t playing the journalist, hockey player roles tonight.”

  “I’m not asking as the journalist. I’m asking as me, getting to know you better—and tonight’s all off the record.”

  I propped my elbow against the cushions, mirroring her posture. “At the beginning, it was my escape, and then I got really good at it, and then it was all about the glory. Honestly, I was a bit of a show off, my main goal being how much I could score.”

  “You’re saying you were a puck hog.”

  I laughed, enjoying the fact that she told it like it was, even though that occasionally bit me in the butt. “Yeah. Well, I shared the glory with Dane—he and I were so used to playing together that when we first started playing for BC we’d get out there and do our own thing. Coach beat it out of us with about a hundred skating drills for not completing his plays. I also realized how good the rest of the guys were. We lose together, we win together.”

  “No ‘I’ in hockey and all that—I get it.”

  “Right.”

  She bit her lip and then those big eyes lifted to my face—not that she didn’t look good with her glasses, but I resented them for dimming the intensity swimming in the blue. “What did you need to escape from?”

  Of course, out of all the information I’d given her, she focused on that part, picking up clues I’d accidentally dropped, the way she’d done in the pool hall. I’d successfully kept the ugly parts of my past under lock and key since arriving in Boston, and yet I let too many pieces of it slip when I was with her.

  “Next question,” I said, and she stuck out her lips in a pout. I tapped a finger to them. “I don’t want to get into that tonight.” I didn’t want to get into it ever, but saying that would only bring more questions from this one. “My turn…”

  Ever since we’d sat down, she seemed nervous, and I wanted to get back the light, easy feel. I flipped through conversation starters, even though my first attempt to get her talking all those weeks ago in front of the Conte Forum building had crashed and burned. “What kind of music do you like? I assume you’re a fan of”—I gestured to her—“yourself.”

  She laughed, and not only did it have the desired effect of getting her to relax, the happy sound made me feel lighter, too.

  Whitney lifted a haughty eyebrow. “I am pretty awesome. My songs are happy, you can dance to them, and I’ve got the pipes to really sing—none of that relying on synthesizers.”

  “Plus you’re super hot,” I said.

  “Katy Perry is super hot—she’d definitely be on my girl island.”

  Holy shit, the girl was trying to kill me. My cock started to throb at the images that brought on. “I’m going to take a second to enjoy that visual…” I lifted a finger, exhaled a breath that did nothing to calm me down, and then looked her in the eye. “You know how sexy you are, right?”

  An adorable blush crept across her cheeks. I reached out and traced the ice cream scoop that adorned the top of her costume. “And this candy thing you’ve got going on makes me want to see if you taste as good as you look.”

  I dragged my fingers over the spot where material met skin, her sharp intake of breath spurring me on. I leaned closer, leaving that last inch between our lips open for a moment so she could pull away if she wanted. Instead she closed the gap, her soft lips igniting a fire within me when they touched mine.

  I slid my hand behind her neck and drew her to me. Another wave of heat rolled through my veins as I parted her lips with my tongue, taking my first full taste. She moaned into my mouth, and then every thought I’d ever had flew out of my head and my baser instincts took over. I looped my arm around her waist and pulled her onto my lap, never breaking the kiss.

  With our torsos flush together, I could feel every one of her breaths, her breasts pushing into me with each one. As she sank farther into my lap, I groaned, going from hard to rock hard.

  I couldn’t decide where I wanted my hands most. Her thighs tempted me to them. I ran my palms up her silky skin, and when she made a throaty mmm noise, I rocked against her, enjoying the way she shuddered against me. Then the ass I’d admired so many times called to me, and I reached back and took hold of it as I stroked my tongue across hers.

  She rolled her hips and I felt the heat of her through my warm-up pants and her panties. As thin as our layers were, I wanted them gone.

  “I…” Whitney whimpered, and I nearly came undone right there. “Hudson, I…I can’t.”

  She raised onto her knees, the few inches suddenly between us complete torture. “I’m sorry, but I got carried away, and I need…slower.”

  I exhaled, trying to clear my head enough to actually think. Looking into her wide eyes helped because I saw the worry there. I nodded because I still couldn’t get a grasp on actually speaking.

  She put her hand on the side of my face, gave me a light kiss on my lips, and then stood. “I guess I’ll just…” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

  I caught her hand. “Don’t go. We can slow down.” Another exhale and I could almost breathe normally again, although things downstairs weren’t going to deflate for a while. “We’ll just watch a movie or something. I don’t want to end the night like this.”

  She swallowed and then nodded. The relief that flooded me was something I’d never experienced when it came to a girl, and while it was completely disconcerting, there it was anyway.

  I was going to have the worst case of blue balls ever, and I still wanted her to stay. Again I wondered what the hell this girl had done to me—and then I wondered how I could get her to keep on doing it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Whitney

  What am I doing?

  I knew coming over was a bad idea—that it’d be more temptation than I could probably handle. Lyla had made it clear she’d agreed with both of those things when I’d looked at her at the party. She hadn’t had to say it aloud for me to know she still worried I’d end up hurt.

  I worried that I would, too. Even more now that I knew the deliciously wicked way Hudson Decker kissed. I took a deep breath and let my gaze drift his way. He gave me a sidelong glance, and my heart skipped a few beats.

  “Not into this movie?” he asked.

  I looked back to the TV. I couldn’t tell you the plot of the movie to save my life. It was hard to think clearly while seated so close to Hudson, the memory of his hands, his tongue, and the way my body had trembled when he’d pressed into me all replaying on a constant loop. I still couldn’t believe I’d found the strength to stop—but I couldn’t be another one of his conquests.

  Could I?

  I mean, if I knew I was one, pre-conquesting, I could just enjoy the ride, right?

  He raised his eyebrows, and I wished he didn’t have to be so sexy all the time.

  “I think I’m just too…” Keyed up. Turned on. “…hyper for a movie.”

  “What do you want to do?” His gaze moved to my lips. He
licked his, and a dart of heat shot right through my core.

  I bit my lip, thinking, and I’m pretty sure he groaned—I suppose it was nice to know I wasn’t the only one having dirty thoughts. If I was entertaining the idea of letting this go any further, though, I wanted to know him better.

  “I know!” I laughed when he jumped. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Sorry. Got a little excited there.”

  “I’m right there with you,” he muttered, and then we both laughed.

  “I want to see your dinosaur collection.”

  This time his groan was more you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me than I-want-to-throw-you-on-the-couch-and-have-my-way-with-you. That last image sent electricity dancing across my skin, and I told myself to shut down that line of thinking before it got me into trouble again.

  “Pleeeease,” I said, “I promise not to mock them.”

  “You lie.” The deep tenor of his voice made my stomach do a somersault, and the skeptical side-eye made my heart pitter-patter.

  “Okay, I’ll probably mock them—I mean, first dinosaurs, and then you’re dressed up like a character from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? That pretty much solidifies you’ve got a thing for reptiles, which I’m definitely never going to let you live down.” I flashed him an extra big smile. “Show me anyway?”

  He slowly pushed to his feet, still favoring his left ankle, then held out a hand. I slapped my palm in his, but stood before he’d have to tug, because I didn’t want him to upset his injury any more than our night together already had. I wrapped my arm around his waist so he could lean on me while he walked, and he smiled at me and shook his head.

  My heart swelled, and I knew I’d totally failed at keeping myself from falling for Hudson Decker. We walked down a hallway and he gestured to the first door on the right. The room was pretty much what you’d expect. Hockey gear everywhere, pictures of the team, and a few framed articles from their games and big win last year. I’d presumed there’d be a poster with bikini-clad models, but there wasn’t one in sight.

  Maybe he’s got a naked girl in here so often he doesn’t need a poster.