Page 99 of Keep Me Close

Not the press.

Or Dakota.

And certainly not some dickhead on the ice who thinks it’s funny to run his mouth.

35

Cheyenne

The tension that fills the Maserati on the ride home from the game is combustible.

One of Knox’s hands is loosely wrapped around the wheel while the other rests on my thigh. The heat of his palm sinks through the denim and straight into my bloodstream. It’s all I can focus on as the city lights blur past the windows in streaks of gold and white.

The game continues to hum beneath my skin. The noise of the arena. The energy of the fans. The way the crowd exploded when Knox dropped his gloves and lunged at the other player.

I’ve never witnessed anything like it before.

I knew hockey was a brutal sport, but seeing it in person is a completely different experience. The speed. The violence. The way everything can shift from intense game play to full-blown mayhem in the blink of an eye is surreal.

And Knox…

I can still see the moment he lost control. He looked ready to tear the other guy apart limb by limb. A shiver works its way through my system, and not entirely because the memory is unsettling.

That’s the part I don’t quite understand. I didn’t like the brawl itself. I hate fighting. There were a couple times when production tried to engineer screaming matches or push cast members into physical confrontations because they thought it’d make good television and up the ratings. Even when Mom encouraged me to do it, I refused. Manufactured drama is exhausting enough.

Real violence is so much worse.

And yet…

I can’t deny seeing Knox like that affected me, making me feel hot and bothered. It’s definitely not something I’m proud of.

His thumb strokes over my thigh, dragging me from the confusing tangle of my thoughts. I turn in my seat and stare at his profile, taking in the hard line of his jaw and the focused set of his lips.

“Are you going to tell me what the fight was about?”

His gaze stays trained on the road. “Nah. It wasn’t important.”

I raise a brow. “So you guys just throw punches for nothing?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

When his fingers slide higher, squeezing my leg before continuing their slow climb, my breath catches. It doesn’t take long before he’s too close to the vee between my thighs, and I shift against the leather, not about to let him derail my line of questioning.

My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “Did he say something that set you off?”

Instead of responding, his pinkie brushes the seam of my jeans, and it’s enough to send electricity shooting through me.

I glance down at his hand before looking back at him. “Are you trying to distract me, McNichols?”

A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth as he cuts me a quick look. “Aren’t I allowed to touch my girlfriend anytime I want?”

When his fingers press firmly against my center, I can’t hold back a moan.

“Knox.”

He chuckles. “Any other burning questions you’d like me to answer?”

I do my best to glare at him, but it’s difficult when he’s touching me like this and my body is betraying me at every turn.