Page 16 of The One Timer

“No problem. I’m always hungry—and thirsty.” His lids lower, and he stares at my mouth for a beat like he wants to eat me up and drink me down. His voice goes low and husky. “Hazard of the job. Hockey takes a lot of energy.”

Sex takes a lot of energy, too. Did I just think that?

Shit. I squeeze my thighs together as if that’ll help, but naturally, it makes the throbbing need worse. So I double down on staring at the menu. I need to school my thoughts and manage my expectations.

Tony returns with a bottle of red wine and sets it on the table with two short glasses. “The best pinot noir in the house to congratulate you on your hat trick tonight. On the house.”

“Thank you, Tony. And thank Richie for me. You know you don’t have to comp me—I’m loaded.” Chase grins and explains to me, “Richie Zapata is the manager here.”

Tony laughs and asks me, “What can I get you, young lady?” Then he turns to Chase, frowning. “You never introduced your guest to me.”

“I’m sorry. This is Emery, my date. It’s her birthday, so we’re celebrating.”

“We’re celebrating your hat trick,” I say.

“A double celebration with a beautiful woman. You’re a lucky man, Chase.”

Chase smiles, but I can see the sadness underneath. I can practically read his thoughts about all the losses in his life, making him feel like a very unlucky man. Without thinking, my hand moves to his, touching him, and he takes it in his large, strong hand and holds it, a small squeeze letting me know he appreciates the gesture even if he doesn’t know why I reached out.

But it’s a connection all the same.

“How do you feel about pepperoni pizza?” he says.

One corner of my mouth lifts automatically. “It’s my favorite.”

The appreciation in Chase’s expression borders on admiration in the way his eyes focus and his mouth stretches across his face, smiling, his teeth perfect, his lips so full and kissable, his chin and jaw so strong.

Without turning away from me, he says, “Make it a large pepperoni, Tony.”

As Tony leaves, a couple is seated at the table nearest us. The guy smiles in our direction, then does a double-take. “You’re Chase Whittier, right? From the Whalers.”

Chase nods.

“Great game, man. Congrats on the hat trick, even if you’re on the other team.”

Chase thanks him and turns his attention back to me. I want to keep the conversation about him, so I speak before he says whatever he was going to say.

“How hard was it playing against the Brawlers? They were your home team growing up, right? All the sports reporters were talking about it.” I can’t tell him his grandma was a little worried.

“You listen to sports reporters?”

I shrug. “What if I do?”

“Then you’re my dream girl, and I think I want to marry you.” He’s grinning while my world spins out of control at his words, and if I weren’t pinned in the booth, I’d be on the floor right now.

He shrugs. “I thought it might feel bittersweet or odd, but after the puck dropped, all I wanted to do was crush them like any other opponent.”

I laugh. “You hockey players are a blood-thirsty bunch, aren’t you?”

“Nah, we’re lovers, not warriors—at least off the ice.” He wiggles his brow. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Did you really ask what could possibly be named the stupidest question ever?”

He laughs. “Hey there, sassy pants. Watch out, or I might have to get you back for that later.”

“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind, tough guy?”

He dips his head so that he’s practically nibbling on my ear and whispers, “You mean lover, don’t you?”