Page 72 of Face Off

That mattered. It didn’t heal a goddamn thing. But it mattered.

Charm cut another piece from the food on her plate. “For what it’s worth, I like what I see most days now.”

My gaze lowered deliberately to the satin stretched over her breasts before following the narrowing line of the dress to her waist.

“I like what I see today.”

Her lips parted.

“That isn’t recovery advice,” I added. “You’re fine as fuck, mami. Treatment doesn’t get credit for my eyesight.”

Color warmed her cheeks again. “You’ve become more direct.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You used to exercise occasional restraint.”

“I was trying not to scare you.”

“And now?”

“Now I know making myself easier never helped keep you.”

The flirtation in her expression faltered beneath the truth.

I reached for my whiskey and took a slow drink. “You wanted honesty.”

“I do.”

“Then don’t ask for it and look wounded when I give it to you.”

“I’m not wounded.” Charm recovered, lifting her chin. “I’m adjusting.”

“To what?”

“To the possibility that you’ve somehow become more arrogant.”

“Professional hockey encourages confidence.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“We can call it whatever you want when I walk you upstairs.”

Her eyes darkened. “You keep mentioning that.”

“You keep thinking about it.”

“I’m wondering what ‘something’ includes.”

“Conversation.”

“Only conversation?”

The question entered softly enough to remain between us.

I leaned closer until my mouth hovered near her ear. “You’ve been sitting beside me for thirty minutes, rubbing your knee against mine, and looking at my mouth every time I speak Spanish. You know exactly how badly I want to find out what else something could include.”

Her breathing changed when I pulled back before the answer in her face erased the remaining distance between us.