Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

GRACE

As I sweep the floor, I can't pretend that I don't notice the glances, the eyes that follow me as I move around the salon. Nobody has said anything yet, but I know they have plenty to say. They just don't know me well enough to comment.

That is until Brooklynn slams her comb down. Her client has left, and the others who are in the room almost jump to attention. Their spines straighten. Brooklynn is indeed not afraid of anything or of saying anything. She's also not shy about how well she knows me or not. She's going to say it.

"Are you going to tell us about your date and your midnight phone call?"

Lifting my head, my spine straight as well, I glance around the room. She's got her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes focused on mine and nowhere else. There is nowhere else. She is indeed extremely interested in my reply.

"It was too good," I whisper.

"Too good?" Karlie asks.

Nodding, I gulp. "Too good," I repeat on a small laugh. "It was only supposed to be one night. I wasn't going to see him again."

Brooklynn gasps as if I've hit her or hurt her in some way as she stumbles back a few steps. I watch her, my eyes wide, and wait for her to respond. She has something to say, and she's going to say it. So, I wait.

"Why on earth would you not want to see that man again? I think that every man in that house is absolutely stunning, and every single one of them is a sweetheart, so I know it's not because of anything he did."

I try to bite back my smile. I love how fiercely she loves those men. And she's not wrong. From what I can tell, they are all nice guys, especially Otto. Everything about that man is sweet and gentle.

I don't think I've ever had a man look at me, touch me, kiss me as tenderly as he does. And the sweet words he says, they are all so perfect, they make my teeth ache. And I love it. I want more of it.

I want so much more of him.

I want to hear his gentle words in my ear every night. I also want his mouth on every part of my body. I want all of him, yet I know I shouldn't.

Athletes, especially hockey players, are not for me. I can't imagine what my father would do or say if I knocked on his door to tell him that I'd fallen in love with one of his men.

His face would probably turn purple, and he'd scream the roof down. And not because he would think they're bad for me, but likely the opposite. I'm pretty sure it would be worse than being expelled from school. I know he cares more about his men than he ever has me.

"Leave her alone," Karlie murmurs. "Can't you tell she's upset?"

My gaze shifts to Karlie, then back to Brooklynn. I want to defend myself or at least brush the whole thing off. But I have a feeling that these ladies are not going to allow that. They are here in the home of gossip, tears, laughter, and stories—they want mine.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I grip the handle of my broom and try to figure out how I'm going to get out of this conversation, at the same time knowing that I won't. I release my cheek, and my tongue snakes out and slides across my bottom lip, wetting it.

"I don't date athletes, especially not hockey players," I say.

The whole salon meets me with silence. It's Brooklynn, naturally, who speaks first. She frowns, then drops her arms to her side before she speaks.

"Why not?" she asks. "They're hot, driven, and focused. Plus, they are responsible. How could you not want one of them? Hell, all of them?"

"I know exactly how good a lot of them are," I say.

I decide that it's now or never. There is no way I can let them believe that I won't date Otto just because of his career, as if it's something bad, even though that is very much the reason I don't want to date him. But Otto being Otto is making it very hard to turn my back on him—I want him too badly.

"My father is their coach."

OTTO

Jogging up the front walkway, I stop in front of the door. Her car is here, and I want to see her. I've been away from her for twenty hours. I need to see her again. I have to. My body can't handle being away from her, not for another moment.

I raise my hand and touch the bell with my index finger. It buzzes, the sound ringing through the inside of the house. A few moments later, the front door opens. She's there, standing in front of me, wearing a pair of black shorts and a black tank top. Her long blonde hair is pulled up in a high ponytail.

She looks absolutely stunning.

Like every time I've seen her.

"Grace," I exhale.

Her eyes are wide, and her lips parted. I want to kiss them and then slide my tongue between them and taste her mouth. Instead of waiting for her to say something, I take a step forward, my arm sliding around her waist as I move. Her feet scramble backward.

My mouth is on hers, my tongue exactly where I want it to be for the moment—inside of her. Soon, it's going to be a few feet lower, too. And then I'll have tasted all of her—that is my goal.

Then I want to do it all over again.

And again.

Then again in the morning.

She's perfection.

Breaking the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers. "I missed you today," I rasp.

Grace's fingers grip my biceps. She pulls her head back slightly, her eyes finding mine. They search my own, but I don't know how much longer I can wait for her.

"Otto," she murmurs.

Sliding my hands down her arms, I grip her hips, then the backs of her thighs, before I pick her up. I don't care if anyone else is in the house. I can't wait for another second. I can't wait another heartbeat. I need her more than I need air.

I carry her up the stairs knowing exactly which room is hers. I need no instructions. No guidance. My mouth attaches to her neck, sucking and licking the skin there. Another place to taste.

Stepping into her bedroom, I kick the door closed before I place her feet down on the floor. Her grip on my biceps loosens, her eyes lift to meet mine, and I find sadness in her gaze.

I open my mouth to say something, to ask her what she needs to tell me, but I decide that I don't think I care too much.

At all.

I just want her. Good, bad, ugly, whatever it is. I just want Grace.

Sliding my palms against her cheek, I hold her face in my hands, then I shift forward to touch my mouth to hers and kiss her. It's long and wet. I try to take my time. I need to take my time. She isn't some puck bunny who I'm going to fuck and then forget in the morning.

Grace is someone I never want to forget.

Not in a million fucking years.

Breaking the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers, sliding my hands from her cheeks. I glide them down her arms and her waist and then find the hem of her tank top. I almost ask her if this is okay if I undress her and worship every inch of her body, but I decide against it.

If she protests, that's different, but I want her, and I'm going to woo her.

My lips travel down her throat, licking and nipping her there as I glide her tank top slowly up her stomach. I'm going to see her, all of her. Lifting my head, I tug her shirt all the way off and toss it to the floor.

Her eyes find mine almost instantly.

Grace is in front of me in just her bra, her eyes wide, her lips parted as she breathes heavily. I watch her chest rise and fall as she pants. Fucking beautiful. Her tits look like they might burst out of her bra. I wouldn't mind that.

Then she reaches behind her and unhooks said bra. If I thought she was going to protest at all, that thought vanishes as soon as she takes her bra off and tosses it to the floor to join her top.

She exposes herself for me, and my mouth goes dry at the sight. I always thought the perfect tits were whichever ones were naked in front of you, but that's just not true. I know that now.

Because Grace's tits are absolute perfection. I've never seen such a thing. Perfection exists and does so in her tits.

Reaching out, I cup them, sliding my thumbs along her nipples and watching them harden immediately. Bending slightly, I touch my mouth to one, sliding my tongue along the hardened bud, and then I do the same to the other.

Fuck me.

But this is going to happen. I don't think I've ever wanted anything, aside from hockey, this much in my entire goddamn life.