6. Hunter

"You're staring," Kinsley whispered in my ear as she sat on my lap. I trailed her smooth skin with my fingertips, letting them trail over her soft curves. I'd committed every inch of her body to memory, my fingers mapping out the points that would elicit a shiver under my touch. We'd had our little… arrangement since high school; a mutual agreement to help get what we needed without the complications that came with commitment. It was an easy, no-distraction way for us both to experience our sexuality.

"Am not." I totally was. It was impossible not to. He was wearing those fucking jeans that were tight in all the right places. His loose white shirt was tucked up in the back, showing off his ass and making me think of all the things I'd like to do with it—the most important being owning it. A picture painted itself in my mind of how he would look bent over for me as my cock disappeared between those cheeks. My dick perked up at the thought of taking power over Mr. Perfect.

"You totally are. Why don't you talk to him?" Kinsley cooed in my ear, though it came off more as a challenge than a suggestion. "No teammates. Also, the guy is celibate or something. He hates all talk of sex and practically recoils at the degrading of women."

She smiled against my neck, "I like him already."

"Don't get any ideas Kins," the tell-tale rumble of her laughter tickled my skin.

"Only idea I have is letting you have him tonight." I felt her shift on my lap, resting her head on my shoulder to allow her gaze to follow mine. They looked awfully cozy, though Tyler wasn't exactly showing any interest toward Cal—nothing sexual anyway. He was talking to him freely, with an easiness that was causing something inside me to shift. I knew I'd already made my bed with how prickly I had been to him, damn-it he had my attention. That stupid smile and the light in his eyes. The way his hair had that auburn shine in the light. He was so unaffected by himself, like he didn't care about how good he was. It was pathetic. He could at least be cocky or, I don't know, kick a puppy—give me some reason to hate him.

"He wouldn't want anything to do with me—especially in the bedroom."

She laughed at me and if I was honest with myself, I deserved it. There was a certain level of whine in my voice that made me cringe. I sounded like a kid who couldn't have what he wanted. I could bed anyone I wanted and to be fair, I usually did. Even though it was my last year in the game—not by choice—I'd never ruin my stats by getting involved with a teammate. Been there, done that, wouldn't recommend.

"Mm, the way he keeps looking over here suggests otherwise." I stiffened in my seat. I looked back in his direction to catch a small side glance my way. Hmm,sneaky side-eye. It was such a small gesture I wouldn't have noticed it if Kinsley hadn't pointed it out. "That's just him hating me," I said, trying to rationalize why he was looking at me. Surely it wasn't interest… right?

But then I saw him look again, disdain in his eyes as he took in me and Kinsley.

"He doesn't like you with me," she deduced, amused with her new game.

"He doesn't like anything that alludes to sex; you on my lap kind of tracks with that particular look."

She laughed again. "Ever thought he hates talk of sex with women because he doesn't like sex with women?"

I had to admit the thought crossed my mind, but it didn't even begin to answer all my questions.

"And he's friendly with Cal—the most out and proud person at this party," Kinsley added.

I rolled my eyes, "That means nothing, Callum would make friends with anyone. It's impossible not to like the guy."

With a huff, "True, but they do look cozier than he would if your Aussie was straight, and the way he looks at you with that heat in his eyes… I'm guessing he may be interested in a little taste of Boston."

I considered her words and began to assess his every look. I sipped on my whiskey my mind wandered to the possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, I could have a taste. Whether it was the booze clouding my thoughts, or the way the fire made the red hue in his hair shoot fire through my veins, there was one thing for sure: I wanted to taste that Australian.

Fuck my rules—one time wouldn't hurt.