16. Paw The Winner

SIXTEEN

PAW THE WINNER

BECCA

P romptly at nine on the dot, I slip into Cam's sports car as he holds the door for me. I don't think his eyes have left my body yet, and I have this pretty blue backless sequined dress from Calista's closet to thank for that.

She hadn't worn it since she gained weight. It was my size, and she wanted me to give Cam an eyeful of what he's missing out on with me. Her words, not mine. From the way I'm catching his attention, I think it's working.

His car is a sleek metallic silver Porsche 911 Turbo S. The only reason I know about it is from Uncle Eddy at the club last year when he was trying to decide between it or the BMW Z4. He went with the BMW

Cam's a hot hockey playing, all alpha, winner who smells like a dream and looks like he was born in a Porsche. Sure, he can be cocky, but he doesn't come across as being above everyone else. In so many ways, he's still the Cam that Hayes and I knew. A hard-worker and driven, but with a little mystique about him that makes you wonder what he's up to in that head of his. Only now, he can afford a Porsche.

The all black interior with smooth leather seats smells brand new, and so supple it curves to my body as I sit. It smells deliciously like him. I stifle a moan.

"Nice car, Cam." I compliment. I'm used to the flutters in my stomach now in his presence, although I tell them to calm the heck down.

"Thanks," he says as he somehow folds his tall, magnificent body into the small space behind the wheel. I can't help but admire how far he's come from the streets he grew up on. If I'd only met him today, I'd never guess his background with a father who had abused him or how he'd lived on the edge a mere mile or so away from me, doing what he needed to survive.

The way he's dressed in blue slacks, probably Italian leather shoes, a crisp white shirt, the sleeves folded up his forearms, a chain around his neck, and his hair slicked back, he's putting off some cool, mighty fine big dick energy.

Without a doubt, he's leaving with some classy babe on his arm later tonight from the club. A glance down at my outfit has me worried.

Oh well. Even though I have no intentions of ever stripping, I have no problem showing a little skin in revealing clothes for a night on the town. This gown shows off plenty of it, like a sexy stage costume. It puts me in the mood to dance.

"Ready to have a good time?" He asks as the car zooms down the road.

"Yes. I'll be on the dance floor all night long. Will you?" I have no idea if he has the moves.

"We'll see." He leaves me hanging.

"Think you can keep up with me?"

"I doubt it. You're a trained dancer, skilled with your feet, and the dance floor is your territory. The only place my feet are skilled is on the ice. You still skate?"

"It's been years."

There was a time when dancing and ice skating blended for me. Our local ice arena had two rinks. When Hayes would have hockey practice on one, I'd take lessons and practice on the other. Eventually, ballet and dance won out over the ice.

"Sometimes after practices or games, the friends and families of the players get on the ice to skate around. You should come to my next game and skate with me sometime. The way you used to skate, you'd get back into it and be flying across the ice in no time." he casually drops this. I'd really like any time with him, but I'm sure he means it only as a friend. "We could even race, see if you could keep up with me."

"You know damn well I used to out skate you and Hayes just for fun. Tell you what, hot shot. You get on the dance floor with me tonight for a few songs, and I'll drop in and skate after the game. I might need a little time to get used to the blades again, as opposed to pointe shoes, but once I do, I guarantee I'll kick your ass."

"Deal. Only because I'd like to see you try to outrace me now. You don't stand a chance of getting ahead of me, Princess." He grins and he side-eyes me, his eyes like blue velvet skim softly across my body.

On the freeway, his hand shifts the gears, resting there an inch away from my knee. In this confined space, a shift of my hips and I'd brush his fingertips. Only I don't need my panties soaking this early in the evening.

A thrill works down my spine anyway. "You were always so cocky hanging out with Hayes."

"I still am."

"I can see that."

"You only wish you could see it." His Adam's apple bobs with the tease.

He has me there. I glance down at his pants, the tent below the steering wheel. "Actually, I do."

"Well this conversation turned weird."

"I'm serious. I've only see a two in my life. I'd love to see more so that I can compare and know if I'm missing out on anything better."

He coughs, he shifts in his seat; that's not jock itch. I'm getting a rise out of him. I like it.

"Two? Two men?" He asks.

"Yes. Would be three, although that quarterback in high school doesn't count."

"Agreed. He's not allowed to factor into this conversation." His jaw clicks and his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

That night should affect me more than it does. Maybe I'm still in shock about it all these years later. We didn't call it attempted rape back then. We didn't talk about it at all. Hayes and Cam were solely focused on teaching the guy a lesson and trying not to get in trouble for it.

In the days afterward, I swept it all into a box in my mind, and locked it away. I never try to think about it. Subconsciously, that's probably to blame for why I'm careful about who I give my virginity to. It's sacred, and letting some jerk take it from me isn't an option.

"So two boyfriends?" He asks again.

"You're still hung up on that?"

"It's kind of a low number."

"Compared to?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Just low for pretty woman like you."

"Pretty?"

"Beautiful? Gorgeous? Doesn't matter the description, you know men can't keep their eyes off of you."

"No. I really don't." Can he keep his eyes off of me? When he doesn't continue, I skim past it. "I'd say two is a fine number for a woman like me who prefers to be cautious about who she spends her time with."

"You're absolutely right. Good girl. " The way he makes those two words sound dirty—I want him to say them again while touching me everywhere. I cross my legs and keep them tightly held.

"So, two?"

"Jeez, Cam. Seriously? How many women have you had?" I really don't want to know. It would freak me out too much.

"You don't want to know. But none of them mattered."

I want to know what does matter to him. Or the type of woman he really goes for. Blonde? Brunette? Big breasts? Dancers?

"Fine. My boyfriend sophomore year, to a geeky junior. Then my college dance professor senior year." I sigh. He was my first experience with heartbreak.

Cam's eyes bulging is the exact response I expect. "Uh. What was the age gap there?"

"Thirteen years. He was thirty-five and had me fooled. I moved out here to Las Vegas thinking we were going to live together and I'd be dancing in his ballet company. When it all fell apart, I also found out he was still married."

"Whoa." He shakes his head, pulling into the parking lot of a club with a line of people around the building and blinking neon lights out front.

"I bought all his lies."

"You need to work on that and try not to be so gullible."

"Gee, thanks for the tip." I roll my eyes.

"You're welcome." He finds a good parking spot.

"And you need to work on-on..."

He shifts his head my way with a smug grin at my lack of a comeback. "You got nothing. I'm perfect the way I am."

"Or you have a big head because your ego has been stroked so much." I lean in, almost over the center console.

"I told you I like it stroked." He's closer, too, his clean, fresh breath wafting to my nose.

"I might like to stroke it more." I lean way over, where my lips are an inch away from his.

"What are we doing, Princess?" He whispers.

"It's the heat of the moment, Cam. Go with it." I throw those words back at him, the ones he said from our kiss at the Zamboni, and close the distance between us, kissing him because I want to be kissed. Kissing him soft at first, then building steam, then hotter. The right amount of pressure, the perfect swipe of the tongues, exactly how I've always desired a man to kiss me.

His hands reach up, cupping my face and I think he's going to push me away, but doesn't. He pulls me closer. Our tongues twist, not in a war, but in a battle for sharing one perfect moment together.

The heat rises to my cheeks, and there's no stopping the wetness pooling in my panties. Our kisses are electric and delicious, and I want more, so much more. I want Cam inside of me, on top of me, all around me. But this Porsche isn't made for fooling around, and my phone interrupts us with the ding that I know I assigned to Calista's texts.

We part and my eyes are wide open, more curious than ever about this man and the fire he causes inside of me.