10. Natalie

Chapter 10

Natalie

Every timeyou open your mouth, I like you even more.

What am I supposed to say to that?

And who tells a stranger that?

He finally lets go of my wrist. “Luke Anders.” He holds his hand above the water. “Starting forward and alternate captain for the Minnesota Sleet.”

My brows go up.

“I know.” He smirks. “I’m impressive.”

I splash him again.

He snickers and wipes his face off, then holds his hand back up.

Sighing, I keep my other limbs moving and place my palm against his.

That damn jolt of desire spears through me again. Just like when our arms touched this morning.

I ignore it.

“Natalie Wagner.” I give his hand a shake. “Ocean lover and director of operations for Wag Corp. Nice to put a name to the startling appearances, Luke.”

He tightens his fingers around mine when I say his name, then he lets go. “Pleasure. But please, call me Mr. Muscles.”

“Now that I know they’re for work…” I lift a shoulder.

Luke narrows his eyes. “Are you saying you’re no longer impressed by my humongous stature?”

After the word humongous and before the word stature, I can’t help it… my eyes dip down.

When I look back up, he’s grinning like a fool.

I flick the surface of the water. “Don’t be crass.”

He lets out an open-mouth laugh. “Tsk, tsk, Princess. I’m not the one who looked.”

I try not to smile.

The water distorts the image of what’s below the surface, so it’s not like I saw anything other than the bright orange fabric of his swim shorts.

“So… Minnesota Sleet, huh? That where you’re from?”

Luke nods, his wet hair plastered to his forehead in a way that should be dorky but is obnoxiously sexy. “Born and raised. Now, let me guess.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re from Chicago.”

I gasp.

His brows shoot up. “Really?”

I snort at his reaction and shake my head.

His shoulders slump like he’s actually disappointed. “Alright, Miss Wagner. Where are you from, then?”

“Naperville.”

He blinks at me. “Where’s that?”

I pause for a moment. “Just outside of Chicago.”

Luke blinks once, then drops his chin and looks at me like I just told the worst joke in the world.

He looks so put out.

I bite my lip, trying to stop my laugh.

This man, with muscles and tattoos and an interest in romance novels… He’s adorable.

He slowly lifts a hand above the water, then dramatically positions his fingers before flicking the surface, sending drops of water my way.

And I can’t stop the laugh this time.

My shoulders shake, making it hard to keep treading water, and the harder I try to stop laughing, the worse it becomes.

And he’s still staring at me, narrow eyed.

It’s like trying not to laugh in church. The more you try, the more impossible it is.

I spin away from him in an attempt to compose myself.

“No, don’t turn away,” Luke deadpans. “I love it when beautiful women laugh in my face.”

I shake my head and smile as I look out at the never-ending horizon. “Something tells me your ego can take it.”

“Maybe,” Luke replies. “But my heart can’t take being this far out.” He hooks his arm through mine and starts towing me back toward the shore.

I don’t know this man. This Luke Anders, professional hockey player, if he’s to be believed. And yet… I don’t stop him.

I don’t pull away.

I’m thirty-two. I’m not a virgin. And yet, this feels like the first time I’ve ever flirted with a man.

But maybe that’s it.

I’ve never flirted with a man before.

Boys, sure. But not someone like this.

Luke’s bicep presses against mine, reminding me that he’s shirtless and reminding me how he looked with that T-shirt plastered against his chest this morning.

I focus on sounding unaffected. “This part of your vacation training schedule? Taxiing resort guests through the surf?”

“Not all the guests. Just the careless ones who get too close to the deep parts.”

“How very Mother Hen of you.” I tease him.

“Hey, now. Caution is cool.”

I snort another laugh.

Luke slows, and when I straighten my legs, sand brushes the tips of my toes.

As he unhooks his arm from mine, I take in the flower tattooed on the back of his hand.

Luke’s shoulders lift a few inches above the water as he stands in front of me.

I nod toward the hand that has disappeared by his side. “What does the flower mean?”

He shakes his head. “It means Ash is an asshole.”

My mouth opens, then closes. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Ash is my goalie. Sebastian LeBlanc.” He lifts a brow. “Ever heard of him?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, I don’t know many hockey players by name.”

He doesn’t look offended. “But you know the Sleet.”

“I know enough to know that you’re our biggest rival.”

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t say our, Princess. You just said you live in Naperville, not Chicago, remember? Sleet’s your team now.”

Sleet’s your team now.

Why is that hot?

I swallow. “I’m not sure that’s how that works.”

His rich brown eyes stare into mine, and I feel them everywhere.

I swallow and tip my head toward him. “So, your goalie tattooed your hand?”

“Huh? Oh, no. But the prick is responsible.” Luke gives an exaggerated sigh, like I asked him to elaborate, even though I didn’t. “It was because of a bet.”

“A bet?”

“Yeah. We got a little bored after last season and ended up doing a series of bets. Which, according to his wife and my mother, got out of hand.”

Men.

I shake my head. “So you lost a bet and had to get a hand tattoo?”

Luke nods. “Yep. Couldn’t see it until it was done, but I wasn’t expecting a fucking flower.”

That makes my eyes widen. “That’s pretty trusting.”

“Well, we had a few rules.” He lifts a hand and ticks off the list on his fingers. “Couldn’t be something that would be in violation with the league, couldn’t be someone’s name, and couldn’t be something considered offensive.”

“Still leaves an awful lot of choices.”

He holds his palm down over the water, the pretty black flower sparkling in the sunshine. “Mine is still better than his.”

“I’m not sure I should ask.”

Luke’s smile is full of self-satisfaction. “Ash had to get Live, Laugh, Loathe across his lower back.”

“Loathe?”

Luke cracks up. “That’s right.”

I hate to admit that it’s clever, so I don’t.

“How does his wife feel about that?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Luke snorts. “Meghan’s a freak. She probably outlines it with body glitter while he’s sleeping.”

That’s a visual.

“But he got me back with this.” Luke tips his head back, exposing his neck tattoo.

My mouth drops open. “You tattooed your neck on a bet?”

Luke lowers his head. “Joke’s on Ash though. It looks awesome. And to piss him off more”—Luke lifts the arm without the hand tattoo, showing me his full sleeve—“I got this.”

I will never understand men.

“How would that piss him off?”

“Because he’s always been the most tatted-up dude on the team. And it was going to his head.”

I shake mine. “This whole story is ridiculous.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He can’t say the whole sentence with a straight face.

“So it ended there?”

“No.”

“Course not. Who lost next?”

“Ash.”

I shift my toes in the sand. “And what did you make him get?”

Luke scratches the side of his beard, trying hard not to smile. “His nipples pierced.”

My hands automatically move to grab my breasts, but I manage to stop them a few inches before they make contact. “Wouldn’t that hurt when he gets checked in a game?”

Luke snickers. “Sure does.”

I wince. “So, that ended it?”

“After that, Ash got his dick pierced.” Luke winces. “And that put an end to it. No way was I chancing him winning again.”

I can’t help but bite my lip, thinking of the possibility.

I’ve never been with a guy who had a piercing down there, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t curious.

Water splashes my face.