Page 32 of Not That Kind of Icing
But I can’t. Someone else might stand too close to her. Someone else might try to touch her. Someone else might…
“If I make a move, she’ll lose her job,” I say, and the hand falls from my neck as Robbie blows out a breath. “No fraternizing or something like that.”
“Fuck.” Yup, fuck is right. “I thought you were just being a chickenshit.”
I’m aware of that.
“Nope.”
I should have just told him this earlier, except telling him this is admitting he’s right and I didn’t want to do that. I can feel him re-grouping next to me, changing tactics. He’s always been right. Bastard. Robbie can be a real dick with the I-told-you-so’s, but I’m madder at myself. Admitting the hurdles means I’m thinking about them. About how to get around them. Which means I’m fucked any way I look at it.
“So you can’t fuck her.” Robbie says, and I swear I want him to go back to being fucking mute.
“We can’tfraternize.” I hate that word. The policy should say what it means. We can’t date? Got it. Can’t have sex? Got it. Can’t spend time together? It’s her job to spend time with me right now. To spend time here with the guys. Can she not be friends with us? Associate with us? Wouldn’t that make her job impossible? And yes. I might have borrowed a dictionary from Jen and looked the damn word up. Just to be sure.
Robbie runs his hand across his mouth, dark brows furrowed.
“That gets in the way a bit,” he says, like there’s a workaround. There isn’t. “So you can either go spend the time you have together, or you can go back to your room and get some distance. Either way, sitting here and moping isn’t working.”
Across the club, Pelletier leans in close to her again and I’m on my feet before I mean to be.
“I’m not moping,” I lie. “And I’m not leaving her here with a bunch of horn dogs.”
Dogs she’s better at controlling than I could ever be, but whatever.
“Dude, she does not need you to protect her from the team.” Robbie is shaking his head as he tries to hold back a laugh. “She just needs you to listen to her and be there. So go do that.”
Right.
Go do… that.
Maybe I should just go.
But then Pelletier’s fingers start playing with the straps on Tristan’s dress and all thoughts melt from my brain. It’s like an out-of-body experience, the way I move through the small crowd inside The Velvet until I’m standing right in front of one Tristan Grant. Red pinpricks are bleeding through my field of vision as I look down at her white-blonde hair, shining pink in the warm red light of the club.
“Go get me a drink, Pelé.” My eyes add,or I will make your life hell,but I know better than to say that out loud.
The winger meets my gaze over Tristan’s head, and I stare him down until he looks away.
“Sure thing Cap,” he says. His hand taking its sweet-ass-time dropping from my kitty cat’s waist. I don’t look away until he’s across the room at the shining wooden bar. Then I glance down.
I expect Tristan to be scowling up at me, a statement about macho male posturing ready on her lips, but she isn’t. Her head is tipped back, blue eyes heavy as she stares up at me. Her lips are parted and I watch as they curl into a smile. I’m not sure what to make of the look she is giving me, but heat pools in my belly as my balls draw up tight.
“Hi,” she says, slipping into a full grin. She looks younger like this. Softer. Warm and sweet and fuck, I should not have walked over here.
“Hi,” I say back with my own smile. “Having a good time?”
“I am! But wanna know a secret?” She curls her fingers to beckon me forward and I lean closer. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. “It’s better now that you’re here.” She’s laughs. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
“I’ve been here the whole time,” I tell her, lifting my own hand to the small of her back. My thumb is just grazing the warm indentation of her spine and I swear I can feel the nerves shiver under my touch. I need to get my skin off her. Now.
“No,” she shakes her head and more blonde escapes her ponytail. It would be so easy to slip my hand up her back to tangle in her hair. “You were sitting in the corner being grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy now.” I don’t tangle, but my hand slides up to tug at the strands. Tristan’s head tips back, baring the long line of her throat. I want to drag my teeth along the tendons.
“No,” her eyes flutter shut as the music shifts and the crowd seems to melt away. No one here is paying attention to us. One reason the team comes here, to The Velvet, is their strict no photos policy. I could just…. No one would even see….
“Here Cap.” Pelletier is holding out a neon pink drink swirling and glittery in the dim light. “Enjoy.”
