Lilac is in a pretty fucking dress, the kind that makes my fists clench because I know every guy who looks at her is thinkingabout getting his hands on her. Soft purple fabric and her legs bare are a deadly combination for me. I can barely keep my thoughts together, and I need to. This is the most important thing I’m ever going to do in my life.
My jaw tightens. Her dress flutters when she shifts in her seat, and I can’t stop staring. I want her in my old truck, on my lap, legs spread with her knees bracketing my thighs as I pull that dress up around her hips and make her say my name until her voice is gone.
I catch a few guys looking at her. One whispers something to his friend, both of them glancing over at her with dumb fucking grins.
I see red.
I’m as fucking bad as Hayden, but I don’t give a shit.
I want to murder every last one of these fuckers.
I keep watching Lilac as she stands, clearly waiting for me to skate off the ice toward the locker room. I have something else in mind.
I skate over to the announcer’s booth, rip the mic out of some poor intern’s hand, and ignore his protests.
“Lilac Fairbanks,” I say, my voice booming through the speakers. “Get your pretty ass out here.”
There’s a pause in the crowd, and then laughter. Some cheers. A few confused murmurs.
I skate to the center of the ice and drop down to one knee, still holding the mic, but my eyes are locked on the entry tunnel.
She appears a moment later.
Her hair’s in those low fucking pig tails that drive me insane, tumbling past her shoulders. That damn dress sways around her thighs. She steps onto the ice, her movements unsure without her skates. Her eyes are wide, confused, almost a little panicked. Her gaze meets mine, like she’s asking, What are you doing?
I grin and hold out my hand.
When she reaches me, I set the mic down and catch her hands in mine. My voice is low, just for her.
“Do you trust me?”
She hesitates. Then nods.
“Then act excited. Don’t leave me hanging, bambi.”
Her breath catches, but she gives me the smallest of smiles. Enough to sell it.
I pick the mic back up and lift the ring from my pocket. Not a giant diamond, not something flashy. Just something I picked out because it reminded me of her. I know her, and even if this is fake, I want it to be as authentic as possible.
“Lilac Fairbanks,” I say, loud and clear. “Will you marry me?”
The crowd loses it. Phones are flashing, people are screaming, but my eyes never leave hers.
Her hands come up to her mouth, and she gasps like she’s shocked. She’s playing along. For me. Because I asked her to trust me.
But the way she looks at me in that moment? The way her eyes soften, the way her fingers tremble as I slip the ring on her hand?
Fuck.
I don’t want it to be fake. It’s not for me.
She nods, eyes glossy under the lights. “Yes,” she says, and it’s barely audible, but I hear it.
And then she’s in my arms. Her hands are on my shoulders, my hand cupping her face. I whisper, “I’m sorry,” before I kiss her roughly on the mouth. I know she thinks I’m selling this whole thing so Adam can run back and tell their parents when he finds out.
It’s not soft. It’s not chaste.
It’s everything I’ve been dreaming about since I was old enough to know what this kind of need could do to a man. My tongue finds hers, and she melts into me like she’s been waitingjust as long. My hands slide down her sides, over her hips, and I grip her ass and hold her against me. She’d never believe me if I told her, because I’ve carefully crafted a playboy persona on this campus for many reasons. The truth is? I spend every day, every night, fixated on her.
