Lisa

When Jennie excuses herself to the bathroom, I rush upstairs and throw on a T-shirt. I know she said whatever makes me comfortable, but sitting around shirtless is such a douche move.

I make it back to the kitchen and pour her a fresh drink before she returns from the bathroom.

"How can I help with dinner?" Jennie drapes her sweater over the back of a chair.

And my mouth goes dry. Like I ate an entire sleeve of saltines and chased it with a tablespoon of salt. So far I've only seen Jennie in a giant parka or an oversize sweater. Under all that bulky fabric is one hell of a body. She's wearing a simple white waffle shirt that conforms to her curves. A pair of dark-wash skinny jeans encase her toned legs.

I'm used to bunnies throwing themselves at me, often in questionable states of undress. I stopped getting excited about miniskirts and revealing tops a long time ago. There's something infinitely sexier about a woman who can show off her body without actually showing it off at all.

Jennie tips her head to the side. Her teeth press into her full bottom lip. I want to do that. Suck that pouty, full lip between my teeth and bite it. I want to do a lot of other, far more explicit things than that, but a kiss seems like a good place to start.

"Lali? Is everything okay?" Her eyes dip down to my chest. I'm wearing a shirt from one of my endorsement campaigns. It afforded me the extensive renovations on this cabin a few years ago.

"Huh?" I give my head a shake. "Oh. Yeah. Everything's good. Sorry, zoned out there for a second."

She smiles and pushes up on her toes, her eyes twinkling—like, they legit light up, and her excitement makes her entire body vibrate. It also makes her boobs jiggle. I try to keep my eyes glued to her face. It's not easy, though.

"I do that all the time! Sometimes my brain is busy with so many thoughts I miss entire conversations. Does that happen to you too?"

I grin. I love that she seems to say whatever is on her mind. "All the time."

"It's actually a helpful skill when you're being lectured, because I can sort through stuff in my head, but it's not so great when your supervising professor is telling you what's wrong with your thesis." She pulls her hair over her shoulder and finger combs it.

"I take it that's happened to you."

"It did. Thankfully he also emailed all his criticisms, so missing out on it the first time wasn't that big of a deal." She divides her hair into three sections and deftly braids it without looking at what she's doing even once. It's pretty damn impressive. I almost want to pull it apart so I can watch her do it all over again. "Anyway, enough about that. Let's get started on dinner!" She nudges me out of the way so she can wash her hands. She dries them on her jeans and moves over to the fridge, opening it to check out the contents.

I kind of like that she makes herself at home. I'm used to women who expect to be catered to. It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't want me to pander to her.

I start pulling things out of the fridge as she starts naming items she'll need and set them on the counter. I manage to locate most of what she asks for.

"What about garlic? Do you have any of that?" She leans over, peering into the fridge beside me. Her braid slips over her shoulder, skimming my arm.

"Uh, maybe we could forgo the garlic?"

"Are you allergic? My oldest brother gets bloated when he eats it. It took us forever to figure out what was causing it. Sometimes I'll still put some in when he's coming for dinner, because it's funny to see him look like he's expecting." She tips her head to the side. "Or you just don't like garlic?"

"I like it sometimes, but it depends."

Her brows pinch together. "On what?"

"Who I'm eating with. I mean, if I'm going out with buddies, you bet I'm gonna order the honey garlic wings, or the cheesy garlic bread, or the pasta Alfredo. But if I'm eating dinner with a pretty girl, I'm gonna pass on the garlic."

"Oh." She twists the end of her braid around her finger.

Shit. I hope I'm not reading things wrong and making her uncomfortable.

"Does that mean you think I'm pretty?"

That she sounds genuinely curious as to my answer is unexpected. "You see yourself in the mirror every day—what do you think?"

She averts her gaze, still playing with the end of her braid. "My eyes are too feline. My nose is small, and my lips are too full, so my mouth doesn't really fit the rest of my face."

"Wow. I think you need a new mirror, because all I see is a whole lot of gorgeous."

She snorts a laugh and waves me off. "Once, I took a portrait class, and we learned all about proportion and symmetry of the face. Those are just my flaws based on what I was taught."

"Well, I'm a big fan of all your flaws, and I think they make you more beautiful, not less."

"Thanks. I think you're beautiful too." She cringes. "I mean gorgeous. You're very nice to look at, with or without a shirt on. When I fell in your lap on the airplane, I remember thinking, At least I fell on someone nice looking."

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm." She opens a drawer, maybe to avoid looking at me. "And as much as I was mortified when you sat beside me on the Cessna, I couldn't complain about the view, inside or outside of the plane. That you turned out to be really nice, and just so helpful, was a great bonus." She hands me a roll of foil. "Why don't you wrap the potatoes? They take the longest, so we should get started on those first."

I put the potatoes on the barbecue and let Jennie order me around. She definitely knows her way around a kitchen. When I was growing up, my mom did most of the cooking, but my dad could make a mean Saturday-morning brunch. He also made great bread, which I miss a lot.

An hour later we're seated at the table, plates full of steak, twice-baked potatoes, and crispy brussels sprouts cooked in bacon fat. I open a bottle of red wine and offer Jennie a glass.

"Just a little bit? I'm not sure I like red wine."

"Maybe you just haven't had the right red wine." I pour a little into her glass.

She picks it up and gives it a swirl, then sniffs it. "I've seen people do this in the movies, but I don't really know what the point is," she admits, then tips the glass back and takes a tentative sip. Her expression turns thoughtful; then she takes another, slightly more robust sip. "This is actually really nice. I like it. Maybe the red wine I had before was bad."

"Maybe. Some of the cheap stuff tastes pretty awful." I pour more into her glass before filling mine. I hold up my glass and wait for her to raise hers. "To chance meetings."

"To new adventures and great company to share them with." We toast and take a sip, each smiling behind the rim.

Dinner is fantastic. I can get by on my own, but back home I have someone come in to prep my meals for me, because I don't have a lot of time during the season and my diet is pretty strict. Nothing beats a good meal cooked by someone who knows what they're doing.

"Tell me more about your family."

"Like what?" She pops a brussels sprout into her mouth and chews thoughtfully.

"What do your parents do for a living?"

"They're dairy farmers. I have to admit, I haven't missed getting up at the crack of dawn to milk cows the past couple of days, although there really hasn't been a dawn to speak of either." Jennie takes another sip of her wine. Her glass is almost empty.

"I grew up on a farm too. Gotta say I don't miss those early mornings either." I uncork the wine and refill her glass and mine.

Jennie sits up straighter, and her eyes go wide with that excitement I've seen a few times already tonight. "Oh! What kind of farmers?"

"Alpaca."

"Really? That must have been so fun! They're just so adorable."

"They can be—when you're not trying to shear them, anyway."

She leans in closer, eager for more information. "Tell me all about that. I want to know everything. How often do they mate? What's it like to raise them? Did you get attached? Did they all have names?" She's just so sweet.

I laugh and tell her all about my childhood growing up on an alpaca farm, happy to have something else in common that I can share with her.

"And is that what you do now? Farm alpacas?"

I hesitate, weighing my options. For the first time in years I feel . . . normal. Being here, in this place with so many good memories—of the time before hockey took over my life, when I was just Lali enjoying my summer and fishing and being a regular human. I want to hold on to that for as long as can.

There's no pressure, no self-doubt that she's only interested because of my career and my bank account. Besides, what's the harm in telling her a little white lie? In a different life, if I hadn't been such a good hockey player, I would be an alpaca farmer. "It's what I grew up doing." It's not a straight answer—so not a complete lie, but not the truth either.

"That's so great. Do you have other siblings who work with you?"

"Both my brother and sister decided on other professions. My brother works in animation, and my sister wants to work in sports therapy. She's still in school."

"That's so nice. All of my brothers went into dairy farming. One of my sisters does all the bookkeeping, and my other two sisters help with distribution."

I shift the conversation away from myself, feeling uncomfortable that I just blatantly lied to her. "So you're the only one who didn't go into dairy farming? Was that hard?"

Jennie looks down at her glass and shrugs. "I still help out, but I didn't go to school for anything agriculture related. At first it was tough. My family likes to stick together, and they're pretty protective of me—being the youngest and all—but I really enjoy learning, so I keep finding new things I love to study." She leans back in her chair and cups her glass of wine in her palms, like she's holding a bowl. "What about you? Did you go to college?"

"For a couple of years, but school wasn't my favorite. I like to be moving instead of sitting."

"Mmm. Yes. I can see that." Her eyes drift over my T-shirt-covered chest, and she bites her lip. I don't think she's being coy, just honest. She clears her throat and touches the back of her hand to her flushed cheek. "I think this wine is going to my head. Is it really warm in here?"

"You've got the wine blush. It looks good on you."

"I should probably hold off on finishing this glass." She sets it down and pushes back her chair. "I'll help clear the table." She arranges her fork and knife on her plate, which she cleared impressively, and takes it to the sink to rinse it off.

I put away the condiments while Jennie rearranges the dishwasher for me. She also refuses to put the pots and pans in there, assuring me they won't come clean and it will just bake on and be ten times harder to get off.

"I can wash." Jennie bumps her hip against mine, nudging me out of the way.

"You're my guest—you don't have to do that."

"I don't mind." She puts the plug in the drain, squirts some dish soap into the sink, and turns on the tap. "The hot water is actually really nice."

I lean against the counter. "What do you mean?"

"Just a bit of trouble with the water heater at the cabin." The fact that she doesn't look at me tells me there's probably more than a bit of a problem.

"Do you have hot water?"

"It'll be worked out soon." She waves a soapy hand, flinging suds in the air. They land on her chest and in her hair—and also on me. "Oh! I'm so sorry!"

She wipes her sudsy hands on her jeans and starts brushing them off my chest and neck. I don't stop her, because I'm more than happy to have her hands on me.

She makes the most adorable face. "There's some in your hair. I'm really sorry—I get flaily when I'm nervous, which is a lot of the time. And then I start talking and I can't stop."

"Am I making you nervous?" I bite back a smile.

"Well, not you, exactly, but the whole situation at my cabin—and I don't want you to think I came here because I want your help or anything. Or that I'm trying to mooch a meal off of you or take over your kitchen. Really, I just wanted to see you again, and say I'm sorry, and thank you."

"First of all, you don't need to apologize for anything—and I offered to drive you to your place, mostly for selfish reasons."

"What's selfish about going out of your way for someone else?"

"I wanted to spend more time with you, Jennie, without coming across as too forward or pushy." Or scaring you off. Which seems likely with how nervous she is most of the time. I'm getting used to it, though, and it's pretty damn endearing.

"Oh." Her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip as she contemplates that bit of honesty. "Well, in that case, I didn't bring the beer over just as an apology and a thank-you—I wanted to see you again too."

"And here you are."

"And here I am." She blinks her cat eyes at me, a small, shy smile on her full lips.

"If you haven't figured it out already, I'm really happy about that, and not just because you make kick-ass twice-baked potatoes."

That blush of hers amps up a couple of shades of pink.

I skim her warm cheek with a knuckle.

"Do I have something on my face?" Her voice is soft and whispery.

"No. You're blushing, and it's sweet." I tip my head down in silent request.

"I like the way that feels." Jennie takes a small step forward and reaches up. Her breasts brush against my diaphragm, and her very warm, soft fingers caress my cheek, mirroring the touch.

"Am I blushing too?"

"Maybe." She bites her lip to suppress a smile.

I dip down a little more. "Jennie?"

"Yes, Lali?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"I was hoping you would, so please, yes." She tips her chin up, and her eyes fall closed.

I curl my fingers around the delicate curve of her neck, feeling the heavy rush of blood pumping against my palm. I bend to touch my lips to hers. Her grip on my shoulders tightens, nails biting through my shirt as she makes the sweetest, softest sound. So of course I do it again—and again.

Jennie's hand slides higher, fingertips dancing along my collar until they slip into the hair at the nape of my neck and tug. She parts her lips and flicks her tongue out. It's all the confirmation I need that we're on the same page. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her against me.

I suck her pouty bottom lip like I've wanted to since I met her and follow with a nibble. She gasps and pulls away, gaze darting from my mouth to my eyes and back. "I feel that through my whole body."

"Should I do it again?"

She nods once and whispers, "Please, yes, and thank you."

So I do it again, and I'm rewarded by yet another sweet gasp, followed by a low moan.

The kiss goes from tentative exploration to frantic in seconds. Dishes forgotten, we stand in front of the sink and make out. It feels a lot like it did when I was back in high school with my first-ever girlfriend, when everything was new. God, I've missed this: being with someone who's genuinely into me. Not because I'm an NHL player—not because I have money, or a sweet ride, or any of the other reasons that typically draw women to me—but because we're acting on a mutual attraction.

One of her hands roams over my chest and down my abs. I will it to go lower, but as soon as she reaches my belt she heads back up. I shift her a little so she's pressed up against the counter. If there weren't a pile of dirty dishes strewn all over it, I'd lift her up so I don't have to bend down quite as far.

I want to run my hands all over her body, but I take into consideration all the things I've learned about her tonight. It sounds like she's been pretty sheltered, so I let her take the lead and wait for her to make the next move.

She feels behind her, elbow bumping a pot on the counter and almost knocking over an empty glass. She makes a muffled sound of annoyance as she presses her hips into mine.

Jennie breaks the kiss long enough to suck in a deep breath and peek around me. I'm about to suggest we take it to the living room and that I'm more than happy to carry her there. Before I can say a word, she pulls my mouth back down to hers and sidesteps over to the table. The kiss grows sloppy and wet as she reaches around me. I try to figure out what she's up to, but I can't without separating our mouths again, which I'm really not inclined to do.

"Here, sit," she mumbles into my mouth as the chair scrapes across the floor. She pushes on my shoulders, and I drop into the chair. Jennie follows, her ass resting on my thighs. Maybe I'm a little off base about how sheltered she is. I definitely should've moved this to the living room when I had the chance. The couch is way more comfortable. Lots of room for stretching out and lying down.

We kiss like we've been starving for each other, hands roaming but staying in mostly safe zones.

She rolls her hips, and I groan at the friction. Jennie goes stiff and still, gasping when she feels me. Her hands rest on my shoulders, and she pushes away, eyes wide.

"Oh my God." She clambers out of my lap and backs up into the counter. "I am so sorry."

Me too. Because I'm missing all of that soft and hot rubbing up on my aching, disappointed hard-on. "For what?" It's mostly a croak.

"For throwing myself at you. I'm not usually so forward. I really don't know what got into me." The color rises in her cheeks. "I should probably head back to my cabin." She smooths out her shirt and adjusts her jeans.

"Whoa, wait." I stand and snag her wrist before she can make a move to actually leave. "I need to sober up a little before I can drive you back." I don't want to take her back to that shitty cabin at all, but I also don't want to make her more uncomfortable than she already is.

Her eyes are fixed on my chin, cheeks flaming. "It's okay—you don't need to do that. I can just walk."

"It's midnight, Jennie—there's no way you're walking anywhere."

Her eyes flip up to mine, and her lips flatten into a line. She looks like she's about to fight me on that, so I release her wrist and barrel on.

"It's dangerous this time of night. I know it's not dark, but bears will be out, and you've had a few drinks."

"I'm not—"

"Sober or not, the walk down the beach is rocky, plus the temperature drops and it's cold out. Just stay the night."

"Stay here? With you?" She twists her hands together.

"There are four bedrooms—you can pick whichever one you want." But you're more than welcome to sleep in my bed—with me. "Oh, and for the record, you can totally throw yourself at me whenever you want. I won't mind in the least."

She ducks her head and huffs a laugh.

"If you really want to go back to your place, I can call you a cab, but I'd like you to stay."

She tips her chin up, wide eyes meeting mine. "You would?"

"Yeah, Jennie—in case you couldn't tell, I'm way into you. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, though, so it's totally up to you, but there's plenty of space here."

Her cheeks flush yet again. "You really won't mind if I spend the night?"

"I'd love more time with you, talking or kissing. I'm good with either—or both."

She looks away, a shy smile flirting on her lips. "Okay. I'll stay."

I try not to get too excited as I lead her upstairs to the second floor where all the bedrooms are. I'm pretty positive I'm not getting laid tonight. And I'm okay with that, but my dick seems to have missed the memo, considering how hard I still am.

I pause at the first door. "This is my room."

Jennie peeks inside. "It's so big."

I bite back a dirty reply. "Yeah, lots of space, which is nice. Come on, I'll show you the other rooms." She follows me down the hall to the next bedroom. I push the door open and flick on the light. "It has a private bath and everything."

"Oh wow!" She slips past me and beelines it to the bed. Throwing herself on the plaid comforter, she rolls onto her back and spreads her arms out, making her shirt pull up, exposing an inch of smooth skin. "This is amazing."

I lean against the jamb and cross my arms over my chest, smiling, and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying things that will embarrass her or me. Such as, Imagine how amazing it would be if you were naked under me. "You want to see the other rooms before you make a decision?"

"I don't think I need to. This is perfect." She props herself up on her elbows, stifling a yawn.

"Why don't I grab you something to sleep in? There should be a brand-new toothbrush in the bathroom—and anything else you might need."

"Okay. That would be great. Thank you, Lali."

"It's no problem."

She slides off the bed and pads over to the bathroom. I head back to my room, unsurprised that she'll be sleeping in the room next to mine instead of with me. And if I'm totally honest with myself, I'm actually kind of glad, even if other parts of my body aren't in agreement. Now that I think about it, it's nice to get to know someone before jumping into bed with them. Make a connection in more than just the physical sense.

I think that's probably what I've missed the most since I started playing professional hockey. Don't get me wrong—I had my fair share of fun. And I tried to date a few women, but most of them thought they already knew me, so dates started on uneven footing. When I didn't match the idea they had of me, it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Much like the lie I told her about my job. I should've just been straight with her, but then maybe she would look at me differently. I decide I'll tell her the truth . . . when she's a little more comfortable around me and the time feels right.

Once I'm in my room, I rearrange my hard-on into a more comfortable position and give it a pat. "Patience, little man. This one will be worth the wait." I roll my eyes at myself, feeling like an idiot for talking to my dick.

I open my dresser, riffling through my T-shirts until I find a plain white one. I also grab a pair of boxer shorts for her, although I have a feeling they'll be way too big. She's still in the bathroom, so I leave the shirt and boxers on the bed and go back downstairs so I can get us each a glass of water, set up the coffee maker for the morning, and turn off all the lights.

By the time I come back upstairs, she's already changed into my T-shirt. Her back is to me, so I have a moment to observe her. The hem hits her mid-thigh, showing off her lean legs. She bends over and pulls the comforter back, exposing the flannel sheets.

I clear my throat, and she jumps.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I brought you a glass of water." I cross the room and set it on the nightstand.

"Oh, thank you, that was thoughtful."

"You have everything you need?" I ask, wishing she weren't so nervous around me and that our make-out session hadn't brought with it an awkwardness to our interactions.

"Yup. All set. And thank you for this." She tugs at the sleeve, which almost reaches her elbow.

My gaze drops and catches on her chest, where her nipples pop against the white fabric. I drag my eyes back up to her face. "No problem." I have to clear the frog out of my throat. "I'm not sure if you're an early riser, but the coffee is ready to go, so if you're up before me, just make yourself at home."

"Okay." She takes a tentative step forward and wraps her arms around me. I return the hug but try to keep everything below the waist from making contact with any part of her.

I wait for her to let me go before I slip a single finger under her chin and press a chaste kiss to her minty, soft lips. "Night, Jennie."

"Night, Lali."