Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,12

he caught them, pressing the stack between one hand and his side.

“Ethan?” she said.

“In the flesh,” he said then winced because in the flesh? Who the fuck said that? But he was struggling here, he’d never seen Dani in something that wasn’t jeans or sweats paired with a Gold pullover or fleece.

This however, was different.

Different as in incredible.

Her sundress was giving him all sorts of Bridgerton vibes, even though it wasn’t remotely of the era. Rather, he just had all sorts of thoughts about tossing the hem up and losing himself in what was underneath. The fabric was white with large blue and turquoise flowers creeping up from the hem, its hem hitting right at knee level and giving him a view of slender calves, and when his gaze dropped lower, it stuck on pale blue sandals crisscrossing over toes that were painted bright pink.

Fuck, the woman even had beautiful toes.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked.

Since the books were unstable—and not because it would extend this interaction with her—he shifted the stack, tucking them under one arm. “Same as you, I suspect.”

Her eyes met his, drifted down in what felt like a physical caress, halting on the stack of research materials he held under his other arm. “You read?”

“I have been known to do so,” he said, lips twitching. “Occasionally.”

Her teeth found her bottom lip, pressed into that plump, kissable mouth. “I . . . um . . . I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

“I know.” And he did know that.

Her eyes held his. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” He started to nudge open the door with his hip, but she slipped past him, held the metal and glass panel wide so he could pass through. “I’m just teasing,” he said once they were outside in the courtyard filled with bronze statues of people reading, trees interspaced, their leaves just beginning to change color for the fall, yellows and greens mixing with an occasional orange and red.

They continued walking, this time on the path winding its way to the parking lot. “What did you pick up?”

“Some research material.”

She frowned.

“I’m finishing up my degree,” he told her, surprised she didn’t know, considering the team teased him about it frequently.

“Oh, your bachelor’s?” she asked, and he sensed the air around her relax for the first time. His heart thudded. Maybe she was warming up to him. “That’s really cool. I know sometimes it’s hard for you guys to finish school when you get drafted young.”

Ethan spied her car and started walking toward it. “No, actually,” he told her. “I was a late bloomer as far as hockey went, so I finished my bachelor’s degree before I ended up playing in the league.” Which was a good thing. He’d needed those extra years to build his skills, in addition to the additional time to earn his undergraduate studies.

She froze, sandals making a scraping sound on the pavement.

“A master’s then?” she asked, brows raised. Her shoulders rose, and though he could only see the side of one cheek, since she was now deliberately looking down at the ground, he knew that she was embarrassed again.

“Yes,” he said gently.

Brown eyes sparked when her gaze jerked up to his, and he was reminded again that she didn’t like that tone. He couldn’t help it, though. There was something about her that made him ache to soothe whatever hurts were inside her, to draw her close and cuddle her tight.

And not in a sexual way.

Though, that was there. That was always there.

He just wanted to keep her safe and then spend the rest of the time making love to her. Also, this just in, he was embracing that feeling from the shower earlier.

He wanted her.

She was here.

He was in deep.

That was just . . . fact.

“I’m a weird one who can’t stop going to school.” He laughed, mostly so that his cock wouldn’t get any harder and he’d embarrass himself.

“No, seriously,” she said. “That’s awesome. What are you studying?”

“Psychology.” A shrug. “Mostly because I want to be able to use my powers to ask all the girls to lie on my couch.”

He froze, mortification clawing up his throat, stealing his words. Who in the fuck would say something like that?

Maybe some dumbass frat boy.

But not a grown-ass man, who was trying to somehow win over a woman who wasn’t interested.

She reacted exactly as he’d expected, given he’d said something incredibly gross and creepy, and in the simplest of terms, the precise wrong thing to