Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,25

a woman they expected to have a trio of cats named Austen, Brontë, and Dickenson, and to have her Harry Potter house tattooed somewhere on her body. (Also, yes, she was a Hufflepuff and had a tiny badger inked on the arch of her foot, but her cat in high school had been named Nora, after the queen of romance, not the others. Neither of which were important to the topic at hand, except to say that she’d lived so long considering what the world thought of her, what box they tucked her neatly into, that it was both odd and refreshing to have a man seemingly allowing her the space to define herself).

It won’t last.

Her inner voice was a major fucking buzz kill, even as she acknowledged that it was probably right.

There was a reason for her safety net.

A reason she’d decided to get really good at keeping her safety net intact.

Even aside from the bullying that came from being a girl interested in tech, and a Black girl at that, she’d been burned enough times by friends and love interests after high school to know that her inner buzz kill spoke the truth.

His interest wouldn’t last. He would put expectations on her. He would try to make her fit into those, to act a certain way, would twist and change and . . . hurt her.

That was why this was so dangerous.

Why her longing, that bubble expanding, that safety net wanting to unravel . . . why all of them were so terrifying. Because she wanted to undo everything for Ethan. But what did he want in return?

The man hadn’t paid her any notice for two years, and now, after a handful of conversations, a couple of touches, and a few hours together, she was ready to melt for him, to let him in.

If he really wanted her, why had it taken him so long to take notice of her?

Except . . . she wasn’t exactly an open book, was she?

Keeping people well enough away from her was kind of Dani’s superpower. Right up there with making things really freaking awkward.

Case in point? Now.

“I have a badger tattooed on my foot,” she blurted.

His gaze dropped down, fingers sliding along her ankle. “Where—ah”—his finger swiped along the arch of her left foot—“I see it,” he murmured. “He’s cute.” His hand stayed on her foot, brushing lightly over the inked animal. “So, you’re a Hufflepuff?”

Swoon.

Fuck, this man was treacherous for her heart.

“What are you?” she asked.

His smile twined around her insides, squeezed tight. “You don’t want to guess?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to guess,” she said. “Without a doubt, you’re a Gryffindor.”

That grin widened. “Nope.”

Her brows rose, shock weaving through her for a second time. “You’re not a Gryffindor.”

A solemn shake of his head. “Nope.”

Except . . . there was something on his face that prickled her instincts. “Oh my God,” she said, sitting up. “You’re messing with me.” She tucked her knees under her, cupping his cheeks in her palms. “You’re totally a Gryffindor.”

His hands covered hers. “Yeah. I’m a regular lion.”

“A grizzly bear,” she murmured.

“What?”

“You’re like a giant, cuddly bear, who—” His thumb traced lightly over her bottom lip when she stopped, breath sliding out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his mouth coming close.

God, he was going to kiss her, and she wanted it so badly, and—

What if he’s different?

He’s not, she countered. He can’t be.

She sat back and stood, his hands slipping from her face. “I should drive you home.”

She wasn’t going to look at him. She couldn’t. Because she couldn’t allow more seepage into her net, couldn’t allow any additional melting or bubble-expanding. But for all her best intentions, her eyes were drawn back to his.

Protest in the gray depths had her steeling her spine.

He stood, took a step toward her. “I figured I’d call a Lyft,” he said, near enough that she could feel the heat of his body. But he didn’t touch her again, and she spent a moment processing the disappointment swelling in her like a balloon attached to a helium tank that wasn’t shutting off.

Growing larger and larger.

At her for not being brave and opening herself up to new experiences. At him for making her want those new, dangerous life events.

Swelling, the latex growing dangerously thin.

He brushed a finger across her bottom lip, gray eyes searching hers. “Yeah, I’ll call a Lyft.”

Then he was gone.

And she found herself sinking back down onto the patio, listening for the front door to close