Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,36

jam my legs into a pair of jeans and a hoody and cut out of the room. I need a consult, and there’s only one place in the whole of Enderson and outlying where I can be sure it won’t be overheard.

Two minutes later I’m slamming the door to the truck, Axel’s voice coming through the sound system.

“Dude, Nettie says this girl is good people, so if you’re calling in some panic because your fake girlfriend turned out to be psycho—the problem is you.”

I drop an f-bomb and knock my head back against the rest. “This is how you answer the phone? What if I’m calling on speaker from my mom’s kitchen?”

“Are you?” His voice is one hundred percent no-shits-to-give.

“No.” What a dick.

“Did you spend the last fifteen hours freeing one limb from the duct tape holding you to a urine-soaked bed?”

“No.” But that visual’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

“Suspect she’s after your kidney?”

“Axe,” I growl, only to hear the asshole chuckle across the line.

“So spit it out. What’s the problem?”

“I want her.”

“She’s hot. But don’t be a dumbass. You got a week left and you don’t want this chick catching feelings… so keep her away from your favorite stick.”

“That’s the thing—”

“Dude. She already got it?” A string of muttered cursing flows through the truck. “Haven’t you ever heard of jerking off? For fuck’s sake, man. I was kidding about the duct tape and kidney thing. But now—who fucking knows? Nettie is going to be so pissed. Have you ever seen her mad?”

I blink. His married banker? “Have you?”

I hear a muffled grunt and what I’m guessing is the sound of my teammate propping himself up in bed. “Not really.”

“Axe, you’re missing the point. I want her to catch feelings.”

“Huh, not following.”

“I don’t know what it is about her. Yeah, she’s gorgeous and smart and sexy. But it’s more than that. When I talk to her—hell, about anything—it just clicks. Like she gets what I’m saying, and I can’t wait to hear what she thinks. Axe, this girl makes me laugh.”

He grunts the grunt of the unimpressed. “Everybody makes you laugh.”

“No. Not like this.” Not where I feel it deep in my chest. “It’s different with her, man. It’s like I want to stay up all fucking night to see how much I can find out.”

“She know how bad you got it for her?”

I stare out over the dash, see Sunday-morning Enderson coming to life. “Nah. I don’t think so. I mean, we spent the night together, but… she’s not like the other girls.”

He huffs out one of those chill laughs. “Not chasing your ass, you mean?”

“Not even fucking close.” I stack my arms over the wheel. “You know what she told me? I’m not her type. She’s not into jocks, which is pretty fucking funny considering she’s sort of one herself and just doesn’t realize it.”

“Hmm, so you’re good enough for one night, but you can’t talk this chick into an actual date?”

Glaring at the speaker, I can practically see his shoulders shaking. “Fuck off. This isn’t funny.”

“The way you’re always talking people into stupid shit they don’t want to do, it kind of is.”

I’m about to hang up, but then he comes back. “So there’s chemistry, yeah? You’re not the kind of guy she goes for… but she did. Describe it.”

“Axe, you can fuck right off.”

“Dude, not her ‘O’ face. Jesus. I’m asking if this was one of those ‘fuck it, why not’ moments. Or was she serving up those looks? You know the ones. They’re all about more and deeper, but in the feelings, not feelin’ it, way.”

“Yeah, I know the looks. But there’s a problem. She’s faking being my girlfriend. My sexy, long-term, serious girlfriend. And she’s super intense about getting shit right. So yeah, she’s nailed the looks. But—” I think about that moment in the bathroom after the bachelor party, and when I’d been holding her in my arms on the dance floor—before fucking Tommy broke it up. “Hell, there are times when it’s just us, when we’re talking and it’s like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect. But I don’t think I fit in with her plans.”

“Uh-huh… We’ll call that a solid maybe.”

I blow a breath out my nose. Why did I call this guy again? The closest he’s come to commitment is buying the building half the team lives in. “Forget it.”

“Right. Not sure you’re capable of forgetting anything you care about, but whatever.”

“Axe.”

That fucker yawns. “Chill. I’ve got a plan.”

I sit