I Pucking Love You (The Copper Valley Thrusters #5) - Pippa Grant Page 0,61

just a nice guy. That he wasn’t into me. That he would’ve done the same for any other teammate’s cousin-in-law, except Tyler Jaeger isn’t that kind of a saint.

He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t like me.

And he’s going out on a limb, risking me rejecting him.

So I resist the urge to close my eyes, and instead, I make myself look straight at him. At his disheveled hair. His twitching beard. His eyes, sparking with blue fire. His parted lips. The way his chest is rising and falling like he’s been sprinting on the ice.

“I like you too,” I whisper.

I’ve never said those words out loud to a man before. Never. And I know he’s not offering a relationship—he wants one date.

He’s made that crystal clear.

But I’m not panicking like I thought I would.

Am I raw and exposed and a little uncomfortable for admitting to him that I like him?

Yes.

Except over it all is this sense of freedom.

I just told a man I like him, and he didn’t laugh. He didn’t point and pull a gotcha. He didn’t whip out a hidden camera and threaten to send it to the national news so the entire world could mock me for thinking that I, Muffina Alexandra Periwinkle, would be worthy of the attention of an attractive athlete with his life together.

Instead, he’s leaning into my space, his fingers brushing my cheek as he tilts his head and goes in for a kiss.

It’s not like the kiss in the cemetery or the sloppy whatever-it-was before we banged in the walk-in fridge.

This one’s slow.

Deliberate.

With his beard tickling my cheeks and his lips hot and firm and his tongue slowly but steadily teasing me into parting my lips so that he can show me an entirely new world.

Like I’m the very last Oreo cookie in existence, and Oreos are his favorite, and he wants to make it last as long as possible, savoring every last little bit, experiencing it fully.

I don’t think Tyler Jaeger likes me. I think he like-likes me.

And maybe he wants a quickie in the car to relieve what looks like a very uncomfortable situation in his pants.

Or maybe that’s actually a can of squeezy cheese.

Squeezy cheese?

And possibly this is why I don’t have romantic relationships.

Why do women even hire—oh.

Oh, my.

Tyler’s hand is drifting from my jaw, down my neck, and I didn’t know a full-body shiver prompted by a man’s touch could make my clit pulse like that.

It certainly didn’t that night we went all the way at the club.

But this is different.

None of what I’ve put him through since he picked me up yesterday has been easy or convenient or comfortable. He should be making me sit in the backseat while he blares his music so loud that our ears would ring for days, since that would be preferable to putting up with each other one minute longer.

But instead, he’s kissing me like he needs me to know that I matter.

That I have value.

That he sees me, and he likes me anyway, and he wants more of me.

I trust him.

And that’s more arousing than how well he kisses, where he puts his hands, or how well he uses his equipment.

I follow his lead and let myself touch him, my hand lingering first on his forearm, radiating with heat, and then up, soaking in the feel of thick muscle beneath his shirt.

And touching him is turning me on every bit as much as having him touching me.

Every bit as much as him kissing me.

Every bit as much as this new, heady feeling of believing that he wants me.

I’m doing this.

I’m going to have sex with Tyler Jaeger, in his car, in this parking lot, because if I don’t, I might implode.

I want him.

I want him.

I shift in my seat, intent on climbing into his lap, and he abruptly pulls back, chest heaving. “No.”

One simple word.

And that tower of self-confidence that was growing inside me crumbles.

He grips me by the chin. “Don’t go there. I know what you’re thinking. Do not go there. Right now, I want to rip your clothes off and eat your pussy and make you scream my name until you’re hoarse, but not here. Not like this. The next time I have you naked, I’m doing it right. You deserve something special. Understand?”

Oh. “This…isn’t no?”

“This is me being a saint.” He’s holding me captive with a gaze that’s ordering me to not look away, not squirm, not crack a joke and retreat back into myself. “You deserve