Power Plays & Straight A's - Eden Finley Page 0,36

slide my phone from my pocket and find a message from him. Damn.

“Want to invite me in now?”

Desperately. “Ah, I mean, maybe that’s not such a …” I lean forward to check the hall, but it’s clear.

“It’s Saturday night. Everyone’s either partying or still coming back from the game.”

“How did you get back here so quickly?”

He grimaces. “I wasn’t in the mood to sit around and hear how we lost because of me.”

“You lost?”

He clears his throat. “The hall’s clear now, but it might not be for long.” Okay, so while hockey players like to talk about hockey—always—apparently that doesn’t include when they lose.

Noted.

I stand back and Foster steps over the threshold then closes the door behind him. He wastes no time taking off his suit jacket and making himself at home on my bed. I’m elated at having another Foster-shape in my sheets, but that doesn’t make the moment any less awkward. I sink into my desk chair, the distance between us giving me much needed room to think.

Until Foster sits up, grabs the arms of the chair, and wheels it toward him. My knees hit the mattress between his open legs, and the noise that squeaks from me is wholly embarrassing and not one I ever wish to repeat.

I clear my throat. “Right, well, I suppose we need to set some things straight.”

“You wanna talk about what happened?”

“It’s probably for the best. Then we can move on and put it behind us.”

“Okay.” He shrugs, still holding on to the chair on either side of me. “Let’s start with how you attacked my mouth.”

“Excuse me, I certainly did not.”

“You were practically in my lap—”

“I wasn’t—”

“And the noises you were making—”

“Are you purposely trying to embarrass me?”

Foster grins wider. “What gave me away?”

I pretend to huff while I work on getting my blazing cheeks to return to a normal temperature. Thank heavens for the minimal lighting. “I think we can both agree you don’t need to put any effort into embarrassing me. I do it enough on my own.”

“Are you kidding? You’re the coolest person I know.”

“Well, that’s a grossly inaccurate statement.”

“See?” He leans closer. “‘Grossly inaccurate.’ No one speaks like that. You’re your own person, Zach, and I think that’s very cool.”

I swallow roughly. “You’re mocking me.”

“Never.”

“You always mock me.”

“No, I tease you. Sometimes. There’s a difference.”

“Which is?” Both work to point out my inadequacies.

“Mocking is cruel. Teasing makes you flustered, and you’re ridiculously cute when you’re flustered.”

“Oh.”

He finally lets go of the chair and runs a hand over my cheek instead. “Are you going to get flustered for me?”

“I think it’s inevitable at this point.”

His smile makes me soar.

“Foster?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Whenever you want.”

I jump to my feet, and in my eagerness the chair flings out from under me and bounces off my desk. I quietly die inside. “What were you saying about cool?”

His hands close over my back. “What were you saying about kissing?”

Good counterargument. I settle my shaking hands on his shoulders as I lick my lips and try to remember how we did this. “I’m not very good,” I blurt.

“Speaking from experience, that’s complete bullshit.”

My gaze finds the small cut over his eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Now stop stalling.”

A nervous laugh bounces from my chest. “Okay, yes. It’s just kissing.” I inch forward until his face is right there.

“Stop overthinking it.” He reaches up to remove my glasses. “There we go. Ready?”

I slam my eyes closed and press my mouth to his.

The electricity is absent. No sparks, no nerves.

It’s awkward, so awkward.

And then his hand slides up my spine and smooths over the back of my neck. “Relax,” he breathes.

So I do.

I let everything in my head go and melt against him.

Foster’s hands are strong, and he takes the lead, letting me mimic his movements. His mouth opens and his tongue slides over my lips before I remember to open mine too. Our tongues touch, and electricity explodes around me.

I scramble onto his thighs before I’m aware of the movement, and Foster’s grunt is apparently the signal my dick has been waiting for. The pressure behind his kiss increases as Foster presses one hand to the back of my head. It occurs to me his hands haven’t stopped moving, touching. I use the opportunity to slide my fingers into his hair. Goddamn, it’s soft. So soft. I scrunch it in my fingers then repeat the motion.

“Mnn.” I press closer until our chests are touching, and as I’m about to position myself completely in his