on her toes as the crutches slid to the sidewalk, and took his handsome face between her hands. When she pressed her lips to his, his arm belted around her waist, holding her tight against him as he took control, deepening the kiss. She was right there with him, pushing her hands into his thick hair, taking and giving in equal measure. He kept one hand on the building, the other firmly around her. The sounds of the people and traffic fell away, and she became hyperaware of all of him—the tickling of his beard, the strength of his tongue, his sweet, manly taste, and the feel of his hardness pressing against her. She didn’t want the kiss to end, and he was obviously in no hurry, as a guttural noise traveled up his chest and into her lungs.
She had no idea how long they stood there making out, but when their lips finally parted, she swayed against him, light-headed and a little giddy. She realized they’d been grinding against each other right there on the sidewalk. She should be embarrassed, or at least ticked off at herself, but it was hard to feel anything but pleasure when Harley was looking at her like she was everything he’d ever wanted and her lips were tingling from their kisses.
As she sank back down to her heels, she said, “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.”
He pulled his shirt over the bulge in his jeans and sang, “Hurt me, baby, one more time . . .”
“Oh Lord, my kisses make you delirious.” She handed him the crutches and said, “Let’s go, Britney, before you get speared.”
The stadium was packed. Harley knew he shouldn’t be jealous, but Piper had captured the attention of every male within a three-row radius, including a group of teenage boys. Luckily, along with jealousy came a boatload of pride, because she was there with him. She kept her hand in his or on his leg practically the whole game and leaned into him when he put his arm around her. Piper wasn’t flirtatious with anyone but him, and her brand of flirtation wasn’t blatant like other women’s. She was all sass and challenge, but there was no missing the heat sizzling in her eyes or the lust in her innuendos.
He glanced at her as she discussed which players had the best stats of the season with the guy sitting on her other side. He didn’t think it was possible to fall harder for her than he had over the last few years, but he was wrong. She’d been high-fiving, fist-pumping, and cheering like she did at the bar when they watched sports, but she was even more vivacious and spirited here at the game, which he didn’t think was possible—and he was totally digging it. They’d eaten hot dogs and popcorn for dinner, and though Piper said she didn’t want a beer, she drank half of each of his. And yeah, he dug that, too.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she said as she reached for the cup on the floor between Harley’s feet. She took a sip and hiked a thumb at the guy on her other side and said, “I love this guy. His wife is eight months pregnant. If they have a boy, they’re naming him Griffin because he’s his favorite player. If it’s a girl, they’re naming her Lennox. How cool is that?”
“Pretty awesome,” Harley said as she took a drink. They were sitting in the front row, center ice, and he was getting more joy out of watching her than the game.
Piper took a drink and said, “If I ever have kids, I’m giving my girls boys’ names.”
“Why?”
“Because girls need something to overcome. It makes them tough. Do you think it was easy growing up with a name like Piper?” She handed him the beer, and as he took a drink, she said, “I’ve heard it all, from Pied Piper, to come blow my horn, to I must be a plumber’s daughter. You’re lucky—you have a great name. Harley is rugged and manly. Nobody messes with a Harley.”
He put the drink on the floor and pulled her close, speaking directly into her ear as he said, “I’m hoping a certain someone wants to mess with a Harley.”
She turned, bringing their mouths a whisper apart, and the world seemed to stand still. The game and the crowd turned to white noise, and as he leaned in, the guy beside Piper yelled, “You’re on the