Catching the Player (A Hamilton Family 3)

She gasped and turned around, glancing up at him. She was only a couple of inches away. That was a couple of inches too many, to his thinking. His heart pounded against his ribs, and even though he should keep his hands to himself, he reached out to touch her cheek. It was as soft as he remembered. He’d missed her.

Everything about her.

Trembling, she held out the cold beer. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He twisted the lid off and tossed it on the counter. “Are you joining me to celebrate the finished job?”

She shook her head, not backing up, but not moving closer, either. Her gaze fell to his jaw, oddly enough, and she swallowed hard. “No, thank you. But if I can ever repay the favor somehow…”

“Actually, now that you mention it?” He took a swallow of the beer, letting it roll down his throat and cool him off a bit. Around her, he was always too hot.

She rubbed her arms. “Yeah?” she asked, her voice breathy.

“About that favor,” he said, stepping closer, not touching her, but towering over her. “I have to go to dinner with a guy who retired from the game thirty years ago, and as much as I like and admire the dude, he has a tendency to babble on and on about all his glories in the good old days, and how the game isn’t as good anymore.”

She sucked in a breath and swayed closer. “Okay…”

“So, to be honest.” His fingers brushed the smooth plastic of her glasses as he tucked her hair behind her ear. It was as soft as he remembered. “I could really use a wingman. Someone who can loudly announce we have somewhere else to be when I nudge them under the table discreetly, and then we get out of there at a decent time.”

She nodded. “Okay, yeah, sure. I’m your girl. When is it?”

“Tonight, in two hours.” He’d been planning on making excuses to get out of it, citing the big game this weekend as an excuse, but now… “Are you free?”

After licking her lips, she shook her head, nodded, then shook her head again. “I, well, I kind of had plans.”

He cocked his head and moved a fraction of an inch closer. Her nostrils flared in response. “What kind of plans?”

“Well, you see, I’ve never tried online dating before. I’ve always been too nervous to meet some dude I’ve never even seen, and to just blindly trust the internet to know what I might like in a guy.” She licked her lips. “So, when I matched with this guy on eHarmony right away, and he messaged me…I didn’t ask questions. I just said yes when he asked me out. He seemed funny enough, and he didn’t talk like a serial killer, so, long story short, we’re supposed to go out later today.”

“How do serial killers talk?” he interjected.

“I have no clue.” She made a stabbing motion with her hand, holding an imaginary knife. “Like, sharp?”

He cracked up, holding his stomach, bending over.

“Anyway. I let him pick the place. Otherwise I’d have to figure out the perfect spot, and it would take forever, and then I’d back out, and probably say something came up, like the old me would have, and—”

He straightened at that, his laughter dying. “Where did he pick? You can tell a lot about a guy from the place he chooses for a first date,” he stated, trying to ignore the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach at the idea of her going out with some other dude instead of him. Maybe this dude would have sex with her, instead of respecting her enough to wait. Maybe he would stick around longer than a night. Maybe she would fall in love with him. Get married. Have adorable kids. Live happily ever after.

He was going to hurl.

“Costello’s.”

He winced and brushed a strand off her cheek, burying his fingers in the hair on the back of her head. There was no way he was going to stand by and watch her fall in love with some other guy while they had this…this…tension between them. “Sounds like a serial killer restaurant to me. If they have sharp knives, don’t walk. Don’t stop. Don’t pass go. Run.”

She half laughed, half groaned, her lids drifting shut. Her lashes were unadorned with mascara, yet they were the longest he’d ever seen. She ran her hands down his shoulders gently, making his body tense and flex with the undeniable need to have her. “You think he’s a killer?”

“Oh, he’s definitely a killer.” He pressed his lower body against hers, showing her just how badly he wanted her. Hell, she’d touched him, so he got to touch her, too. And she’d made him promise… “You’re risking total dismemberment if you go out with him.”

She didn’t say anything. Just gripped his biceps, digging her nails into his skin. Lifting her chin, she licked her lips and locked eyes with him, smiling slightly. “So, what should I do?”

“If it were me, and I had to choose between a serial killer and a peaceful dinner with a guy I knew wasn’t going to kill me…” He slipped his fingers under her chin, lifting it and lowering his head until his mouth was a breath away from hers. “Why bother with a blind date from hell, when you could spend the night with me instead?”

“Why indeed?” she said cheekily.

“Hey. Did you mean what you said when you said if I wanted to come back…?” he started to ask.

She nodded, a small whimper escaping her. “Yes.”