I just met the girl of my dreams.
Megan Davenport is funny and smart, and she’s as much of an insomniac as I am. She’s also my team captain’s little sister, which I only found out after our passionate kiss.
Megan is completely off-limits—her brother makes that very clear—and I know better than to think I can keep a relationship going during hockey season anyway. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be late-night friends, right?
The only problem is, love makes you do crazy things, like breaking all the rules.
Megan Davenport is funny and smart, and she’s as much of an insomniac as I am. She’s also my team captain’s little sister, which I only found out after our passionate kiss.
Megan is completely off-limits—her brother makes that very clear—and I know better than to think I can keep a relationship going during hockey season anyway. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be late-night friends, right?
The only problem is, love makes you do crazy things, like breaking all the rules.
Oh, fuck it. I took a large stride forward, grabbed her arm and spun her around, and crashed my lips into hers.
She curled her hands into my shirt, tugging me closer, and I happily complied. I dug my fingers into her silky-soft hair, cupping the back of her head so I could deepen the kiss. She parted her lips, and I pressed her flat to the door as my tongue met hers. When she sucked my bottom lip into her mouth, I groaned, my blood firing hotter and hotter through my veins, and my hard-on straining against the zipper of my jeans.
She gasped as I ground my hips into hers, and then everything in my life narrowed down to her body under mine, the taste of her tongue, and the way her rapid breaths made her chest rise and fall, rise and fall.
A banging sound near my head brought me back to my body and the fact that I was outside the girls’ dorm. And one of those girls was apparently trying to get out of the building.
I pulled Megan off to the side, keeping my arms wrapped around her, both to try to protect her identity and to keep her warm, and Angry Girl muttered, “Jeez, get a room,” as she stormed past.
“I have one, thanks,” Megan cheerily replied. “But if you’re not using yours…”
I laughed even more when the annoyed expression aimed our way made it clear how unappreciated the joke was, but then my mind snagged on the idea of taking Megan into a bedroom—hers, or Angry Girl’s, or hell, any room—and desire flooded my system, undoing the bit of deflating I’d managed. It’d been months since I’d had sex, and now that my body got the idea that the night might be headed that way, it wasn’t easy to convince it that we really shouldn’t go there.
No matter how badly we wanted to. And apparently I’ve turned into Gollum, talking in terms of we, which means I’m really losing my grip on reality.
Megan bit her lip, which didn’t help my current turned-on situation. She reached up and ran her hand down the side of my face, and I closed my eyes, soaking in the soft touch. Telling myself not to get carried away.
It was a little late for that, though, and I made a snap decision, which were usually high on the stupidity scale where I was concerned. “I’m going to need your number.”
I opened up the new contact screen on my phone and extended it to her. When she handed it back, I noticed she’d typed out her full name: Megan Davenport.
The last name set off an alarm, the cooling effect like a bucket of ice water.
It has to be a coincidence. Surely it’s a fairly common name. Maybe not as common as Smith, but still.
She seemed to know a lot about that Bruin’s game, though…
And she mentioned an older brother.
A memory rose, unbidden, one that I really wanted to forget, of my teammate mentioning how his little sister was going to be attending college here. There’d even been a threatening glare that’d made me feel guilty, regardless of the fact that I didn’t know his sister. At the time I’d been experiencing a lot of guilt about that stupid bet, though.
I cleared my throat, not wanting to ask, but I knew I had to. “That brother you mentioned… He doesn’t happen to play on the hockey team here, does he?”
Her eyes widened. “Actually, yeah. Beckett Davenport is my brother. You know him?”
Every one of my internal organs shriveled up. “You could say that,” I said, slowly backing away.
You could also say that I was in deep shit.
She curled her hands into my shirt, tugging me closer, and I happily complied. I dug my fingers into her silky-soft hair, cupping the back of her head so I could deepen the kiss. She parted her lips, and I pressed her flat to the door as my tongue met hers. When she sucked my bottom lip into her mouth, I groaned, my blood firing hotter and hotter through my veins, and my hard-on straining against the zipper of my jeans.
She gasped as I ground my hips into hers, and then everything in my life narrowed down to her body under mine, the taste of her tongue, and the way her rapid breaths made her chest rise and fall, rise and fall.
A banging sound near my head brought me back to my body and the fact that I was outside the girls’ dorm. And one of those girls was apparently trying to get out of the building.
I pulled Megan off to the side, keeping my arms wrapped around her, both to try to protect her identity and to keep her warm, and Angry Girl muttered, “Jeez, get a room,” as she stormed past.
“I have one, thanks,” Megan cheerily replied. “But if you’re not using yours…”
I laughed even more when the annoyed expression aimed our way made it clear how unappreciated the joke was, but then my mind snagged on the idea of taking Megan into a bedroom—hers, or Angry Girl’s, or hell, any room—and desire flooded my system, undoing the bit of deflating I’d managed. It’d been months since I’d had sex, and now that my body got the idea that the night might be headed that way, it wasn’t easy to convince it that we really shouldn’t go there.
No matter how badly we wanted to. And apparently I’ve turned into Gollum, talking in terms of we, which means I’m really losing my grip on reality.
Megan bit her lip, which didn’t help my current turned-on situation. She reached up and ran her hand down the side of my face, and I closed my eyes, soaking in the soft touch. Telling myself not to get carried away.
It was a little late for that, though, and I made a snap decision, which were usually high on the stupidity scale where I was concerned. “I’m going to need your number.”
I opened up the new contact screen on my phone and extended it to her. When she handed it back, I noticed she’d typed out her full name: Megan Davenport.
The last name set off an alarm, the cooling effect like a bucket of ice water.
It has to be a coincidence. Surely it’s a fairly common name. Maybe not as common as Smith, but still.
She seemed to know a lot about that Bruin’s game, though…
And she mentioned an older brother.
A memory rose, unbidden, one that I really wanted to forget, of my teammate mentioning how his little sister was going to be attending college here. There’d even been a threatening glare that’d made me feel guilty, regardless of the fact that I didn’t know his sister. At the time I’d been experiencing a lot of guilt about that stupid bet, though.
I cleared my throat, not wanting to ask, but I knew I had to. “That brother you mentioned… He doesn’t happen to play on the hockey team here, does he?”
Her eyes widened. “Actually, yeah. Beckett Davenport is my brother. You know him?”
Every one of my internal organs shriveled up. “You could say that,” I said, slowly backing away.
You could also say that I was in deep shit.
Cindi Madsen is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting revising, and falling in love with her characters. Sometimes it makes her a crazy person. Without it, she’d be even crazier. She has way too many shoes, but can always find a reason to buy a new pretty pair, especially if they’re sparkly, colorful, or super tall. She loves music, dancing, and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely NOT all year long) with her husband and three children.
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