Dirty Pucker (Denver Bashers #2)

6. Del

Chapter 6

Del

I unlock the front door to my three-story townhouse in the RiNo neighborhood of Denver and let Ingrid inside.

I walk through the entryway, up the stairs to the second floor, and into the open-concept living space and kitchen.

“Want something to drink?” I ask as I walk into the kitchen and grab a glass from one of the floating shelves.

“Just some water. Thanks.”

When I turn around to hand her the glass, I catch her glancing around. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago, and so far I’ve only managed to unpack the kitchen, and set up my sectional and TV, and my bed upstairs. That’s it. The rest of my stuff is still in boxes, which are scattered all over my living room, the hallway, and all three bedrooms upstairs.

A sudden wave of self-consciousness hits me. My place must look like a shack compared to what she’s used to.

Ingrid wasn’t the only one who did some online reconnaissance last night. I looked her up too. And I was floored when I realized just how rich and famous she is.

She and Theo are Thompsons—the insanely rich family that owns a shit-ton of luxury hotels and resorts around the world. I’ve stayed in some of their properties. They’re nice as hell. She’s clearly loaded.

I was excited that I was able to find this place in the River North Arts District. Growing up in a rough part of Denver, I never imagined that I’d be living in a luxury townhome in a cool neighborhood.

I tug a hand through my hair, annoyed at how nervous I am. I shouldn’t feel like this. I mean, I’m a millionaire. I make a shit-ton of money playing hockey—more than I should, if I’m honest. Because if you think about it, it’s kind of ridiculous that I get paid all this money to chase around a puck. There are plenty of people in the world who work harder, more important jobs than I do, and deserve to make way more money.

But it is what it is, and I’m thankful for my career. With the money I make, I can take care of my mom’s bills. It’s the least I can do after she spent most of her life working her ass off as a single mom to support my sister and me.

I was able to help my little sister Dakota too. I paid for her college so she didn’t have to worry about taking out loans. And I bought her a new car when she graduated college so she wouldn’t have to keep driving that rickety thing that kept breaking down on her.

But Ingrid’s family is mega-rich. Billionaires, probably. What I have must pale in comparison to everything Ingrid has ever seen.

Just then she spins around and flashes that beautiful smile.

“Your place is amazing. I love it.” Her eyes are bright as she gazes up at the glass pendant lights hanging above my kitchen island.

I can tell by her tone and her expression that she means it. That self-consciousness begins to fade.

“Really?” I say after a second.

“Yeah. It’s so modern and sleek but also cozy.” She runs her socked foot along the dark hardwood floors. “I’m in love with your floors. They’re such a pretty contrast to the white cabinets and the light-colored counters.”

I smile as I watch her stroll around the space.

“And you’re close to all the cool stuff in Denver,” she says. “Art galleries, distilleries and breweries, warehouses that have been converted into studios, coffee shops.”

“Can’t forget those coffee shops, right?”

She chuckles and tucks a chunk of her long blonde hair behind her ear. “Coffee is always on my mind.”

She walks over to the massive window on the far side of the space that looks out to the yard. In the distance are the Rocky Mountains.

My gaze falls to her ass, which looks incredible in those jeans she’s wearing.

She peers over her shoulder to look at me. I try to look up at her face, but I’m a half-second too late. She raises her eyebrow at me and I know I’m busted. She knows I was checking her out.

The corner of her mouth quirks up. She bites her lip. “What a gorgeous view,” she says. Then she smiles.

I let out a quiet breath, relieved she’s not mad. “I was about to say the same thing.”

She laughs and walks over to the kitchen. She hops on the counter to sit and continues sipping her water, her gaze on me. “I figured it’s okay to sit on the counter since there aren’t any chairs.”

“Totally fine. Get comfortable.”

She glances out the window. I like how comfortable she is in my place after only being here for a few minutes.

Just then, my brain pulls up an image of Ingrid sitting on my kitchen counter, only this time she’s wearing nothing but my T-shirt. I step over to her, set my hands on her knees, push them open, step between her legs, and kiss her before I grab her by the waist, pull her down, and bend her over the counter…

Nope. None of that. You’re a gentleman, remember?

I tug a hand through my hair and shove the image out of my head before I give myself a semi.

“I’ll be sure to tell Dakota you like this place,” I say, trying to refocus. “She came with me to look at it and convinced me to put in an offer.”

Ingrid flashes a sweet smile. “That’s cute that you brought your sister to look at houses with you.”

“She insisted. She was convinced I’d end up picking some dump without her.”

Ingrid’s smile turns teasing. “But, I mean, is she right?”

“Yeah.”

We both chuckle.

I glance down at my piss-soaked shirt. “I should probably change and shower.” I look up at Ingrid. “Make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.” I walk over to the sectional, grab the remote, and turn on the TV. I hand the remote to Ingrid. “In case you want to watch anything.”

She tells me thanks and I head upstairs. I strip off my shirt and pants, toss them in the washing machine, then head to the master bath. I flip on the hot water, jump in, grab the bodywash and loofah, and get to work scrubbing myself clean.

A few minutes pass, then I hear a crashing noise from downstairs. I still.

“Ingrid? Was that you?” I holler.

No answer.

“Ingrid, are you okay?”

Still no answer.

My pulse skyrockets. Shit. Did she fall and hurt herself?

I turn off the shower, grab a towel, wrap it around me, and run out of the bathroom, through my bedroom, down the stairs.

“Ingrid, are you alright?” I yell when I round the bottom of the stairs and jog down the hall.

I freeze when I see Ingrid standing on a stepladder, a pile of boxes surrounding her. And then I see broken glass all over the floor, right under where she’s standing.

She glances around the floor. “I’m sorry. I saw your stepladder against the wall and I thought I’d be a nice houseguest and unpack some of your stuff for you, but then a bunch of the boxes fell over and knocked over my water glass…”

When she looks up at me, her eyes go wide.

She rakes her gaze slowly down my body, pausing at my waist, right above my towel.

Her mouth falls open. “Wow…”

“Good wow?” I tease.

She nods, her unblinking gaze still glued to my abs. “Um, yeah…” She swallows. “You must work out.”

I chuckle. “Don’t move.”

I head to the front door and grab my shoes, put them on, then grab the broom and dustpan from the nearby closet and sweep up the glass.

I dump the shards into the trash can and set the broom against the counter. She moves like she’s going to step down onto the floor but I stop her.

“There might still be little pieces of glass. I’ll pick you up.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

“You might get a little wet,” I say.

She tilts her head at me, fighting a smile. “Seriously? Did you even think about that before you said it?”

I wink at her. “Of course I did.”

I scoop Ingrid into my arms. She yelps, then giggles as she wraps her arms around my neck. “Wow. Such a gentleman.”

I still and look her in the eye. “Not always.” Like in bed. Not even fucking close.

Her eyes widen the slightest bit, like she catches my drift instantly.

She sinks her teeth into her luscious bottom lip. We stay like that for a long moment, me holding her in my arms, our faces just inches apart…

She runs her tongue along the seam of her lips. My mouth waters. My lips and tongue ache with the urge to capture her mouth in mine, to taste her, to tease my tongue against hers, to kiss her until she’s panting and moaning for me to fuck her right here on my kitchen counter…

“So Dirty Del isn’t such a gentleman then?” she says, her voice soft.

“Nope.”

Those blue eyes turn fiery as she looks at me. Heat scatters across my skin.

The rational part of my brain catches up a second later. I shouldn’t be doing this, holding her in my arms, about to kiss her.

I should put Ingrid down right now and walk away. She’s the team social media girl—and my teammate’s cousin. She’s off-limits.

My body doesn’t seem to give a shit about any of that right now though.

I tilt my head up so our mouths are just barely an inch apart. Her gaze falls to my lips. My heart skids in my chest.

And then the doorbell rings.

I jolt at the sudden blast of noise and almost drop Ingrid. She yelps. I walk us out of the kitchen, set her down, and run to the door. It’s a delivery guy with a case of the organic pressed juices I ordered the other day. I ignore him when he glances down at the towel-covered part of me and frowns. I sign for the package, tell him thanks, grab the box, and set it inside next to the door.

When I turn around, Ingrid is standing a few feet away. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s sporting a shy smile.

“Sorry again about the broken glass,” she says.

“It’s okay.”

She stands there, quiet for a second, like she’s working up the nerve to say more. “We almost kissed.”

I almost chuckle at how bluntly she’s put it. “Yeah. We did.”

“But it’s probably good that we didn’t.” Her voice hitches at the end of her sentence, like she’s uncertain about what she’s said.

“It would have been hot though,” I deadpan.

She rolls her eyes and smiles at me.

“It’s probably a bad idea for us to kiss,” she says. “I’m the social media manager for the team you play for. And my cousin hates you.”

Disappointment flashes through me at the reality check she just dropped. She’s right. I really shouldn’t even be teasing her. Or flirting with her. As much as I like Ingrid, as much as I’m attracted to her, kissing her would fall right into the category of “shit I should never do.”

I take a second to remind myself why I’m here. To play for Denver long-term. Not to fool around with the Bashers’ social media manager before I even play my first game for the team.

The reality of my situation washes over me once more. It’s been fun flirting with Ingrid, but I can’t let this go any further than that. Ever.

Messing around with Ingrid would jeopardize my standing with the team and Coach Porter. I’m here to play hockey and look out for my mom and sister. That’s it.

I clear my throat and take a step back, widening the space between us. “You’re right. The two of us kissing wouldn’t have been a good idea. Not to mention pretty unprofessional.”

“It’s okay. I got caught up in the moment too.” Her full cheeks flush. She sinks her teeth into that plump bottom lip and I have to divert my gaze from her to the wall because fuck, it’s torture looking at her mouth knowing I’ll never be able to kiss it.

“But we can be friends, right?” Smiling, she rests her hands on her hips and shrugs a shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I say.

As badly as I wanted to kiss her, just hearing Ingrid say she wants to be my friend sends warmth through me. After years of being the most hated player in the league, I’ve made more enemies than friends. It’s my own fault. I leaned into that persona hard.

So it feels good to hear that despite all that, Ingrid still wants to be my friend.

I tell her I’ll get dressed and then drop her back off at the arena.

Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the entrance. When I slow to a stop, I catch her grinning at her phone.

She shows me the screen. It’s a second before I register it’s a TikTok of the video she took of me earlier with the kittens at the shelter.

“You hit ten thousand views in just a few hours.” She grins. “Told you you’d be a hit.”

“Looks like I owe you a drink.”

She grins. “Looks like it.”

“How about tomorrow after the game?”

“Perfect.”

She hops out of the car and leans down to look at me. “See you tomorrow, friend.”

She shuts the door and walks off. I wait until she’s in the building before I drive off, eager for tomorrow.