The Pucking Girl Next Door (Power Play Off The Ice: Snowed in for the Hoildays)

9. Smith

Chapter 9

Smith

H er eyes light up with a fire in them when she hears me accuse her of lying to me. Fuck, yes. There she is. I love that fire in her, and fuck even though her brother is probably going to kill me she's going to be mine, and I'm going to make sure that the only tears that come from her will be because of happiness, or from the fierceness of her orgasms.

"I'm not lying. Everything is fine, Smith."

But first, I've got to make sure she knows she can't hide from me. I'll get every single fucking secret she has, including why she's up here crying all alone. "Bullshit," I call. "Why are you up here crying, then?"

Her cheeks flush with redness. This time it's not all from her crying. Some of it is from the anger that's rolling off her in waves. Though I'm not trying to piss her off, I love the fact that I'm affecting her in this way. It turns me on, especially when she shows her fire.

A good and fiery argument is great foreplay, and I have a feeling with her it's going to be amazing.

She narrows her eyes at me when she finally spits out, "Just feeling a bit sorry for myself since I'm here and my family isn't. Is that okay with you?"

I don't answer her right away. Keeping my eyes on her I lean over placing my hands on the office chair arms. We're so close it wouldn't take much for our lips to brush against each other. I don't doubt that she's missing her family. The Rogers have always been close, spending as much time together as possible. I know there's more to the story and she might not want to tell me right now, but she will eventually.

We continue to stare, neither of us willing to look away as we challenge one another. The longer we stare, I carefully take in more of her expression, trying to read her. We might've just reconnected, and it's harder for me to read her right now, but eventually I'll know every movement and what it means. Her eyes are glassy from crying and my chest tightens uncomfortably, knowing that she's probably been up here crying by herself for too long.

Moments later, I decide I've had enough of this staring contest. It’s doing nothing to solve whatever the problem is, just causing more pain. Time to pivot and use a different tactic to get her to talk. My eyes soften as I place my hand on her thigh, looking deep into her beautiful ocean eyes, I softly remind her, "I'm here. And we can try to make the best of it."

Her face relaxes when she pats my hand and stands up, forcing me to stand up along with her. "You're right. We're friends and we can make the best of this situation."

I bristle at her declaration of us being friends.

"No. We're not friends," I declare as I stand up to my full height.

"What do you mean we're not friends?" she asks, her voice shaking a bit, which makes me feel like a fucking asshole when I hear it.

"I mean, we're more than friends."

She shakes her head as she goes to leave the office, and I blindly follow her. When we we're kids, I always felt drawn to her, but didn't know why. I always thought it was because she was my best friend's little sister. My skin itched every time another boy got too close to her, the anger that would rip through me if I saw her even smile at someone else who wasn't me. I just wanted to always be around her, I didn't care as much as Steve did when she would tag along. Most of the time, I liked it.

When her family moved away, the protective feeling vanished. I never felt like that for anyone else after figuring it was just a stage from when I was a kid. When Steve and I went to college, he would talk about what his sister was up too, but he kept us separate from his family life.

But when she walked in through the door, and I saw her again for the first time in years, all of those feelings came back with a vengeance. Now, as a man, I know what those feelings were; feelings of love.

She's mine, and even though she thinks she can tell me that we won't be together, she's wrong.

Steve might be upset when I tell him about my feelings, but he'll just have to understand. He might have a few issues, but that won't matter because Annabelle Rogers will be mine.

"What movie did you pick out?" she asks me bringing my thoughts back to the gorgeous woman in front of me.

Of course, I realize that she's changed the subject and is completely ignoring our conversation from upstairs. I try to make eye contact, to tell if I can see what she's thinking, but she refuses to look at me. I know it's because I've come on strong, so for now, I let it go.

"I thought we could watch Men in Black," I reply, grabbing the remote from the table and pressing play.

"That sounds great. I used to love that movie as a kid."

Wanting her to know that I still remember everything about her, I sit back on the couch and reply, "I remember."

She says nothing, just looks at me for a beat with her jaw hanging open, but quickly recovers when she grabs a blanket and looks away from me. I'm sure she thought I just forgot about her when she moved away, and even though I tried, I never forgot about the only girl I was ever drawn to.

Stretching my arms out, I watch her sit down on the other side of the large sectional, forcing a chuckle from me. She glares up at me as she fixes her blanket, and I can't help but keep grinning because this woman is something else. She pulls her feet up under herself in a tiny ball, keeping clear of any place that could accidentally touch me.

Once she's situated and comfortable, I turn my head back toward the television, trying to focus on the movie but I can't stop myself from stealing glances at her. We continue to watch the movie in silence, except for a laugh here and there. When the credits roll, I glance over at Annabelle and she's sound asleep. A smile graces my face when I hear her little snores.

Getting up off the couch, I go over to where she’s sleeping. I put my hands under her body and pull her into mine, cradling her just right so I don't wake her up. With her warm body pressed up against me, I've never been more grateful for my hockey workout routine. Slowly, I walk up the stairs toward the guest room I'm staying in, making sure that I don't jostle her too much.

When I get to the doorway, she makes a cute mewl, and even though I know I shouldn't do it, I lay her down on the bed I've been sleeping in. Knowing that I should walk away and sleep on the couch, especially after the way she refused to talk about being in a relationship, I can't seem to force myself to walk away.

I pull my shirt and pants off, leaving me in just my boxers. Grabbing the comforter, I pull it back, making sure I tuck her body underneath them before I crawl into bed with her. I'm sure she'll yell at me for being in the bed with her, but I can't seem to find it in me to care about it.

Watching her sleep, I vow to myself that even though she might be sad that her family isn't here, this Christmas, I'm going to show her how good the holidays can be with me.