Penalty Kill

Harper

The facility we enter smells like feet and mildew, and I'm not in the slightest bit surprised. It was an hour drive to the rink outside of the city-Jake had wanted to go somewhere that he wouldn't be hounded and recognized immediately, and that risk was at least the tiniest bit lower with each mile traveled away from the core of New York City.

My grumbling stomach was very pleased to find a bag of donuts and pastries inside of his incredibly sleek, black Range Rover when I'd hopped in. It slips my mind if this was the same car we drove in last night back to my place, and I can't bring myself to admit defeat and ask him if it was. Instead, I settle for making conversation as I power down my first donut as we start crawling through the traffic of the city.

"So what exactly compelled you to choose violence against yourself by waking up this morning and deciding to hang out with me again?"

He chuckles, one hand at the top of the steering wheel, his watch tauntingly poking out of his sweatshirt sleeve, the other gripping his coffee by the gear shift. A silly metal accessory has no business overwhelming every rational thought in my brain. He's at ease in the driver's seat, everything about him oozing relaxed and confident. It drives me crazy as I sit a mere few feet away, keyed up and trapped with my never-ending barrage of ping-pong ball thoughts.

"Now why would that be choosing violence, exactly?"

It takes me a second to chew and swallow my mouthful of delicious Boston cream donut, and after I finish licking my fingers, I lean my head back against the seat and attempt to give him a helpful clarification.

"I mean, you did spend most of your night watching me dance with your friends, the same friends who crashed our evening out. And then you had to schlep me home, which I'm sure wasn't exactly what you had in mind."

"Both were unexpected, sure, but I still had a great time. Watching you dance with my friends was fun, plus we did end up getting a T-Swift slow dance out of it, so I think I made out pretty all right all things considered."

A fierce blush rips through my cheeks at the memory, and suddenly I feel like crawling out of my own skin-and out of the car door directly into traffic. Flashes of heat and touching rip through my mind, how his lip felt under my thumb, how his hard muscles felt pressed against me, his breath sweet and slightly hoppy as it intoxicated me nearly as much as the alcohol had.

I try to play it cool by turning to look out the window, suddenly fascinated by the city as it crawls past us. Just as I'm contemplating which pastry or donut to scarf down next in an effort to assuage my embarrassment, I feel his hand touch my leg, and I look up from the greasy bag in my lap to take his knuckles as they tap against the side of my legging-clad thigh.

"Not to mention we had a great conversation before the lovable asshats I call friends interrupted. You got a nickname, you called me handsome, we shared our mutual heartbreak, oh, and that there's an asshole somewhere in Wisconsin who's earned himself an ass beating from yours truly."

His knuckles have been brushing the side of my thigh, gently moving up and down even after he's finished speaking. I reach into the bag and pull out a twist donut next, taking one bite and moving to set it back among the plethora of other sweets.

"Oooh, I wanna bite of that one. Bring it here."

Raising my eyebrows, I throw him an incredulous look, my fingers still hold the twist in the bag.

"You want me to feed you?"

"I'm driving! It's the responsible thing to do. Plus my hands are occupied-one hand on the wheel, the other enjoying your soft, warm leggings."

My eyes roll, and I'm starting to think it's genetically hardwired into my DNA as a response to his general Jake-ness. The urge to roll them around him is natural, reflexive. It's happening before I can register it, and all he does is smile back at me, wholly unaffected.