I puff out my cheeks and let out the breath I’ve been holding.

Why am I so nervous? It’s not like I haven’t gone out on a date before.

As I pull in front of Holly’s condo, though, I realize it’s been awhile since I’ve been this invested in someone. Actually, I don’t ever recall feeling this way about any other girl. I suppose that should scare me, but it doesn’t. So, I guess these nerves are more about excitement? I don’t know. I suck at feelings.

I grab the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat as I get out, practically running up the walkway to her front door. I count to twenty before she opens after I knock.

It would be a cliché to say she takes my breath away, but she does. Her hair falls in long waves over one shoulder. The evening sun bathes her in golden light, further emphasizing her bronze skin, her shoulders on display in a simple, short, blue sundress. Her feet are bare, her toes painted light pink.

“Hey,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink to match her toes.

“Hey to you,” I say with a grin. “You look lovely tonight.”

“You too?” It comes out like a question, like she’s not sure if she should say I look lovely. I’m just in jeans and a button-down. Not sure I qualify on the level she does. She giggles lightly and says, “I mean, you look handsome.”

“For you.” I hold out the bouquet which she shyly accepts.

“Thank you, Evan. They’re so beautiful. Please come in.” She presses a sweet kiss to my cheek once I’m inside. I can smell her perfume mixed with the wonderful scent that is Holly when she leans in close for the kiss. She smells like heaven, and it only makes me want to give her a real kiss with mouths and tongues, but I don’t push for anything more than she wants to give me. Sometimes being a gentleman sucks, but strangely I want to take my time with her. We are in no rush.

“Do you want a quick tour of my humble abode?” She tilts her head adorably in question.

“Lead the way, Miss Laurent, and I will follow.” She finds my answer amusing and rewards me with a soft laugh. I’m letting her take the lead on this, and so when she reaches for my hand to clasp with hers I grin like an idiot. But also, one big happy fucking idiot. I get the Holly Tour and the pleasure of touching her at the same time.

Her condo is fairly small, but nice. Comfortable. She’s got every room painted a bright color, starting with the blue of her entryway. Her living room flows into a green color, which flows into her cheery, yellow kitchen. None of the colors are off-putting. They’re vibrant, like she is. I find myself having a hard time caring about the space though, because I can’t take my eyes off her lips as she speaks. I could stare at her lips for a long time.

“What’s your place like?” she’s asking. “I had a dream you lived on the Strip in a big penthouse in one of the hotels. It had all these windows and looked out over the city.”

I meet her eyes and she blushes again. It makes me want to kiss her senseless.

“Why are you blushing?” The need for an answer is real.

“I just…”

“Because you had a dream about me?” I feel a lopsided grin take over my face. “Was it a sexy dream?”

“It was…ummm…” She looks down at her feet and flexes a few of her cute pink toes.

“So, it was a sexy dream.”

“It was…ah…a little sexy,” she admits. Her whole face is red now.

We’re in the stairwell to see the upstairs. She points out the small, spare bedroom. It’s the only room that’s a sort of dull color, taupe or beige or whatever. She says she left it neutral in case guests sleep better in a calmer space. I’m about to ask what that means, but I get my answer as we head into her bedroom. The walls are a bright turquoise. The bedding is white. There are pops of orange in the artwork and pillows. It’s a cheery, bright space and I want nothing more than to strip her naked and see that tan skin of hers spread out upon the white bedspread.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” I say. “Your bedroom is very nice.”

“Thanks. The master bath is here,” she says with a gesture to a well-sized bathroom.

I peek in and make note of the huge stand-up shower with its double shower heads. Shower sex is now officially on my mind. “Nice place you’ve got here,” I say, clearing my throat. “And you’re not too far off, actually. I do live on the Strip, but in a building, not in a hotel. And it’s just a normal, two-bedroom place, not a big penthouse.”

She nods, pushing her lips together. “Why the Strip? Isn’t it loud? Bright? Hard to relax?”

I make a face and consider the question. “I mean, it’s bright, sure, but that’s what blackout curtains are for. And I can sleep through a hurricane, so the noise doesn’t bother me.”

“Heavy sleeper?”

“Yeah,” I say, “always have been.”

“That’s good. Do you like living on the Strip?”

We head back down the stairs as we talk. “It’s fine, I mean it’s been fun.”

I don’t want to elaborate. I specifically moved into my apartment because I figured it would be a good location for partying. Georg lives in the same building. Our neighbors are a raucous, young crowd, and I’ve done all kinds of things I’m not proud of in that apartment. I’ll probably never have her over, just because I can’t stomach the questions and doubt I know I will see in her eyes. How many women have slept in that bed? No. And I don’t want her focused on the past. I want her to see that I’m here because I’m interested in her and only her.

She leads me to the kitchen, where she’s clearly already been working on something. Without asking, she pulls two beers from the fridge, pops them open and hands me one. We clink them together before she heads to her phone and puts on some music, which blasts from a Bluetooth speaker hidden somewhere.

The music is kind of blues-rock. It sounds kind of familiar, but I can’t place it. I must be making a “figuring it out face,” because Holly says, “It’s The Black Keys.”

“Oh,” I say dumbly. “It’s good.”

“They are good,” she says, “taking a break currently, to my great dismay. I thought you might like them since they sound a little more classic than a lot of current bands.”

She blushes at this for some reason, and I realize she put a lot of thought into this moment. What kind of music I might like...

“So, your parents aren’t in the picture?” I ask. “Just your uncle Troy the scout?”

She nods kind of vaguely as she chops up some tomatoes. “It’s fine. They raised me, gave me every opportunity. The way I see it, they both deserve to go and do their own thing. And I do have Troy. He never got married or had a family so he sort of adopted me. And we do just fine together.”

“You don’t seem scarred by it or anything.” And she really doesn’t appear to let her parental issues weigh on her, and I respect this a lot. “I was definitely a shit about things for a while when my mom and dad split up. It’s one of the reasons they put me in boarding school.”

She laughs at this. “I can see that. You are a little ornery.”

“Tenacious,” I say, grinning. “It’s a good quality. What about friends? You left them all in California?”

“Pretty much,” she says with a shrug. “I’m a bit of an introvert, if you haven’t figured that out.”

“You seem outgoing, at least at work you are. What, you don’t like people?”

“Oh, I like people and I can hang, but I need lots of down time to recharge afterward, if you know what I mean?”

“Ah, yeah,” I say, taking a swig of beer.

“Pam, the one you met in LA, she’s my best friend. We shared an apartment my last two years at UCLA. She’s two years older than me, already has her physical therapy license.”

“Pam was a riot that night. She and Georg seemed to hit it off.”

“She is very outgoing,” Holly says, pushing her lips together in a weird little grimace-smile.

“I sense a story there,” I say.

“She’s wonderful and I love her, but we are very different people.”

“A diplomatic answer.”

She lets out a little laugh. “You’re not the first person to tell me that recently. Guess my communication degree paid off.”

“What else do you like to do? I know you run, and you work your ass off as social media goddess for the team. What else?”

She lifts one shoulder. “I like to cook. I like to read. I write a little, when inspiration strikes. I like listening to music. I don’t know, I guess I’m kind of boring.”

“I don’t find you boring at all. Not one little bit.”

We lock eyes and I can feel the charge, there. It’s something new for me, something far more powerful than just sexual attraction, though there is that, as well.

Her cheeks flame with color, something I’ve come to adore about her, and she goes back to her dinner preparations, tossing pasta into a pot of boiling water.

“So, what’s for dinner, Chef Beautiful?”

My comment earns me another smile and a fresh blush before she answers. “Um, I’ve been perfecting this very simple pasta dish for some time now. Homemade noodles, fresh tomatoes and mozzarella.”

“You made the noodles?”

“Yep, and the cheese,” she says proudly.

“Wow. I just, you know, open a package of frozen-something and nuke it.

She grins. “What about you? You play hockey, lived overseas, and like classic rock. What else?”

“Well, I like to work out, which seems work-related, but I do actually enjoy it.”

“I like to work out, too. Do you like to just work out in the gym? Or do you like other things? Like hiking or kayaking or whatever? Do you play other sports?”

Her voice gets a little animated and I find myself distracted by her lips again. Those lips of hers will be the death of me I’m sure. I’ll admit I’ve gone there before, and more than once. Yes, the dirtiest, filthiest place my depraved mind can go. Holly’s luscious lips wrapped around my cock. Just imagining it sends me into crotch adjustment territory. I take a long swig of beer to quell the filthy images swirling in my corrupted brain, so I can answer her properly.

“I play a little pickup soccer in the spring and summer sometimes. Basketball with the guys. I’m not terribly outdoorsy but I’m also not opposed to doing outdoorsy things.”

“I actually really like hiking and kayaking” —she pauses for dramatic effect— “that was a leading question in case you’re wondering.”

“Well, maybe we can try them sometime, then. I’m game if you’re there to show me the ropes.”

“Do you do anything with the team’s foundation?” she asks as she pulls the pasta off of the stove and dumps it into a strainer in the sink.

“I do, when they ask me. I also have my own little fund. I mostly send money back home to orphanages, and to my old school so they can give scholarships.”

She turns away from plating our meals and gives me a soft smile which nearly knocks me off my feet. “That’s really sweet.”

“Can I help you with anything here?”

“Sure, grab the salad and take it to the table? I can follow with these plates.”

I follow her instructions and take a seat. She hands me my plate and the pasta both looks and smells amazing. I inhale deeply as she grins widely. “Beautiful and she cooks. I think you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.” My remark rewards me with another delectable Holly-blush.

As we eat, we talk more about how I knew I wanted to make a career of hockey.

“I mean, I probably could have pushed it with running,” she says. “It just wasn’t something I wanted to pursue long-term. At least, not with that kind of pressure.”

“Yeah, I get it. This pasta is amazing, by the way.”

“I’m happy you like it,” she says shyly.

“I think I told you, I played from a very young age. And I was smart enough, I could have gone to university, but I got pegged for Olympic trials and it just grew from there. I love playing, so it just seemed natural to go with the flow, so to speak.”

“Do you like the NHL?” she asks.

“Sure, it’s been fun and good for my career. Do you?”

She smiles. “So much more than I ever thought I would.”

We chat more about the league and the team. She has some funny stories about some of the social media stuff she’s done with the other players. I share some of my funnier team stories, as well, and we’re both cracking up. Everything is going well. Until my phone buzzes in my pocket.

And buzzes again.

And again.

Fuck me for not silencing the damn thing. I won’t make that mistake a second time.

Someone is totally spamming me via text. I’m guessing it’s Georg, drinking and wanting to go out, or there’s an emergency of some sort. I don’t want to look, but after the fifth or sixth buzz, I pull out my phone. I feel my mouth automatically twist into a deep frown. Kacey King.

I have to stop her now or she’ll be at this all night. I type out a quick reply and remind myself to block her number the first chance I get.

I look up and Holly is staring at me. She’s not saying anything, but I can see by her grim expression she realizes the text is probably from a woman. My face must confirm it for her, because she stands up abruptly and starts picking up dishes. She heads to the sink, turning on the water, starting to load the dishwasher.

I hop up and grab a few more dishes, heading to her side. She won’t look at me.

“Holly. Will you look at me?”

She inhales and lets the breath back out. It feels like a million years before she looks up at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes. She seems to be waiting for me to talk.

“It was the reporter, Kacey King,”

“Since when does the press directly contact players, Evan?”

“She’s…” I fail to find any reasonable excuse to give her.

“Just what I thought,” she says, turning back to the sink.

“But I’m not into her. I told her to move on. I just said so in my reply.”

“This is a mistake,” she mutters under her breath.

I can’t help it, then. I grab her by the waist. My mouth is on hers before I can formulate a plan. And she doesn’t stiffen. Doesn’t pull away. No, instead, her hands go around my neck. She’s on her tiptoes. She’s opening her mouth and letting my tongue slide against hers. She lets out a little moan and I pull her as close as I can, feeling her slim body against mine. I’m hard in an instant and I can’t resist grinding against her in one slow thrust. I want her to feel her effect on me, and I make sure she does.

Her arms come down, and then I feel her hands on my ass, gripping me tight and hard. She even rubs herself against my rock-hard cock, bless her sweet intoxicating self. If I didn’t have any self-control right now, we’d be fucking in a matter of moments.

But not like this.

I’m the one who pulls away. Only to tell her, “Whatever this is between us? It’s not a mistake.”

I lean in and kiss her again, this time softly, before letting her go free. “Will you give me a chance? I know my behavior in the past doesn’t inspire instant trust. And it won’t mean a thing if I tell you I feel differently for you than I ever have any other woman. But I hope you can hear me when I say I need a chance. I need you to give me a chance, Holly Laurent.”

She bites her bottom lip, looking innocent yet still carrying the expression of a woman who is thoroughly aroused. She gives me a nod accompanied by a heavy breath as she looks up at me.

“Good, it’s settled. Now let me help you with the dishes and I’ll even let you flick water at me.”

She laughs and turns the music up. This song I recognize—Lonely Boy—so I make a big show of dancing and being a goofball while we clean up from dinner. The Black Keys keep playing and I decide I’m downloading every song they’ve ever made after tonight as a slow, sexy song comes on and I can’t help but pull her into my arms.

She rests her head on my chest as we start to dance. I put my face in her hair; it smells like mint.

“Thank you for dinner tonight,” I say softly.

“You’re welcome, and thanks for the lovely flowers.”

“They’re nothing. I’d give you the world, I think…if I could.”

She settles back against me and we dance a little more. Eventually I move back enough to look at her. A heartbeat passes, two, and then my lips are on hers again. I could kiss her sweet lips for days.

We don’t go further. I want to. God, I want to, but she’s so skittish and I cannot have her believing I only want sex from her. I want the sex, yes, but I also want other things with her. I want more.

And I’m willing to wait. It’s not like I can’t get myself off to thoughts of her. I’ve done that plenty of times already. Hell, I’ve been doing it since the first day I laid eyes on her.

I’m willing to earn Holly Laurent’s presence in my bed. And when I do, it will be something a helluva lot more meaningful than a quick fuck on a sofa or up against a wall.

For both of us.