Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) by Elise Faber (romantic love story reading TXT) 📕

“A master’s then?” she asked, brows raised. Her shoulders rose, and though he could only see the side of one cheek, since she was now deliberately looking down at the ground, he knew that she was embarrassed again.

“Yes,” he said gently.

Brown eyes sparked when her gaze jerked up to his, and he was reminded again that she didn’t like that tone. He couldn’t help it, though. There was something about her that made him ache to soothe whatever hurts were inside her, to draw her close and cuddle her tight.

And not in a sexual way.

Though, that was there. That was always there.

He just wanted to keep her safe and then spend the rest of the time making love to her. Also, this just in, he was embracing that feeling from the shower earlier.

He wanted her.

She was here.

He was in deep.

That was just . . . fact.

“I’m a weird one who can’t stop going to school.” He laughed, mostly so that his cock wouldn’t get any harder and he’d embarrass himself.

“No, seriously,” she said. “That’s awesome. What are you studying?”

“Psychology.” A shrug. “Mostly because I want to be able to use my powers to ask all the girls to lie on my couch.”

He froze, mortification clawing up his throat, stealing his words. Who in the fuck would say something like that?

Maybe some dumbass frat boy.

But not a grown-ass man, who was trying to somehow win over a woman who wasn’t interested.

She reacted exactly as he’d expected, given he’d said something incredibly gross and creepy, and in the simplest of terms, the precise wrong thing to say to anyone, most of all a woman he liked. “Wow, that’s really . . . something,” she said, striding past him, those bare legs gleaming in the sun, the hem swishing back and forth along the backs of her thighs.

“Dani, wait,” he said, catching up to her. “I’m sorry, that was . . .” He trailed off, made a face. “I just really fucking like you, and for some reason, I seem determined to put my foot into my mouth every time I open it.”

Her eyes studied his.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I really didn’t mean that thing about the couch. I don’t even know what I’m doing.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “And the degree is just some piece of paper, some goal I’ve been working toward. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it, aside from shoving it in some drawer somewhere.”

She stilled, those pretty eyes continuing to hold his. Then one corner of her mouth twitched. “It’s a good goal, all things considered.”

“What’s one of yours?”

A flicker of an emotion he couldn’t decipher sliding across her face. “I’m boring,” she said. “My life consists of testing the latest editing software, pretending to attempt to clear off my TBR, even knowing that’ll never actually happen, and eating leftover pizza as much as possible.”

God, he wanted to know everything about her. “Is leftover pizza like this Bridgerton thing?”

Her brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“I watched like three episodes last night.” He grinned. “I know what you like.”

She spun toward the lot. “No,” she said. “You really don’t. Not if you haven’t seen episodes six, seven, and eight.”

Okay, now this was getting interesting.

“What’s in six, seven, and eight?”

A flick of her eyes toward his, then back toward the cars. “Leftover pizza is better than regular pizza because the flavors have a chance to meld, and then when you pull it out from the fridge and chow down on it, those flavors just explode on your tongue.” She moaned. “I buy it for the week and have it for dinner cold every night. It’s the best.”

Cock twitching as he cataloged that moan away for probable shower time later and attempting (and failing) to ignore the whole exploding on the tongue thing, he needed to revisit the ordering pizza for the week, only to store it in the fridge.

“You don’t eat it hot?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Put it straight into the fridge and wait until the next day to eat it.”

“Wow,” he said. “You either have incredible self-control or you’re—”

“Incredibly weird?” Her brows flicked, and he got the sense that amusement was tangling with a sliver of old pain. Then she shrugged, and her lips twitched. “Or maybe it’s just both, and I should embrace it.” With that, she took off across the parking lot, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll see you at the rink.”

He waited a moment to see if she’d realize she only held the one book she’d been leafing through, that he had her huge pile of—he glanced down, studied the spines—cozy mysteries, thrillers, and romances, but she just kept walking and after a moment, he trailed after her.

She was whispering something under her breath when he caught up, something he couldn’t distinguish, but also something he really didn’t like the tone of.

“That’s why the guys call me Big, Juicy Brain sometimes,” he blurted.

Dani nearly jumped out of those sexy, strappy sandals, clasping a hand to her chest and squeezing it tightly. “Will you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

She plunked her hands on her hips, glared up at him, and Ethan had the distinct thought that when she got mad, she forgot to worry about being shy, forgot about all those things that had her whispering disparagingly to herself. “Sneaking up on me,” she snapped.

And yup.

Had definitely forgotten about shy, at least for the moment.

Also, yup, he really, really liked it when she forgot to be shy.

“Just saying”—his lips twitched—“I didn’t think nearly barreling you down counted as sneaking up on you.”

“Ugh.”

Sparks in those brown eyes, and hell if that didn’t make joy coil up inside him.

She turned away again.

He followed. Again.

She spun back to face him. “What?” she snapped. “What do you want? Why are you bugging me in my happy place when all I want to do is enjoy my day?” Her eyes narrowed. “With peace and quiet.” They narrowed further. “Peace and quiet that