Clipped by Love (Bellevue Bullies #2) Read online

  And I’m completely taken with her.

  Her drive, her body, her talent, and that smile! She may not be my type, but she is what I want in a girl. I want someone who will challenge me and make me better. She does that with one look. The only problem is I’ll probably never see her again once she leaves this house. I have no clue where she is from, but I’m pretty sure if a girl like that were in Nashville, I’d know about her.

  She’d be mine.

  I don’t even know why I thought that, though. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. She just wanted to beat me. At first, I thought maybe she wanted to get some, but after that ass-beating, I’m sure she has one thing in mind and that’s winning. It’s very disappointing, but oh well, on with her then. It isn’t like I have time for girls right now anyway.

  Climbing up the stairs, a little slower than normal, I am thankful I have a couple more weeks before hockey camp starts. I just took a beating, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t handle camp right now. Hell, I might sleep the rest of the weekend. Starting now. Passing the kitchen where everyone is laughing and cooking, I ignore the jabs about losing to Baylor and don’t even look to see her smug face. I decide that I’m kinda over everyone right now. I honestly want to sleep and forget her completely. It’s for the best anyway, no matter how much I want to fuck her.

  Going down the hall to my room, I shut the door behind me and look out the window that has a gorgeous view of the beach and ocean. Jude was excited when he rented this house. He thought it would be a good escape and he was right. For the last two days, when I’m not actually on the beach, I have the doors open, the crisp ocean air flowing into my room as I lie in bed, reading. I have a paper due on the first day of school for my summer read, The Learning Tree. I’m not one of those people who wait until the last minute to finish an assignment and want to write the paper on the flight home on Monday. Maybe I’ll go ahead and finish the book after my shower. Sounds like a way better plan than going down and dealing with my brothers and fighting my need for her. They’ll probably give me more shit for hiding in my room, so really, it’s a lose-lose situation for me.

  Ah, fuck it.

  Throwing my shirt off and then my shorts, I push the door open and find that my bathroom is occupied.

  Yeah, I admit it. I yell like a girl.

  Which in return makes Baylor scream.

  “Oh my God! You scared the shit out of me!” she yells from where she stands in front of my sink, holding a rag to her chest as the water runs.

  Pointing at myself, I gasp for breath as I say, “Me? You’re in my bathroom! With no damn warning. Lock the damn door!”

  “I didn’t think anyone would come in if it was shut!”

  “Um, yeah. I shut it before I left.”

  “Whatever. You’re insane.”

  She glares at me and I glare back, and then for some reason we both start laughing.

  “You act like I’m a spider or something,” she says through her airy laugh. “I’m just cleaning my battle wounds.”

  Leaning against the door, I shake my head. “I don’t like surprises.”

  She smiles as she shuts the water off, throwing her leg up so she can inspect the cuts on her legs. I take in her inner thigh, and man, I itch to reach out and touch her, but that would be bad since she wants nothing to do with me. I may joke and tease that I wanna score against her, but I don’t go into something unless I know I can win.

  “I can tell,” she says before looking back at me. I watch as her eyes run down my body, but when her eyes go wide, my brows come together, confused. When I look down, though, I realize why.

  I’m buck-ass naked.

  “Oh, shit,” I say, covering my junk and backing out the door to grab my shorts as she giggles. My face burns as I pull my shorts up before glancing back at her. She isn’t looking at me, but her cheeks are red too as she cleans her wounds, trying to act like she didn’t just see every inch of me.

  “Guess, I need to take back my comment about the size of your dick, huh?” she says, and this time I see her eyes cut back to me, roaming along where my dick is hidden in my shorts.

  Hmm. Maybe I’m reading her wrong. Maybe she is interested, she just doesn’t want to be.

  I scoff as I lean against the door. “Like what you see, Moore?”

  She grins but then cringes as she wipes the rocks out of her cut. “I’m not dead, Sinclair. I like dick.”

  “Oh, I thought you may like pussy.”

  Cutting me a dirty look, she shakes her head. “No. I don’t.”

  I didn’t think so, but to be sure, I needed clarification. “Good to know.”

  “And since you’ve done nothing but lick your lips and stare at my inner thigh, I’m guessing you like pussy?”

  Observant one, this one is. Nodding my head, I get my fill of her as I say, “Like isn’t a strong enough word.”

  “What word would you use then?” she asks low, in a throaty, sexy, naughty way before looking over at me.

  Meeting her gaze, I say, matching her tone, “Crave. Need. Desire. Want. Yearn. Love.”

  Heat creeps up her neck, and soon my cock is pressing against my shorts. I don’t know what this feeling is, but man, I like it. Sucking in a breath, I watch as she leans forward, grabbing another rag and wetting it.

  “Have a way with words, I see,” she says, moving the rag along her face to clean up. “I’m almost done here.”

  “Take your time,” I say, watching as she cleans her face and then her neck. “Give me a chance, and I can show you exactly what I can do with my words.”

  She looks at me and then shakes her head. “I’m sure that will lead to something we’d both regret.”

  “A night with you is not something I’d regret.”

  Cutting her eyes back to the mirror, she shakes her head. “I would.”

  Hot and cold, this chick is. Chuckling, I look down before asking, “How long you been playing?”

  Expelling a breath, she answers as she moves the rag along her jaw tenderly. “My dad says I learned to skate before I walked.”

  I smile. “So a while, then?”

  “I’m almost twenty-one, so, yeah, a while.”

  I nod. She’s my age, but she has been playing longer than me. I doubt her dad was joking when he said that; her game speaks for itself.

  Looking over at me, she asks, “You?”

  “Since I was about five.”

  “Cool, you’re good.”

  “You are too.”

  “I know,” she says, sending me a grin before looking back at the mirror. “You need to work on your wrist shot. You missed a lot because it’s not very accurate. You have size to you though, maybe consider playing defense instead.”

  I smile, not the least bit offended. “I do play defense.”

  Cutting her eyes to me, she seems surprised. “Two-way player. That’s lethal.”

  “I think so,” I say with a nod.

  “Why didn’t you go into the draft then?”

  I shrug. “Must have been that wrist shot holding me back.”

  Meeting my gaze, she nods. “Probably. You really should work on it. You’ll be killer with that and a real asset in the NHL.”

  I like that she thinks that, and it makes me want to go outside to practice now, but instead I say, “I’ll be sure to work on that as soon as I get home.”

  “Nashville?” she asks. “Who do you play for?”

  “The Bellevue Bullies,” I answer, and she nods as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a tube of lipstick. Leaning toward the mirror, she paints her lips with the killer red lipstick before looking over at me.

  “They won the championship last year. Good team.”

  “Agreed. Going for it again this year,” I say, crossing my arms. “Where is home for you?”

  “Arkansas is where I go to school,” she informs me, and I don’t miss that it isn’t her home.

  “Do you play there?”

  She nods, leaning her hip to the si