End Game (New York Stars Book 1)

DOES she know how easy it would be to tip my head forward and let our mouths collide?

The thought is the opposite of helpful.

I can already feel my dick starting to respond after years of being left out in the cold.

She smells like pansies.

She feels like heaven.

God, I want her.

I want her so fucking bad.

I raise my head, angling forward so that I can—

She rolls off me, tumbling onto the ice in a flurry of movements that are the opposite of graceful.

Fuck.

Why does my front feel colder than my back now?

God, I miss her.

And she’s never been so close yet so fucking far away from me either.