The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance by Colleen Charles Page B
Authors: Colleen Charles
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smiling up at him.
Her lips looked like fresh cherries, waiting to be bitten. Why hadn’t he noticed how full and lush they were until this moment? The perfect shape for pulling into his mouth and sucking on. He tamped down his rising lust again. The physical sensations coursing through his body and heading straight south were becoming an annoyance.
“That is one fantastic dress,” he said with a low whistle, scanning his eyes up and down. He just couldn’t help it. Like she was an ice cream cone on a hot day, and he yearned for that first lick. “You look amazing. I’m guessing you didn’t buy it here in Minnesota.”
“Thank you,” she said, settling into the chair. “You’re right. I order my clothes from New York stores that I fell in love with when I lived there.”
Cole draped her coat on the back of her chair and returned to his seat. “Well. New York should be grateful.”
Eloise fixed him with a pointed stare. He’d noticed her eyes before, but at this close range, he marveled at their intense green color. Everything about her was intense. Damn, he wanted this woman in a horizontal position more than anything. And the fact that she wouldn’t fall at his feet in a puddle of pathetic willingness, worshipping his NHL cock like it was water in the desert? That fact made her even more challenging. And appealing.
“Okay, I want a man who can honor his promises,” she said.
His had snapped up in confusion. Had he made her any promises? Was she pissed already? “What?”
“You promised to tell me the story behind your unique nickname.”
Cole inhaled deeply, inflating his chest. Praise the Lord. He didn’t think he could take it if he’d disappointed her before the plane even left the runway. “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? To rush the line and split the D; it is sublime O Victory!” He raised his open hand into the air as he spoke. At her dumbfounded look, he relaxed his pose and started to laugh. “That’s one of my locker-room soliloquies,” he said. “The guys make fun of me, but I know they love it.”
“You lied to me, you are a poet. No wonder you have so many names, Coleman Arthur Fiorino… the Third, I suppose? English major?” she asked, her mint-green eyes still a little bugged.
“Philosophy, actually. Boston College. But no Third. I’m the first, the original.” And I’d sure like to be first to fuck you right over this cocktail table, sweetheart .
“Table for Cole?” the hostess called, just as Eloise opened her mouth to question him further.
Cole winked at Eloise. “That’s us. Let us enjoy a great repast, milady.”
***
Eloise couldn’t picture a more different date from the one she’d had with Ryder. Cole Fiorino looked stunning in a suit, his facial scruff not detracting in the least from his stellar appearance. It was sexy. He was sexy. Broad shoulders filled out the tailored lines of his jacket. His slacks draped perfectly over powerful legs. And his smell. The scent of Gucci made her want to lick the musky cologne off his muscled neck. She lingered over the remains of dinner on her plate, enjoying the moment as long as possible before broaching the subject she’d been avoiding all evening.
“How upset is your friend Spud about Murphy’s bar?” she asked. “I’m sure he was downplaying his feelings because I was right in front of him yesterday.”
Cole frowned, the creases in his brow deepening. “Hey, I’m a stranger here. I’ve only known Spud since I moved out here, but I don’t really fit in with his crowd. I mean, I make a shit-ton of money playing hockey. I don’t think I’m qualified to have an opinion on the plight of the small businessman, but I guess I’m an idealist. I think opportunity should be for everyone, not just the corporate elite. I hate when big business loses sight of everything but their bottom line. They become faceless machines, rolling over everyone in their path.”
“I thought you said
Her lips looked like fresh cherries, waiting to be bitten. Why hadn’t he noticed how full and lush they were until this moment? The perfect shape for pulling into his mouth and sucking on. He tamped down his rising lust again. The physical sensations coursing through his body and heading straight south were becoming an annoyance.
“That is one fantastic dress,” he said with a low whistle, scanning his eyes up and down. He just couldn’t help it. Like she was an ice cream cone on a hot day, and he yearned for that first lick. “You look amazing. I’m guessing you didn’t buy it here in Minnesota.”
“Thank you,” she said, settling into the chair. “You’re right. I order my clothes from New York stores that I fell in love with when I lived there.”
Cole draped her coat on the back of her chair and returned to his seat. “Well. New York should be grateful.”
Eloise fixed him with a pointed stare. He’d noticed her eyes before, but at this close range, he marveled at their intense green color. Everything about her was intense. Damn, he wanted this woman in a horizontal position more than anything. And the fact that she wouldn’t fall at his feet in a puddle of pathetic willingness, worshipping his NHL cock like it was water in the desert? That fact made her even more challenging. And appealing.
“Okay, I want a man who can honor his promises,” she said.
His had snapped up in confusion. Had he made her any promises? Was she pissed already? “What?”
“You promised to tell me the story behind your unique nickname.”
Cole inhaled deeply, inflating his chest. Praise the Lord. He didn’t think he could take it if he’d disappointed her before the plane even left the runway. “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? To rush the line and split the D; it is sublime O Victory!” He raised his open hand into the air as he spoke. At her dumbfounded look, he relaxed his pose and started to laugh. “That’s one of my locker-room soliloquies,” he said. “The guys make fun of me, but I know they love it.”
“You lied to me, you are a poet. No wonder you have so many names, Coleman Arthur Fiorino… the Third, I suppose? English major?” she asked, her mint-green eyes still a little bugged.
“Philosophy, actually. Boston College. But no Third. I’m the first, the original.” And I’d sure like to be first to fuck you right over this cocktail table, sweetheart .
“Table for Cole?” the hostess called, just as Eloise opened her mouth to question him further.
Cole winked at Eloise. “That’s us. Let us enjoy a great repast, milady.”
***
Eloise couldn’t picture a more different date from the one she’d had with Ryder. Cole Fiorino looked stunning in a suit, his facial scruff not detracting in the least from his stellar appearance. It was sexy. He was sexy. Broad shoulders filled out the tailored lines of his jacket. His slacks draped perfectly over powerful legs. And his smell. The scent of Gucci made her want to lick the musky cologne off his muscled neck. She lingered over the remains of dinner on her plate, enjoying the moment as long as possible before broaching the subject she’d been avoiding all evening.
“How upset is your friend Spud about Murphy’s bar?” she asked. “I’m sure he was downplaying his feelings because I was right in front of him yesterday.”
Cole frowned, the creases in his brow deepening. “Hey, I’m a stranger here. I’ve only known Spud since I moved out here, but I don’t really fit in with his crowd. I mean, I make a shit-ton of money playing hockey. I don’t think I’m qualified to have an opinion on the plight of the small businessman, but I guess I’m an idealist. I think opportunity should be for everyone, not just the corporate elite. I hate when big business loses sight of everything but their bottom line. They become faceless machines, rolling over everyone in their path.”
“I thought you said
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