Page 37 of Pucking Forbidden

I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “It’s what my dad wants, and he’s paying for everything, so…”

I trail off, embarrassed to confess just how dependent I really am on Dad. He watches me for a second, then shakes his head.

“You’re gonna have to figure out a way not to rely on him.”

The words aren’t harsh, just direct and honest.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admit in a soft voice.

“You got yourself back to Denver,” he shrugs. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to figure out the rest too.”

A wave of emotion rises inside me. I swallow it back down.

“I’ll help,” he adds, almost like an afterthought. “If you need it.”

I can’t stop my smile at that.

“Thank you,” I murmur. “You’re a good friend.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Something in his posture shifts in an instant. His muscles tense and he glances away before clearing his throat.

“What are friends for?” he says, then pushes away from the counters. “All right, I should get going now that I know you’re alive and well.”

I don’t want him to leave, but I keep my protest to myself as I walk him to the door.

Julian stops just before he reaches the door. He pauses, his massive frame turning back toward me as he looks down, those dark, intense eyes locking onto mine.

“Hey,” he begins. His gaze tracks the movement of my lips before rising back to my eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

I blink, tilting my head up to meet his stare. “What’s that?”

“Why do you call me Julian?” he asks, a faint, curious crease forming between his dark brows.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone else calls me Wilder,” he explains, his eyes searching my face. “You’re the only one who doesn't.”

I think about it for a long, quiet moment, my eyes tracing the rugged line of his jaw and the dark curls framing his face. I don't want the distance that comes with going by his last name. I want the intimacy of the man standing in my kitchen.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to call you what everyone else does.” I take a small step closer to him, my voice softening. “I like calling you Julian.”

He gazes down at me for a few agonizing, silent seconds, his eyes darkening as they drop back to my mouth, a heavy, unspoken hunger flashing through his expression. He swallows hard, his jaw tight, before he finally lets out a low, rough exhale.

“Good,” he mutters, his voice thick and raspy as he opens the door. “Because I like hearing it from you.”

My eyes dip to the plump lips visible in his thick beard. I want to feel that scratch against my skin. I want to step forward and slide my hands beneath the hem of his black t-shirt to feel the burning heat of his skin. I want to anchor myself against those hard, solid muscles that kept me safe all night.

The urge to close the distance between us hits me like a physical wave, pulling at my center. I can picture myself wrapping my fingers into the dark curls at the back of his neck, pulling his head down, and finding out exactly what his lips taste like.

The thought of him kissing me…of those large, heavy hands grabbing my waist and pushing me flush against the wall…is so sudden, so all-consuming, that it knocks the breath out of me. My lips part, a quiet gasp escaping into the small space left between us, my body practically humming with a desperate, electric heat.

Julian’s eyes track the movement, darkening to a shade that looks almost black as his jaw tightly flexes. He doesn't move away, and for one agonizing, breathless second, I think he might actually close the gap himself.

He doesn’t, and I just stand there and watch him say goodbye before turning and walking out the apartment door. It clicks softly behind him. Silence settles over the apartment.

Pressing a hand against the door, I lean into it, struggling to slow my heartbeat down and trying not to think about the reasons it’s throbbing so hard to begin with.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: NEW GUY