“A little.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “But not as much as what I did to the other guys, probably.”

“You didn’t tell me you got into a fight.”

Chase could definitely throw down gloves—and he didn’t back away from it when someone else did—but he didn’t fight all that frequently. He was more prone to trash talking and rattling the other side so they missed shots and made other stupid errors. Occasionally, he engaged in the odd shoving match or a scrum, generally falling short of an altercation.

College hockey was strict, which meant full-on fist fighting didn’t happen nearly as often as it did in the NHL. If this was a glimpse into the crystal ball, I was a little worried about the future. I’d never seen him look so ragged after a game.

“Got into a few,” he said. “But I figured you’d do the math when you saw me.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Chase lifted a shoulder. He was being evasive. “I didn’t start most of them.”

I tried to fight a smile and failed. “You mean you didn’t throw the first punch.” We both knew fights started long before that.

“Close enough.” One hand slid up the side of my neck, drawing my lips to his again. I melted a little, desire unraveling within me. “Maybe I was going through James withdrawal. I hear it’s very serious. Life-threatening, potentially.”

My heart stuttered. He knew how to work me inside and out.

“You’re changing the subject,” I said between kisses. “And it’s working.”

After another minute and another failed attempt of his to start removing my clothes, we grew too impatient to stay in the parking lot.

“Let’s go home,” I whispered, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Then we can pick up where we left off.”

“Deal.”

I climbed off him and buckled my seat belt while he adjusted himself before shifting the truck into reverse. At least I wasn’t the only one who was hot and bothered.

“By the way,” he said, glancing down at the backup camera, “did you get hit on while you were walking over to the truck?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

Chase laughed and shook his head. “And you said you never get hit on. What did that guy say?”

“He asked if I knew CPR…because I took his breath away.” I rolled my eyes.

“Psh. Weak pickup line.”

It was. You could tell the guy was just roaming campus, throwing that out to every solo girl he encountered.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Wannabe Air Traffic Controller.” I reached over and poked him in the ribs.

He flinched and caught hold of my hand, placing it palm-down on his thigh. My mind instantly traveled back to our kiss moments ago and all the things that would happen in about twenty minutes.