Play With Me: Chapter 8

There’s nothing like having four NHL players over two hundred pounds each in your entryway to make the twenty-two-hundred square feet of open space feel like a closet.

At least Adam brought gifts.

He shoves the massive box into my arms. I’m a little scared to open it. Will a bunch of rubber dicks jump out? I already can’t look Carter in the eye. I know what his little sister does at nighttime, and I kinda wanna help her out.

Especially now that I’ve seen her tits.

They’re nice. Really nice. Round and perky with super fucking rosy buds; bags of fun the perfect size to fit in the palm of my hand.

I think. I’d have to test the theory to be certain.

“You gonna open the box or keep staring at it like you wanna make love to it?” Adam laughs to himself. “It’s from my mom. Express shipped it Thursday night as soon as she saw you go down on TV.”

From his mom? “Oooh, fuck yeah, Bev.” Adam’s parents live in Colorado. They’re both amazing, but Bev takes the cake as my unofficial foreign snack dealer. I can’t wait to see what her post-concussion goodie box holds.

The entrance to heaven opens, bright packages staring up at me, just waiting to be unwrapped. Special edition Pop-Tarts, discontinued Dunkaroos, exciting new cereal flavors. It’s the best present I’ve ever received, right after the one I got two nights ago, when I saw Jennie’s tits and most of the rest of her body, ’cause her bikini was fucking tiny.

“When’s Mama Lockwood gonna send me snacks?” Carter rips open a package of Banana Crème Pie Pop-Tarts, quickly devouring it. “Dey hab dis wimited edition Oreo in da States wight now.” He struggles to swallow, crumbs littering his shirt. “It’s called the—”

“You’re not injured,” Adam reminds him.

“But she always sends him stuff!”

“Maybe she likes Gare better than you,” Emmett suggests, earning some epic sulking from Carter.

Adam and Emmett unpack my snacks and a few other care items they’ve brought over. Every time they put a snack away, Carter pulls it back out, investigating the package. They’re annoying and overbearing sometimes, but they’re my family. I’m not looking forward to staying behind, and I whine about exactly that.

“It’s one road trip,” Adam reminds me.

“The doctor cleared me to drive this morning. I could watch from the press box.”

Carter raps his knuckles on my temple. “You don’t mess with what’s in here.”

“I know it’s frustrating, but you need to take care of yourself.” Emmett gestures at the couch. “Hang out, put your feet up, watch us kick ass, and you’ll be back in for our home stretch next week to help out.”

“I hate watching hockey by myself.”

Carter doesn’t look up from the bag of Flamin’ Hot Funyuns he’s studying. “Go watch it with my sister. We just dropped Dublin off to her. She’ll be watching, and she has no friends.”

“Carter,” Adam guffaws. “That’s not nice.”

“What? She doesn’t make friends easily. She has trust issues.”

That doesn’t really surprise me. Jennie seems like a generally skeptical person—her side-eye is scary—and I’m not sure she believed that I wouldn’t sleep with Emily again.

Carter checks his phone. “We gotta head out. Flight’s in an hour, and I gotta touch base with Riley.”

Jaxon Riley is our brand-new trade, straight from Nashville, and he’s starting tonight. I hate that I won’t be there. He’s an arrogant ass, and I’m not a fan. Carter knows this, so when I grunt, he smirks.

“I’ll keep him in line,” he promises. It might sound empty, but where he can’t keep anyone in line in his personal life, he can handle an entire team without batting an eye. He’s a natural born leader on the ice and in the change room. “Don’t worry, Gare. We’ll miss you as much as you’ll miss us.”

And, really, that’s it. My family is on the opposite side of the country. Having these guys and their girls around all the time makes the distance easier. Now, being forced out with an injury, and with Cara and Olivia following along for the trip, I’m feeling more alone than ever.

Maybe that’s why I find myself standing in front of Jennie’s door after lunch.

I raise my fist to knock but shove my fingers through my hair instead. “What am I doing? She’s just a girl. She’s not gonna bite.”

I force myself to knock, stretching my fingers out and curling them into my palms three times while I wait. A door opens, but not the one I was hoping for.

Glancing over my shoulder, I find Emily leaning in her doorway, coy smile in place.

“Mr. Andersen. Long time, no see. Your saucy friend isn’t home. She went out earlier with that cute dog.”

“Saucy?” How does Emily know—

“Yeah, she keeps calling me Emma, and today she flipped me the double bird when I reminded her where she could hear my name. I might like her, and I don’t think I’m the only one.”

“What?” I understood roughly 5 percent of that.

Her grin is suspect. She gestures into her apartment. “Wanna come in? Gonna put on my cheerleading outfit and practice my routine.”

“I-I-I-I—” I close my eyes and take a breath. I’m lonely, yes, but not enough to go back on my word to Jennie. “I can’t.”

“Later?”

I shake my head.

She smiles. “Thought so.”

Before I can ask for clarification, she winks and disappears. I sigh, resigned to being alone tonight.

Until I get a text five minutes later.

Great. But it’s not the Oreos I’m worried about touching.

Is there a word for being turned on by someone’s anger?

Because I’m standing on the porch, and Jennie’s overcast blue eyes are narrowed viciously at me from the doorway, her arms pinned beneath her tits, and I’m mashing my lips together to keep from suggesting we fuck out whatever tension this is that seems to be constantly vibrating between us.

“What are you doing here?” Jennie asks.

I hold up the bags in my hand, and Dublin takes that as an invitation to jump at them. “I brought food.”

Her eyes sweep over me, bypassing the bags but lingering on the rest of me, particularly my lower half. “Fucking gray sweatpants,” she mutters. “Always with the gray ones.” Her gaze flips to mine. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Um, I brought…Thai food and snacks. Carter said you were here alone, and I was alone, and I thought maybe we could watch the game together and not be…”

“Alone?” Skepticism swims in her eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter just because my brother’s out of town.”

“No, I—can I come in, please? It’s cold as balls out here.”

“Maybe you should’ve dressed for the weather.” She’s all snark but steps aside anyway. She’s wearing an oversized tie-dye long sleeve that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of spandex shorts that can’t possibly cover her ass, but I’m waiting for her to turn around before I give the final verdict. “Do you need me to come upstairs and dress you before you leave your apartment every morning?”

I grin, because honestly, that doesn’t sound half bad. “Look, I wanted to come. My friends are gone for the weekend, and to tell you the truth, I was feeling lonely at home.”

“You were?” Something soft and vulnerable dances across her eyes. “And you thought of me?”

“I thought of you.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…” She fiddles with the messy braid that lays over her shoulder, tugging on the bright blue ribbon. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen her blush. “Nice.” Her nose wrinkles and she bites back her smile. “I’m sorry I bit your head off. It’s a bad habit.”

I’m aware, hence the nickname sunshine that’s quickly growing on me.

Instead, I smile. Then Jennie turns, and the verdict is fucking in, ladies and gentlemen. Those shorts do not cover her ass. Oh fuck, are they ever cheeky.

“Garrett?”

“Huh?” Oh shit. Scary eyes.

“I asked if you were coming, but you were too busy staring at my ass, you wiener.” She gestures at her bare legs. “Is this gonna be a problem, or do you need me to put pants on?”

I honestly don’t know how to answer that. Yes, it’s going to be a problem. No, please don’t put pants on.

My expression must say it all, because Jennie rolls her eyes and rips the bags from my hands. “Men. If it has tits and an ass, it’s good enough to fuck.”

“That’s not true.” Why am I talking? “I’m pickier than that about tits and asses.” I should shut my mouth right the fuck now.

“Oh? So do mine make the cut, or are you pickier than that?”

My brain has finally gotten the memo to shut up. Unfortunately, Jennie’s waiting on a response. Wish I could formulate one.

“Garrett? I’m waiting.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” I finally whisper.

With a smug hum, Jennie sets the dishes on the kitchen island. She hands me a beer, and when I’ve got a full plate, I flop on the couch, reaching for the remote.

“What were you watching?”

Jennie throws herself on my lap, nearly wearing my pad Thai, fumbling for the remote. “Nothing, Garrett, give me the remote.”

I hold it over my head, intrigued. “What were you watching?”

“I wasn’t—” She presses her lips together when I press Play. Simba, Nala, and Zazu fill the screen, singing about how Simba can’t wait to be king. Jennie tugs the neck of her shirt up to her nose. “Shut up.”

“Jesus, the Disney obsession is real with you Becketts.”

“I’m a better singer than Carter,” she grumbles.

“So you were singing?”

Her cheeks burn. “No.”

“Sounds like you were singing, sunshine.”

“Shut up, Gare-Bear.” She punches me in the shoulder and steals a spring roll off my plate, settling back in her spot, feet up on the coffee table. Her left ankle has an angry, red swell to it, a bag of ice melting beside it.

Jennie sobs so hard while Simba tries to wake Mufasa up after the stampede that she starts choking, coughing, using the neck of her shirt to wipe her eyes.

“Uh, do you need a—”

“I don’t need a hug!” She jabs my chest. “Stop looking at me!” She springs to her feet, slapping at her soaked cheeks. “I hate you!” she shouts, then dashes to the bathroom. It’s all hobbly because of her bum ankle, and I fold my lips into my mouth so my laughter doesn’t chase her.

When she returns, I’ve got Sportsnet on, ready for the game, and I’ve cleaned the dishes.

Jennie sticks her hand in the bowl of Sour Cherry Blasters I’ve just poured. “I’m sorry I said I hated you. It was in the heat of the moment.”

“It’s okay. Scar’s an asshole.”

“Scum of the Disney world.”

I chuckle as I grab another beer from the fridge. “You want another?”

“I didn’t have a first, but no, thank you. I don’t drink.”

“Oh.”

Jennie reaches for her collarbone, like she’s about to fiddle with a necklace. Instead, her fingers flutter over bare skin. I catch the sharp rise of her chest, and she quickly looks away.

Returning the beer, I grab a Gatorade instead.

Jennie frowns. “You can still drink, Garrett. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just my personal choice.”

And it’s a choice I’ll support when we’re together. If a drunk driver had taken someone from me, I don’t know that I’d ever be able to even look at alcohol again.

Sometimes I don’t know why I ever touched it myself. A childhood spent watching alcohol own my dad isn’t one I’d wish on anyone. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of a childhood at all. In the end, I guess I decided I wasn’t going to let him take something else from me, that I would have the control he didn’t and make better choices.

I head to the couch with my Gatorade and a fresh bag of ice, and at Jennie’s perplexed expression, I explain, “For your ankle.”

“Oh.” She hesitantly places her foot on the pillow I set on the coffee table and sighs when I cover her ankle with ice. “Thank you.”

I keep my eyes on the TV as the game starts. “What happened there anyway?” I don’t need to know Jennie well to know the answer she gave me in the elevator two days ago was bullshit.

“Twisted it during dance practice.”

From my peripheral, I catch her nibbling her thumbnail. “Thought you tripped over your bag?”

Her head whips my way. “Why are you asking if I already gave you an answer?”

“Why are you lying?”

“You’re so annoying.” She shoves her hand in the popcorn bowl. “I tripped over my dance partner. There, are you happy?”

“Steve?”

She snicker-snorts. “Simon. Carter only calls him Steve to piss him off.”

“Carter hates him.” He’s always grumbling about Jennie dropping pairs and going solo. “Says he wants in your pants.”

Jennie hums dismissively, then leaps to her feet. “Offside! That was so offside! You’re never gonna get those orange armbands missing calls like that, bud!”

With the way she keeps shouting at the officials, it takes me one minute to let go of the fact that she doesn’t want to talk to me about her dance partner, and another four to realize she might be my favorite person ever to watch hockey with. I even forget about the major case of FOMO I had about missing the trip.

When the third period rolls around, Jennie’s hoarse from yelling, and my stomach aches from laughing.

“If all you wanted to do was watch the game, you shoulda bought tickets like everyone else. You suck, ref.” She tosses a piece of popcorn at the referee on TV, then a whole handful at me. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I can’t. Watching with you is fun. My sisters hate hockey, or they’re too cool to watch. They only make it to one or two games a year, and they spend most of it buried in their tablets or making googly eyes at the guys.”

Jennie snickers. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Three.”

“How old?”

Skimming my jaw, I line up dates in my head. “Uh, twelve, ten, and nine.”

Jennie twists my way, feet on the cushion between us. Her toes are painted pale pink, a stark contrast to her black fingernails. “Oh wow. That’s a big age gap.”

“My parents separated for a couple years, then got busy when they got back together. I heard more than I’d care to admit when I was thirteen and they got remarried. Nine months later Alexa came along. I learned quickly to get out of the house when they were giving each other the eyes.”

Jennie snickers, stretching her legs out, toes pressing into my thigh. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “That’s nice they worked things out. You must’ve been happy.”

“Definitely.” Mostly happy that my dad was sober for the first time I could ever remember. “What kinda dance do you do?”

“Contemporary, mostly. It’s my favorite. I grew up doing ballet but fell in love when I discovered contemporary.”

“Why’s that?”

Her nose wrinkles. “There are too many rules in ballet.”

“And you don’t like following them?”

She grins. “Not really. It killed my feet too.” She shrugs. “Contemporary felt more me. I don’t think about anything, just listen to the music and move my body. It’s freeing in a way that ballet wasn’t. For me, at least. I felt too restricted, and all I wanted to do was stand out.”

“That’s pretty cool. It must feel nice to find your niche.”

Jennie gets this super-psyched look on her face, like my youngest sister Gabby when I answer her FaceTime request. She grips my forearm. “My Christmas recital is coming up. You could come see it with Carter and Olivia. Emmett and Cara are coming too.”

Her smile dissolves at my hesitation and blank expression. She releases my arm, averts her gaze, and shifts away. I watch the way her personality slips away as she shuts back down, creeping back behind whatever wall she’s built to keep people at bay.

But this version of her here tonight, talking easily and laughing with me, I want to hang on to that.

“I’m heading home for a couple days over Christmas, but if the dates line up, I’ll definitely come watch you kick ass on stage.”

She regards me warily for a moment before her shoulders unfurl and her legs flop back down between us. “I don’t wanna brag, but I’m the best one up there.”

I flick her foot. “There’s that trademark Beckett arrogance.” She giggles, kicking my fingers away. When her feet land in my lap, my hand covers her ankles.

“Sure, but I worked my ass off to be sure of myself and my talent, so I’ll own that title.”

“I like that. You should be confident and proud of yourself.”

Our eyes lock as we smile at each other. I take in her deep-set dimples, her heart-shaped lips, the way they curve in the righthand corner, like she’s got a secret.

I’ve got an urge to make a big fucking oopsie, which should tell me it’s time to pack up and get outta here, especially since in the time we’ve been chatting, the game has ended. Instead, my mouth opens, and I don’t know what’s going to come out until it comes.

“Wanna finish watching the movie?”

Fuck. What a fucking mistake.

Because twenty minutes later, Jennie’s half-buried in some sort of blanket burrito, clutching a pillow to her chest, shaking violently as she sobs, “Can You Feel The Love Tonight” playing through the TV, and I’m just howling uncontrollably.

“Shut up!” She smashes the pillow to my face.

“It’s not even a sad part!”

“It’s emotional! They’ve found each other after all this time apart, and they were best friends, and it’s-it’s-it’s…shut up! Stop laughing at me!”

I don’t, but I do dodge the second pillow she chucks. Dublin’s passed out by the fireplace, completely unfazed, even though this girl beside me has been anything but quiet all night.

“You give off this real badass vibe, but I’ve seen you cry three times this week, and two of them were tonight during a Disney movie.”

She’s not even throwing the pillow anymore, just holding it to my face, trying to smother me, her body squirming against mine. My laughter only seems to spur her on.

Jennie sends me toppling sideways, and I flop to my back as she falls between my legs.

“Shut…up…Gare…Bear!”

“I have three little sisters. You’re not gonna win, sunshine.”

“I grew up with Carter,” she grunts, hands clasping mine as she tries to pin me to the couch. “He pissed me off daily.”

“Sure.” I wind one arm around her waist and flip her over, pinning her below the weight of my body, my fingers overlapping her wrists. “But I’m not your brother.”

And thank fuck for that.

Jennie peers at me from beneath dark lashes, cheeks rosy, lips parted with her staggered breaths. Our chests rise and fall together, quick and heavy, like the thudding in my ears. I’m painfully aware of the warm spot between her thighs where I’ve settled, and my chest roars with need.

There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me to disengage, to head home before I make any mistakes I can’t take back.

Because this right here? Me and her, my best friend and captain’s little sister, tangled together? A mistake you don’t walk away from.

But then Jennie’s hazy blue eyes drop to my lips, and her hips move just slightly, an invitation, one I don’t think I can turn down.

“I win,” I whisper, and I drop my face at the same time she tips her chin.

My mouth covers hers without hesitation, tasting, taking. Fuck, do I ever wanna take. She’s soft and sweet, eager and hesitant at the same time, and my pulse hammers the longer I explore her. I run my tongue over the seam of her lips, asking for permission. I want in, and I don’t know if I’ll want to leave.

She opens for me, legs winding around my waist, letting me closer than I ever thought I’d be. My tongue meets hers with a slow sweep, and when her hips lift, grinding against me, a jagged whimper leaves her mouth.

And then a gasp.

Jennie stiffens below me, and I know. I’m done. I’ve fucked up.

I shuffle backward the second she wriggles free of my grasp. She starts doing the crab walk, right until she tumbles over the edge of the couch with a squeal, ass in the air in her teensy, tiny shorts.

“I’m sorry.” I climb to my feet and reach for her, trying to help her up, but she keeps on keepin’ on with the crab walk, all the way out of the living room and down the hall, eyes wide as she gawks at me. “I’m sorry, Jennie. I didn’t mean…I don’t…I don’t know what came over me.”

She bumps into the wall and clutches the back of her head. “Ow!”

“For fuck’s sake, let me help you up.” I hoist her to her feet before she can slap my hands away, and she promptly darts up the stairs, hobbly ankle and all. “Jennie—”

“I’m tired! So tired! Bedtime!” She waves a flappy hand at the door. “You can just…let yourself out. Lock up when you leave! Good night, Garrett Andersen!”

She trips, falling to her hands and knees at the top of the staircase while rambling about how she just called me by my full name. Then she disappears, followed by the sound of a door slamming.

Fuck. I’m so fucking fucked. What the hell was I thinking?

I wasn’t, that’s the problem. Not with the head on my neck, that’s for sure.

I look down at my dick. I’m thoroughly disappointed in him, and I’m about to tell him so.

“Can’t fuckin’ keep it in your pants for one fuckin’ night, Lieutenant Johnson? C’mon, dude. Carter’s goddamn little sister,” I mutter, scrubbing my face as I wander back down the hall.

Dublin yawns and stretches before trotting over and licking my hand. He curls up on a cushion in the kitchen while I clean the mess we made before promptly escorting myself out the front door. I need to dip my blue balls in some snow.

“Fuck,” I repeat for at least the fifteenth time in the last five minutes, softly banging my head against the door. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I can’t leave like this. I need to apologize, and we need to talk about where to go from here. I think we should never, ever tell Carter, but if she wants to, I will. He’ll cut off at least one integral body part, but I’ll do it if she asks me to.

Quietly, I step back inside, toeing off my shoes as my neck grows clammy. I really liked hanging out with her, but I’m 99.999 percent sure I’ve ruined any chance of us ever being able to be in the same room again.

“Jennie?” I call tentatively, climbing the staircase. I find the only bedroom door that’s closed and grip the door frame. “I wanted to apologize. Can we talk?”

Half of me hopes she’s already asleep.

“Jennie, I—” I shake my head. I suck at this. “Look,” I try softly, “can I come in?”

With no response, I hang my head and sigh, turning toward the stairs.

But then I hear her, softly calling my name, and I jerk my elbow into my side triumphantly.

“Yes,” I mutter before opening the door and waltzing right through it. “Listen, I was—”

My words dissolve on my tongue, jaw dangling as my eyes fall on the most glorious sight they’ve ever witnessed.

A gentle vibration buzzes in the air, and it seems to be coming from the pink object that Jennie holds between her long, bronzed legs from her spot on the bed.

And Jennie? Pantless. And panty-less. Head thrown back too.

My hand falls to my dick when my name tumbles from her mouth once more, just like the words I can’t stop tumble from mine.

“Holy shit.”

Jennie’s head rolls forward, eyes dazed as they float over the room before eventually landing on me, standing in the doorway, hand on my cock, which is, by the way, super fucking hard right now.

Her lips part, and I must be the densest dick on the planet to think she might say my name once more, or better yet, invite me in.

Instead, she shrieks.

Holy fucking shit, does she shriek. Bloodcurdling, ear piercing, and yet Lieutenant Johnson doesn’t give two shits.

No, he stands on guard in all his glory, begging me to let him give her the ol’ one-eyed salute, to ask her if she wants to play.

And Jesus fucking fuck, do I ever wanna play.