Pulling up to the house, I get a rush of excitement as I anticipate seeing her. Jesus Christ, it’s only been three days. I walk in and throw down my bag in the mud room.
“I’m back!” I holler, striding into the kitchen to find something to eat.
All our plane food is processed shit. I need something fresh, cold, and crunchy. I could make a salad, but I need something more substantial. I want . . . a sandwich. Yeah, a big fucking sandwich.
Footsteps bound down the stairs and my shoulders loosen. A cozy, relaxed ambiance settles in the room. It’s bizarre, I’ve never had that reaction with a girl before, other than maybe my sisters. It’s foreign and strange. I fuck women, but I don’t often form friendships with them. Where the hell is the brown mustard? My head is still buried in the fridge gathering up sandwich ingredients when she says, “Hey! Congrats on Arizona. Saw the goal, pretty awesome.”
“Thanks.” I continue digging around.
“Mustard’s in the door if you’re looking for it.”
I almost bark out a laugh. There she goes again, getting in my fucking head. I grab it and spin around.
“What?” she asks with a smile.
“Nothing.” I shake my head while constructing my meal at the counter but almost drop everything when my gaze lands on her in one of my shirts. She looks comfortable—she looks good in it. Shit, I never want to see her in anything else.
I set everything down and avert my gaze to the counter, staring at the bread, meat, lettuce, cheese, onions, pickles, and various condiments . . . What was I doing again? I run a hand over my face. This attraction is getting on my nerves.
I clear my throat and untie the bread bag. “How were things while I was gone? Any issues?”
“Just the high shelves.” She leans over the counter on her elbows and rests her face in her hands. “Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I ground up all your coffee and put it in the freezer.”
I chuckle. “Aren’t you funny.” When I glance down, my eyes stop at her chest; she’s not wearing a bra. This is hell.
She peers down at the shirt. “Oh, hope you don’t mind I borrowed this? I wore all the clothes I had in my bag and needed to do laundry. You said I could raid your closet.”
Finally, I look up at her eyes.
“Yeah, I did. I was just, uh, surprised you found that one, I thought I’d lost it.” Nice save, dumbass.
“Oh, it was in the drawer on the left, right on top.”
I can’t let her wear my shit if this is the reaction I will have. I need some serious boundaries.
“Funny. Hey, have you been in contact with your parents or Bryan?”
“No.” The smile on her face falls. “Every time shit goes sideways, there’s a PR person there to pick up the pieces and tie it up in a neat little bow. If I told my parents, they would come home, and it would be this whole thing. I don’t want to ruin their time in Monaco. This is my problem. I need to deal with it. Maybe it’s because of the way things ended with Bryan, but I really want to come back from this without someone else doing the work for me. I need to stand on my own two feet and say I overcame him.”
I can respect that, but she should still communicate what’s going on. “Don’t you think they should know the wedding is off?”
“Yeah, but it’s not only about the wedding. The more I think about it, the more I believe the institution of marriage is a total sham. I mean, look at my parents. They’re cordial, but there’s no romance. So, what’s the point? Money? Status? I have enough money already. I don’t need status. I’d rather live happily alone than be like them and live a parallel life with someone under the same roof. Makes me wonder how many other marriages are that way. Am I letting all the love stories in books and movies cloud my judgment? I mean, I’ve never seen a Nicholas Sparks marriage, have you?”
“Yeah, I have.” She pauses and cocks her head to the side and smirks, like she’s trying to call my bluff. I continue, “My teammates are obsessed with their wives. Lonan and Birdie. Rhys and Micky. Barrett and Raleigh . . .”
“You’re only hearing what they tell you. It’s a facade.” She rolls her eyes.
“No, it’s not.” I scoff. “They have the real deal. I’ve seen it. They love each other when no one’s watching.”
“And what about your parents?”
I drop the knife back in the jar of mustard and open the container of sliced deli meat.
“My bio dad was an abusive asshole. I’ve seen what that kind of marriage looks like, but I’ve seen the other side too. My stepdad, Bruce, and my mom are in love. They’re disgusting together. I’ve never seen two people more into each other. They’re best friends. He treats her with respect, he’s never told her how to live her life, never raised his voice with her, and he looks at her in a way my father never did. Bruce worships her. That’s how it’s supposed to be, Jordan. Respectfully, your family is fucked up. As trite as it is, they are proof money can’t buy everything.”
“Traitor. I thought you were on my side.” She sits and watches me build my sandwich before getting off her barstool and coming around to my side. “Move over, I want one.”
As she extracts two slices of bread, she speaks as if she’s defending herself. “My parents are good people, they just prioritize their life differently. Bryan’s parents are the same—neither one of us had a healthy marriage to model after. I left, and my life is still a mess.”
I drop down to her eye level, and she looks up from tearing lettuce. “But it’s less messy. You’re in control again.”
She nods, a frown on her face.
“It gets easier. Leaving is hard, but it’s worth it.” And she’s so fuckin’ worthy of finding true love, whether she believes it exists or not. She’s a great girl, there’s no doubt in my mind she will find someone who’ll give her the book-worthy romance she speaks of. But it won’t be me.
“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Tell me something good. What are the three best things that happened to you today?”
Damn, she likes to deflect, but I don’t argue. “Hmm . . . three good things . . .”
She struggles to get the lid off the pickle jar, holding it against her chest for leverage. I take the opportunity to admire the way her hard nipples are outlined in my shirt. The cotton rubbing back and forth over them. I sink my teeth into my sandwich. Seeing that is definitely in my top three.
I could watch this entertainment all day. After she grunts trying to open it, I wipe my hands free of crumbs and make a beckoning gesture with my hand.
She passes me the jar, I pop the top, and give it back.
“Thanks.”
“Okay, first thing, this sandwich is pretty fuckin’ dope. Second, I’m looking forward to being home for a few days.”
She smiles and puts the lid back on the deli meat.
“Third thing?” she asks, putting all the sandwich fixings back in the fridge. She’s really gotten to know her way around this place while I’ve been gone. I don’t mind it as much as I thought I would.
“Real talk?”
She furrows her brow and smirks. “Duh.”
“I was relieved to come home and see you here. I worried you’d go back to him. I’ve seen it happen many times. You’ve got a good heart, and you’re doing the right thing. And I’m glad you’re not marrying him.”
She releases an exaggerated groan, dropping her arms to her sides, feigning exasperation. “Seriously . . . you’re not my type.”
I smirk. It’s become our little schtick. She tells me I’m not her type, and I respond with:
“I’m everybody’s type.”
She grins while pulling out one of the barstools, plops down, and takes a bite.
“What are your three good things?” I ask.
“Hmm. One, I also like my sandwich. Two, work is going well. I am finishing up a project I’m working on. By the way, I have to go into the office Wednesday—don’t worry, Bryan is gone for a client meeting.”
I nod while chewing and hold up three fingers.
“Three . . . Also on Wednesday, I’m going to check out a few pet-friendly apartments and, if I’ve got time, stop by my parents’ house and see my dog. So, that’s something I’m looking forward to.”
“Chicken Salad.” I laugh and bring my plate to the sink. “Hey, I’m probably gonna lay low tonight and watch a movie. Not sure what you’ve got going on, but you’re welcome to join me.”
“Can’t. I’ve got a hot date.”
Bracing myself with my palms behind me, I lean against the sink and raise an eyebrow. With who?
“Easy, killer. He’s fictional. I started a new book last night, and it’s really good.”
“What kind of books are you reading that could be better than watching a movie with me?”
“I mean, there’s a lot of books that would be better than that, but in this case, spicy ones.” She bounces her eyebrows as she takes a bite.
I roll my eyes and push off the sink, heading to the mud room to grab my carry-on suitcase. I need to unpack. As I pass her on the way to my bedroom, I call back, “Well, if he gets limp dick, you know where to find me.” My feet pause when I hear how much it sounded like an offer for sex, and she cackles.
Shutting my bedroom door, I look down. Jordan’s got me hard even thinking about it. Or maybe it was her nipples poking through my shirt that did it. Or the way she licked her lips while eating. No, it’s not her. It’s the lack of sex. You need to get laid!
I toss my bag on the bed and unzip it. All I can picture is her lips. Damn it, there’s no use ignoring this. I shove the suitcase away and pull out my cock, releasing a sigh. I turn around and drop to my knees. When I close my eyes, all I see is her big brown ones looking up at me. Is she as innocent as she appears, and more importantly, could I corrupt her? I want to see her pretty and depraved. I pant harder and imagine teaching her all the things she didn’t learn in her preppy finishing school. Things Bryan could never give her.
“Can you be a dirty slut for me, sweetheart?” I whisper.
I picture her smirk, the way her thighs felt when I squeezed them, how hot her pussy felt behind me on the bike. Her nipples poking through my shirt. That does it. Cum fountains out of the engorged tip. Each pump bringing more until I’m finally empty.
Fuck. I needed that.
Kicking back in my joggers and Lakes sweatshirt, I grab the remote and relax into the massive U-shaped theater sofa. There’s a bunch of new movies out, so I choose one with lots of action. I want to see some shit blow up. I haven’t seen Jordan since lunch. We didn’t eat dinner together, and tonight, she’s reading instead of joining me. It’s a relief. I need some distance from her. She’s screwing with my head.
Getting off earlier helped, but I need to get laid. By a woman, not my hand.
So, what am I doing at home? I should go out tonight. O’Callahan said something about drinks at Top Shelf. I pick up my phone to text the boys as Jordan strolls in, grabbing a blanket from the overflowing basket.
“What are we watching?” she asks, plopping down adjacent to me on the left wing of the sofa. She brings her hand to the touch sensor to recline. She’s still in my fucking shirt.
Then again, it’s been a long day of traveling. Maybe I should stick around home and rest.
“What happened to your hot date?”
She scrunches up her nose. “There was some other woman drama, he kissed the wrong girl. Took me right out of it.” She laughs. “Shit, even my book boyfriends are cheaters. I must have a type.”
“Well, no wonder you aren’t into me. I’m not a cheater.”
“It’s easy not to cheat when you never commit to anyone,” she says with pursed lips. My gaze focuses on her mouth, and I gnaw the inside of my cheek.
“It’s easy not to cheat, period. Just because I like variety, doesn’t mean I couldn’t remain loyal if it were my situation.”
“And do you think that situation will ever be a reality for you?”
I smile and chuckle to myself. “Nope.”
She laughs with me. “Exactly. Dude, you’re a slut.”
I press a hand to my chest. “I’m sorry, are you shaming me?”
“Not at all,” she says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
I shouldn’t be checking her out, but it’s so easy from this angle. And when her eyes are on the big screen, I can stare as long as I want. The freckles I plan to memorize are on display. They make her appear even more wholesome, which makes my dick twitch. She’s not innocent. There’s no way. I’ve seen that mischievous flicker in her eyes, the combination is . . . damn.
She’s so far away. “You can sit by me, you know. I won’t try fucking you. I have self-control, believe it or not.”
She gets up and trudges closer but keeps a couple cushions between us and tucks up her legs.
“Seriously?” I scoff.
“What?”
I shake my head and hit play on the remote. We sit in the dark, and I fold my arms behind my head to get comfy. As the movie plays out, the two main characters develop a predictable romantic connection as they try to stop a government coverup. I honestly don’t know what’s being covered up because I’m so goddamn distracted.
She looks over and does a double-take when she notices me staring at her.
“What?” she asks, with a nervous grin.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me?”
“Because you’re looking at me,” I say, chuckling. I gaze back to the screen. “You’re so weird.”
In my peripheral, she narrows her eyes and slowly returns her focus to the movie. How the hell is she not attracted to me? I’m a good-looking guy, it’s what the tabloids focus on. At least on a physical level she must feel something. The room is filled with heavy tension and sex. It’s so palpable, I’m shocked it hasn’t formed into a thick fog. There’s no way it’s all in my head. It wouldn’t feel this strong if it was one-sided. If so, I’m losing my grip with reality.
Doesn’t matter, Jordan is the inverse of the women I go for. She’s chill and easy to hang out with, and she dishes out as much shit as I do. She reminds me of hanging out with one of the guys. We’re becoming fast friends and—
Wait a minute, did she fucking friendzone me?!
Holy shit. That’s exactly what she’s done.
I’ve never been on this side before. Well, this sucks—though I don’t know why, it’s not like I want anything with her. Relationships are complicated, but losing the option of having something more than our friendship leaves me feeling a little empty.
This is stupid.
Shaking my head, I attempt to focus on what’s happening on the screen. I’m sucked into the plot until I feel her gaze on me. When I glance over, she quickly looks away. I knew it.
I smirk but don’t say anything. Over the next twenty minutes, we exchange brief glances twice more. What is happening between us? I have to clench my jaw to keep from laughing. It feels like middle-school shit. Toying with her is so fun.
She seems immune to my charm. Maybe that’s where this magnetism comes from. If I fucked her, would this tension dissipate into thin air? One wonders. I’ve never developed a crush. Sure, there’s been women I’ve wanted to sleep with, but that’s all physical attraction, it’s biological.
With Jordan, it seems like more, but I can’t place it. Not that I’d make a move when she’s vulnerable, but there are times I forget about the shit with Bryan and she’s simply a girl in my space. She’s hot, and I enjoy spending time with her. If she wanted to rebound, I’d be happy to assist. I’m curious what it would be like to have a situationship with someone like her. She’s so down-to-earth and intuitive. She’s easy to be around. And I like the way her brain works—which is the strangest compliment I’ve ever given to someone of the opposite sex.
The male actor shoves the woman against the wall, and they start making out.
“Oh, he’s doing the wall lean thing. Ugh, that’s so hot,” she mutters.
I raise my eyebrows, entertained by how captivated she is by on-screen romance. For someone who suddenly hates marriage, she sure enjoys romantic gestures. The background music is right where it needs to be, hot and heavy. The characters move it to the bedroom. This pound-town soundtrack only makes me want to fuck her more. The heated friction between us isn’t helping. We get a view of the woman’s naked back as she rides him, and she throws her head back—naturally, her hair is the same color as Jordan’s. I’m being punished by the universe.
The scene seems to go on and on. I scrub a hand down my face. Once the sex wraps up, we’re back to car chases and vehicles exploding into giant fiery plumes. I adjust myself and refuse to look at her for the rest of the movie. First thing I will do after this ends, is take a shower and drain my balls. Again.
Finally, the main character saves the day and gets the girl—lucky fucker. The credits roll and she stands up, folding the blanket and tossing it back into the basket of throws and pillows.
She clears her throat, looking like she’s about to say something. “Um, so I wanted to apologize earlier. I know I tend to change the subject when we start talking about everything, I’m not dismissing you, I really appreciate your honesty and giving me the reminder.”
“Anytime.”
“And thanks for letting me crash here. It won’t be much longer. I’ve been looking at apartments, and a couple look promising. I’ve emailed to set up tours. This isn’t the most convenient arrangement for you, but I’m really grateful you’re letting me invade your space.”
She’s already found a place? That was fast.
I stand and stretch. “It’s fine. Please, take up space, Jordan . . . Are you going to bed?”
“Yeah.”
I walk toward the doorway with her. Our hands brush, and she peers up at me. Her gaze drops to my lips, and I’m done for. Electricity rides up my spine, and I react without thinking. I pull her into me, my lips crash into hers, and she grips my shirt with both hands. Her scent permeates the air. I love it. Clean and crisp.
She gasps, and I take advantage of her open mouth to taste her. I’d do anything to hear a gasp like that again. I swipe my tongue across hers. She tastes like toothpaste and her. My hand slides in her hair, then she moves her mouth in tandem with mine. This woman can kiss. Hard nipples brush against my chest, and I walk her backward into the doorframe. Her lips are perfectly matched with mine. She smells like heaven, and tastes just as good. It’s not enough. I want her legs around my waist and my cock buried deep.
After two steps, she pushes against my chest, and it’s like a rain cloud opens up and douses the embers smoldering between us. Our kiss goes up in smoke.
“Sorry . . . I don’t know what happened,” she stammers.
The kiss of my life happened.
Realizing she’s still holding onto my shirt, Jordan shoves off me like I scalded her. She runs a hand through her hair, straightening it where it was ruffled from my palm.
She covers her mouth and looks around like she’s about to bolt.
I drop my arms to my sides. “Jordan—”
Her face is screwed up like she’s disappointed in herself. The way she closes up so quickly is disheartening. For a moment, she let go and gave herself what she wanted. She kissed me back with as much tenacity as I had. She was into it. Getting to experience this other side of her felt monumental.
“I didn’t mean to. I had wine earlier and—”
“So, you can’t kiss me unless you’re drunk?” I cut in.
“No, I mean . . . it’s not—I can’t do that!”
“Jordan, it’s okay. I kissed you first. It’s on me.”
Her fingers press her pink, swollen lips, and she narrows her eyes. “Why the hell did you kiss me?”
I shrug and tell the truth. “I wanted to.”
“You can’t just go around and kiss people! You have to ask!” Her manicured nail points at my chest. I snatch up her wrists.
My lopsided grin gives away how turned on I am by her feistiness. “I’ve asked consent for a lot of things, but never for a kiss.”
“Well, you should start.” She rips herself out of my grasp and storms off with her arms crossed. It wasn’t a big deal.
“It’s just a kiss, Jordan. Relax,” I say as she stomps off.
The lies I tell myself. Kissing Jordan was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I’ve experienced a lot. None have made me feel what I did with her.
