“Don’t look like that. Pro sports are a business. With all this stuff in the news about concussions and CTE and leagues not wanting to take responsibility for it or do anything about it, it makes you wonder if they’re more concerned about money than about the players’ lives.”
I slowly shook my head, but the truth was she made a solid point. “I know what you’re saying. But I’ve never personally experienced that. And we have to take responsibility too. I know guys who want to keep playing, even when they shouldn’t. They just don’t want to give in. Give up.”
“Hmm.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “I know a guy like that.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Shit.”
She smiled too. Our eyes met and held across the narrow distance separating us.
“It sounded like you were saying goodbye in that text.”
“I guess I was.” She bent her head. “I thought you wanted that.”
“I was pissed. But I got over it. And I realized I screwed up. I shouldn’t have let you leave. We should have talked.” I blew out a breath. “This is why I’m not good at relationships. I was just thinking about myself and how pissed I was. I wasn’t thinking about you.”
“I was the one who was interfering in your life.”
The air grew heavy around us, time slowing. “I don’t want to end things with us.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “I don’t either. But maybe it would be for the best.”
My forehead tightened. “Why?”
“We know this isn’t going to be something long term. The idea was we would help each other out because we’re both going through a rough time in our careers.”
I lifted my chin. “Yeah.”
“I figured you were mad at me because I tried to interfere in your life when we’re just having a casual relationship right now and I was getting too serious.”
I didn’t respond to that right away because there was an element of truth to it. But it was more than just her getting too serious. It was me getting too serious. Because it kind of scared the crap out of me to care about someone so much—when any time I let myself care, and thought someone cared about me, I disappointed them in some way, and then it turned out they didn’t really care that much and I was the one who was left bloody and bruised.
But even though I knew it was risky, ending things with Jordyn was…well, unthinkable.
“I was mad, yeah. But not really at you. More at myself. Because I knew you were right and I was being stupid. Guys are dumb that way.”
“And here I was just telling my friend Anjali that you’re not a big dumb jock.” She shook her head.
My chest heated. “You told her that?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess I fooled you.”
She laughed then, and it was such a beautiful, joyful sound that warmth spread through my chest even more.
“We good, then?” I asked.
She leaned back into the couch cushions, her shoulders shaking. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”
I grinned. “Then get over here and kiss me.”
But even though I ordered her to do that, I set my coffee down and reached for her and we both pretty much jumped into each other’s arms, our mouths crashing together in a fever of relief and affection and lust.
She felt good in my arms, perfect and warm and soft. I hated how I’d felt since last night, like the biggest asshole in the world. Just once I wanted to not screw up a relationship. Because she was so worth it.
And I was so scared I didn’t really have it in me.
I kissed her again and again, both of us with our hands all over each other, both of us moaning and panting. I wanted to strip her out of these soft sweater clothes and have her naked under me. I fought for control and drew back to look into her eyes.
She gazed back at me, her lips puffy from kissing like crazy, her cheeks pink.
“I missed you,” I admitted, scary as it was. “And I’m sorry again.”
“Me too.”
“What were you working on?” I gestured at the piano. “Would you play it for me?”
She hesitated, then said, “Sure.” She slid off the couch and padded across the room. Seated at the piano, she gathered up the papers and propped them in front of her, but I didn’t think she was really looking at them when she started to play.
I moved closer to both listen and watch, fascinated by this side of her, her slender fingers dancing on the keys with sure, graceful movements, bringing out the bluesy harmonies that made me think of that night we’d sat in the dark club listening to music.
She bent her head, playing on, her body moving in time with the music.
I didn’t know much about music. We had to take music in elementary school, but I’d never really played an instrument, so all those marks on the pages didn’t mean much to me, and it boggled my mind that she’d written them and that they translated into such beautiful sounds.
I felt a weird sensation inside me, something hot unfurling in my chest.
She stopped playing. “That’s all I’ve got so far. Why are you looking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like…” One corner of her mouth kicked up. “There’s a saying I love.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded slowly. “?‘Music is what feelings sound like.’?”
That sensation in my chest intensified. I swallowed. “Yeah. I think…if it’s good music. You made me feel stuff…” I rubbed my chest. “I don’t even know what. Just with your music.”
Her eyes brightened. “Thank you. That is the best compliment ever. God, I wish I could sing the lyrics for you.”
“How do you do it? I mean, do you start with the music and then add the words?”
“I start with the lyrics. Everyone does it their own way though. But I’m usually writing about my life, my story. Sometimes I even start with the title.”
“This one’s really different than your other music.” This song was slower and haunting, not a peppy dance tune.
“Yes. It’s how I’ve been feeling lately. I don’t know if people will like it, but it’s what I need to write right now.”
“People will love it. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She lifted her head to smile at me, but the smile held sadness that squeezed my heart.
“It made me think of the blues club.”
She smiled, head tilted. “Yeah? I was thinking about that too. Remember I said blues was a huge influence on me?”
“Yeah.”
“It influences all my music. I always thought it was so important to develop those blues skills. I wanted to go back to that.”
“I love it. And you’ll be able to sing it soon. I know you will.”
I moved behind her and set my hands on her shoulders and gently clasped them. The moment felt heavy and laden with yearning and apprehension, and yet also…hope. A hard clench of want tightened low in my gut. “Watching you play piano makes me want to fuck you.”
She choked out a laugh. “Really?”
“Hell yeah. Okay, watching you do anything makes me want to fuck you.”
“Hmm.” She swung her legs around, and I took a step back so she could sit facing me. My heart jumped when her hands went to the button of my jeans, my half-hard dick leaping to attention. “I kind of feel the same. Especially when I watched you play hockey that night at the game.”
“Hockey’s a huge turn-on for women,” I cockily agreed.
Her fingers stilled and her eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah?”
I gave her a slow grin. “You said it yourself, babe.”
She pursed her lips, nodded once, and continued to unzip my fly. “True.”
“We haven’t talked about this.” I covered her hands with mine. “But just so you know…you’re the only woman I want to fuck right now.”
Her eyes warmed and her lips curved. “Good to know. You’re the only hockey player I want to fuck right now.”
“Good…wait, what? The only hockey player?”
Her laugh was low and sultry. “Okay, the only man.”
“Better.” I let go of her hands and let her continue, my dick swelling even more as she reached inside the open fly to rub over my boxer briefs. Electricity raced through my body, right to my balls, sizzling up my spine.
“Mmmm.” She made a soft sound of approval. “You feel so good.”