One More Shot (Hometown Players #1) (19 page)

It’s almost completely different this time.

He’s much more aggressive, pulling my breasts free from my bra, covering them with his mouth, sucking and nipping as his thrusts continue, sharp and deep. I’m much more assertive than the first time. I roll my pelvis with every push of his hips and tug his hair and nip his neck. He grunts and moves his lips to my neck as I pant and dig my nails into his shoulders. What’s the same is how we fit together—perfectly. No one else has ever felt like this—the way he fills me completely, the perfect, tight pull as he slides out, and the way he keeps his pelvis low, sliding over mine, creating that delicious friction against my clit.

My fingers slide lower, over his toned back. Every muscle under my fingertips is taut, like a wire pulled tight about to snap. His lips part and I kiss the dimple in his chin before I whisper, “So close.”

And then he pushes in as deep as he can—once, twice, three times—and I claw at his back as I drown in my orgasm. He rides me through the ecstasy and then he chokes back a guttural moan and trembles, coming hard before collapsing on top of me.

We’re both heaving like we’ve run a marathon. Luckily the sound of our rapid breathing does not mask a thud in a room down the hall or creaking sound of a door opening.

Jordan jumps to his feet, grabbing his pajama pants and pulling them up. I grab the knitted throw off the back of the couch and cover myself as Jordan kicks my discarded clothes under the couch.

Luc staggers into view. I snap my eyes closed and pretend to sleep.

“What are you doing?” he slurs to Jordan, clearly still drunk from the celebration.

“I was getting water,” Jordan mumbles. “And Jessie is sleeping on the couch.”

Luc mutters something but the only word I can catch is “Rose.”

“She’s downstairs with Callie in the den,” Jordan says, and I can hear him move, walking over to Luc, I assume. “You need to go to bed. Sleep it off.”

I steal a peek with one eye and see Jordan holding his best friend by the shoulders, guiding him back into their bedroom and shutting the door behind them. I wait a few minutes and then reach for my clothes, quickly getting dressed.

I lie back down on the couch and wait, but Jordan doesn’t come back out. At least I don’t think he does. My body and mind are suddenly exhausted, and before I know it, I fall asleep.

I
t’s the smell of bacon that first starts to pull me back to the world. And then it’s the sound of Conner’s giggle. I shift and stretch.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” I hear from somewhere to my left.

I open my eyes, squinting against the morning light. Cole is sitting in the recliner with a
Sports Illustrated
on his lap and a coffee in his hand. Devin is sitting on the floor cross-legged with Conner across from him. They’re playing with the brightly colored trucks we bought him for Christmas.

I realize I’m in the Garrisons’ living room, on the couch. There’s a blanket across me—a duvet. Jordan’s duvet.

Jordan.

I slept with Jordan!

I bolt upright and my head spins as I glance every which way, trying to find him, trying to get confirmation that it wasn’t a champagne-induced dream.

“Jessie, you okay?” Devin asks, turning his attention from Conner to me. His brow is furrowed with concern.

I nod. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you look like you might barf,” Cole observes with a smile on his face.

I have no idea why the hell he’s smiling. Who grins like an idiot when they think someone is going to be sick?! I look around again. Ashleigh is in the kitchen in front of the stove. She’s cooking the bacon I smell, but I don’t see anyone else.

“Your sisters are still asleep,” Devin tells me. “Luc got up to dry heave and then went back to bed.”

“He better learn to handle champagne,” Cole mutters. “Or else what’s he going to drink out of the Stanley Cup if he wins one?”

“Ha! Let him concentrate on making playoffs for once,” Devin teases.

I curl my knees to my chest, pulling the duvet up higher. It smells like Jordan, and my heart flutters. I try to muster up enough courage and composure to ask casually where he is, but before I can, Devin volunteers the information.

“Jordan’s flight was first thing this morning. Mom and Dad are driving him there now.”

“He left?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice.

Ashleigh starts giggling from the kitchen. Devin laughs too. Cole is still grinning mischievously.

“He said you might freak out,” Ashleigh tells me as she walks over with a mug of coffee. She hands it to me before going back to the kitchen.

“Thanks,” I say as I blush. I wonder what the hell else he told them.

“He’s got practice this afternoon. I think they’re going to try to play him in the next game,” Devon explains. Then he then he points to a folded piece of paper on the coffee table between us. “He left you something.”

I reach out quickly and grab the paper. I unfold it and read. And then reread.

His phone number is at the bottom of the page. When I look up again Cole is grinning at me—even bigger than before.

“You read it, didn’t you?” I accuse with a narrowed glare.

“Of course I did,” Cole says honestly. “The kid is my brother. I always invade his privacy. It’s my God-given right. So, what happened last night that’s going to freak you out?”

I sip my coffee. “None of your business.”

He smiles. “My first thought is that you two totally…you know, did the deed.”

I thank God he’s keeping it PG with Conner in the room.

“Cole!” Ashleigh interrupts disapprovingly. “It’s not your business, first of all. And second of all, where the heck would that happen? The house is filled with people. There’s no privacy.”

I keep sipping my coffee.

Cole glances around the room. “I wish I had a black light. Then I could check for fluids and tell you exactly where it happened.”

We all make various noises of disgust. Callie and Rose come wandering up the stairs from the basement.

“Hello, family.” Callie yawns and glances around. “What’s with the moans and groans?”

“Cole is a pig,” I reply, folding up Jordan’s note and putting it in the back pocket of my jeans.

Cole tries to look innocent. “Hey! All I know is Jordy was smiling when he left here. He looked the happiest I’ve seen him in years.”

I try not to react to that news, but it’s impossible.

“Why are you smiling?” Callie asks absently as she tries to smooth her bed head.

“I’m happy that Jordan is happy,” I mumble, and shrug like it’s no big deal. “I like to see my friends happy.”

Callie stares at me for a long, contemplative moment. “What did you do to make him happy?”

Cole laughs. So does Devin.

“You’re all being ridiculous!” I say, pushing my hair back over my shoulders. I stand up, put my mug on the coffee table and then begin to fold up Jordan’s duvet.

Rose cocks her head at me, steps closer, smiles and covers her mouth with her hand.

“What?” I ask, startled by her reaction.

I glance at everyone and they’re all smiling and snickering—everyone but Callie.

“You’ve got a hickey on the side of your neck,” Devin says, pointing. “It’s huge.”

“About the size of Jordan Garrison’s fat mouth,” Callie mutters.

I look down, not that I can see it, and then quickly move my hair forward again over my shoulders to cover it. I start to blush furiously.

“So, was it awesome?” Rose asks giddily. “As awesome as you remember? ’Cause you look like it might have been awesome!”

Devin and Cole both groan.

“Don’t answer that in front of me!” Cole begs.

“Or me,” Devin adds.

“You can tell me later.” Ashleigh winks and then walks over to pick up Conner. She carries him into the kitchen for breakfast.

“I am not going to talk to you freaks about anything,” I announce before someone else can ask something I don’t want to answer—or don’t have the answer to, like what the hell we were thinking. “So, please stop asking. I mean it.”

We all gather around the breakfast bar and grab forks, everyone diving into the big platter of scrambled eggs and bacon Ashleigh left there. We don’t bother to divide it up on individual plates, we all just start going for it.

“Maybe there’ll be two Garrison weddings this year,” Rose says quietly.

“Shut up. Seriously. Shut up,” I tell her, panicked.

The way everyone is jumping the gun is freaking me out. I have no idea what will happen with Jordan. At this point,
anything
could happen…It could either all work out great, or it could all go horribly awry again.

Half an hour later, as we get ready to leave, Callie grabs the keys out of my hand.

“She still insists on driving?” Devon smirks and wraps Callie in a headlock. “Little Callie Control Freak.”

I laugh. He hasn’t called her that in years, but it’s still accurate.

“I’m going to check on Luc and say good-bye,” Rose announces, and then skips down the hall.

“Make it a quickie,” I snark. I’m fed up with all the jabs coming my way and decide someone else deserves it.

“I’m pretty sure that’s all Luc is capable of.” Cole snickers.

Devin laughs at his youngest brother’s joke as he finally releases the struggling Callie. He gives her a proper hug her good-bye. I hug him too and then move to Cole, who wraps his arms around my waist and picks me up.

“He’s crazy about you, J,” he whispers in my ear seriously. I nod even though his words make me panic.

Callie pushes me out of the way and hugs Cole as I move on to hug Ashleigh. Rosie suddenly appears in the hallway. She waves at everyone.

“Bye, everyone. Love you all,” she says in a forced jovial tone and heads straight out the door.

Luc comes storming down the hall. “Rosie?”

“She left,” Callie says, giving him a suspicious stare.

“Oh. Okay,” Luc’s hand moves to his bare stomach and he turns suddenly pale. “I need to lie down again.” He wanders back to the bedroom.

We all exchange awkward glances. I’m just happy the focus is off Jordan and me.

I
make my way through the airport slowly, trying not to freak out about being back in Seattle.

I’ve been trying not to freak out ever since Jordan left Silver Bay five days earlier. It was easier once Luc went back to Las Vegas and Devin went back to Brooklyn. My sisters didn’t tease me mercilessly like they did. Callie just stared at me with hard, skeptical eyes, and Rose looked at me like she was secretly planning our wedding and naming our babies.

Now being back in Seattle—knowing he’s here and I will see him again—is basically causing a panic attack. I know his note told me not to freak out, but how can avoid it? I mean, just last week we weren’t even talking, and the next thing I know we’re having sex.

Sex.

Holy hell, that was great. I blush as I meander toward the exit.

When Jordan took my virginity, it was beautiful and it was hot—as hot as two eighteen-year-olds can be. But sex with adult, experienced Jordan was just a heightened version of sex with young, barely experienced Jordan. Mind-blowing. No work, no awkwardness, just pure intense pleasure.

I walk out of the Arrivals gate and glance around for signs to tell me which exit has the taxi stand. But, instead, I find him.

He’s standing there in dark, worn jeans and a form-fitting black turtleneck sweater under his black wool winter coat. He’s hatless, his growing blond hair actually styled for once. He’s wearing black leather boots that make him even taller than his already towering height. I notice he hasn’t shaved, and the stubble on his chin and jaw is sexy as all hell.

He smiles at me. It’s soft and gentle and so completely the real Jordan—the one not many people see. I blush furiously and feel that panic attack I’ve been trying to squelch start to bubble up again. He just took away the one thing that was keeping me from freaking out—the time I thought I would have today to find the confidence to face him and whatever it was we’d done. I was headed straight to work from here so I thought I would have all day. Now there’s no time. I have no choice but to walk up to him, since running in the other direction would be a little dramatic.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders, dips his head and his lips make contact with my forehead. I force myself to look in his eyes. He’s looking at me with such…tenderness.

“I called Rosie and she told me when you were coming in,” he says with a wink. “I figured I’d save you the cab fare. You heading straight to work?”

I nod and let him take my bag as we walk toward the exit. “Don’t you have practice?”

“This afternoon,” Jordan says as we approach his black Mercedes SUV. He loads my bag into the backseat and then opens the passenger door for me.

I climb in as he walks around the car to get into the driver’s seat. I watch his face as he maneuvers his way out of the parking area. He glances over at me with an expression I can’t quite read. I used to be able to read everything Jordan was thinking in his face. Not because he was more obvious about it, but because I knew him that well. It makes me realize that we might have a few new things to discover about each other.

“So, tonight…” he says softly. “Do you want to celebrate New Year’s Eve with me?”

“New Year’s Eve?” I repeat like I’ve never heard of it.

“My goalie, Choochinsky, and his girlfriend are having people over to his place. I thought we could go. You could meet the guys.”

I suddenly feel dread. Meeting more of his buddies and hanging out with a bunch of people I don’t know would be uncomfortable enough, but doing it while not knowing where we stand seems daunting. But I can see in his face that he really wants this, and I don’t want to pull him from his teammates; his injuries have done that long enough.

“Sounds good.” I smile.

His pretty blue eyes light up. “Great!”

As we make our way down the I-5 toward downtown, he starts to tell me about how awesome Chooch’s parties always are and about all the guys on the team he wants me to meet. I ask him about his wrist and how his first game since the injury went yesterday. I’d watched it with Donna and Wyatt and he played well, but I wanted to know how he felt. The conversation is easy and light but the heavy, tense feeling inside me doesn’t lift. It feels like the elephant in the room is sitting directly on my chest.

He jumps out of the car and walks around to my side as I open the door to get out. Jordan pulls my bag out of the back and then stands in front of me, trapping me on the seat with my legs dangling above the pavement.

His hand reaches up and cups the side of my face as he leans in to kiss me. It’s slow and tentative for a second—but only a second. I can’t keep it casual, and neither can he. His tongue pushes against my lips, which I part willingly, eager to deepen the kiss.

He grabs my hips and pulls me to the edge of the seat, stepping between my legs. My hands push their way inside his jacket, my fingers skimming across the heavy knitted cotton of his sweater and slipping under it to wrap around his strong neck.

I pull back reluctantly. “I have to go to work.”

He groans, but he’s smiling. And I’m grinning too, like an idiot. I can’t help it. I push him out of my way and hop out of the car, taking my bag from him. I kiss his cheek again and then walk swiftly toward the front door of my building. If I do it slowly, without conviction, I’m likely to turn around and haul him into the back of his SUV and have parking lot sex. I’m that attracted to him right now. As I glance back from the front door, he’s leaning on the side of his car, his eyes on me. He gives me a quick smile. He looks so happy. And I feel happy. It makes me nervous.

Do we even know what the hell we’re doing?

The day seems to fly by way too quickly. I text Jordan my address, head home after work and the next thing I know he’s knocking on the door to my tiny, humble apartment. I’m not ready. I spent way too long trying on everything I own and fussing over my hair, which I decide to curl. I still have to find the right shoes and the one lipstick I actually like.

I stumble out of the alcove I call my bedroom, drawing the gauzy curtains that separate it from the rest of my studio apartment, and rush to the door. I pull it open and find him already leaning in for a kiss, his arm resting above his head on the doorframe.

I don’t even manage a hi before our lips connect. I think it was meant to be a peck but the contact is like two sticks that have been smoking, smoldering and finally catch fire. Everything in me flares with desire. My mouth opens and his tongue slides against mine. Now the kiss is deep and a little rough. He moves his lips to my jaw. The scrape of his unshaven face against my neck makes me shiver, and I can feel him smile against my skin. “Are you going to show me your place or make me come in my pants right here in your hall?”

I laugh and reluctantly step away, grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging him across the threshold.

“I have to finish getting ready anyway,” I say, and make a grand sweeping gesture with my hand. “Welcome to my palace. Something tells me your place is bigger.”

I don’t bother to look at his reaction. I know my place is tiny, but it’s cheerful and clean so there’s that. I leave him walking toward the three large windows that are the front wall of my living room and disappear behind the bedroom curtain.

“It’s nice,” he calls out, and he sounds like he means it.

“It’ll do,” I call back from the bathroom as I dig through my makeup bag for that damn lipstick. “I picked it for the windows. It has really great natural light. And the location is not as scary as the other places I could afford.”

I find the lipstick and start carefully applying it.

“I like the wide oak floors, and it’s got great ceiling height,” he says, and I glance over and see his form, through the curtain, walk toward the tiny kitchen tucked into the opposite corner from the bedroom.

“You would notice that because you’re a giant and everything,” I call back as I finally find the pair of heeled boots I was looking for under my bed. I drop onto the bed, which is covered in discarded outfit choices, and start to tug them on as Jordan pulls back the curtain. “Hey, nosy boy. This room is off limits.”

He stares down at me with a cocky grin. “Don’t worry, beds aren’t our thing anymore. We’ve moved on to couches, remember?”

I shake my head and fight the heat that wants to erupt on my cheeks. His eyes move up and land on the frames on the wall behind my bed. Three children’s drawings in matching cherry wood frames. He walks over and studies them, leaning over me and my messy bed.

He looks at the one on the left, which is of a giant dog with purple fur and three stick-figure little girls standing in front of an orange house next to a blue tree. Scrawled at the bottom is the name Rosie.

“She drew that in kindergarten,” I explain quietly. “It was the first thing she drew after our mom died that wasn’t bleak and sad.”

He nods and I follow his eyes as they shift to the next frame. The work inside is a sketch done with colored pencils. It’s of a tree and a lake and a dock. It’s not fine artwork, but it’s definitely got a lot of artistic value. At the bottom it says C. Caplan.

He smiles and glances at the next one. I watch his blue eyes widen and then he flushes.

“Oh my God, I remember this.”

“My first Valentine from a boy.” I smile softly. He touches the edge of the glass on the frame as if trying to touch the ridiculous red construction paper card that’s pressed behind it. He had drawn the backyard rink at his house with me on it in full-on goalie gear and him taking a slap shot at me. In the drawing he’s absurdly bigger than me with one giant arm and one tiny one, and I have giant disproportionate feet. The message across the top in black marker is “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I remember sitting at the kitchen table with Devin and Cole with all the paper and markers strewn out in front of us and being pissed that my mom wouldn’t just let us buy the premade kind from the store,” he explains, eyes still glued to the card. “Devin made them for everyone in his class—girls
and
boys. Cole made them only for the guys because at seven, girls were still gross. I had made them for all the guys in my class and you.”

He finally tilts his head downward and finds me staring up at him. His smile is warm and maybe even a little embarrassed. “Do you remember what it says inside?”

I nod. “To the best goalie I know. Your friend, Jordy.”

He laughs at that. Well, I think it’s just at that but I’m not sure.

“You think I’m a sentimental fool, don’t you?” I ask self-consciously.

“I think…” He pauses and his tongue darts out and wets his lips, which is so fucking hot I think I might pass out. “I think we need to get to this party before I change my mind and fuck you so hard those frames fall off the wall.”

“Jordan Garrison!” I gasp, smiling, as he takes my hand and pulls me off the bed and out of my apartment.

My dread from earlier this morning when he first asked me to go to the party starts to build as we drive. By the time we pull up to a large, ornate Victorian home in the affluent Capitol Hill area, I almost ask him to turn the car around. But he looks so happy as he hops out of the car I can’t bring myself to do it. So I jump out nervously before he can make it all the way around to open my door.

He grins down at me. “Have I told you how amazing you look?”

I shake my head and try not to blush. His compliment makes the struggle I had earlier trying to find something to wear to a party full of NHL players and their stunning significant others worth it. I decided on the dark-washed designer jeans Callie found at a secondhand store and gave me for my birthday. I paired it with a loose, basically see-through, off-the-shoulder silver-gray top with a little sparkle to it and matching gray camisole underneath. It was a little hippie-ish, but kind of sophisticated too.

It is so strange to be this nervous and concerned over my appearance with Jordy. When we’d first ended up together, impressing him with my looks had never been a consideration. He’d seen me at my best and worst. Heck, he’d seen me go through awkward puberty phases. But now, for some reason, I am struggling to impress him and his friends, which adds to that jumpy feeling consuming me. Jordan takes my hand in his and leads me to the front door. He rings the bell.

The door flies open and a tanned, exotic-looking brunette is standing there. She’s in a tight white strapless top and a pair of low, hip-hugging black pants. Her bronzed, taut midriff is visible along with her diamond navel ring that matches the large diamond hoops in her ears.

“Jordan!” she says, delighted. She hugs him tightly. “Happy New Year!”

“You too, Ainsley.” Jordan smiles and reaches back to take my hand. “I want you to meet Jessie. Jessie, this is Chooch’s girl, Ainsley.”

I smile but she doesn’t, at least not warmly.

“Hi,” she says tersely. Her dark brown eyes land on our attached hands before she spins back toward the living room, which is crowded with people. “Jordy is here!”

There are a bunch of cheers and some guys and girls come forward, kind of swarming us. It’s hard to keep track as Jordan goes about introducing me to people. There are the guys from the bar that night—Dix and Alex, who gives me a secretive wink. I think he still thinks I’m crazy, but what can you do?

I meet Chris Dixon’s wife, Maxine, and Jordan’s team captain, Avery Westwood, and his sister, Kate, who he brought as a date. They all seem genuinely friendly, although they’re obviously shocked that Jordan brought a date.

There’s a gaggle of girls with resting bitch face against the wall of windows, tucked in where the kitchen and den meet. Ainsley is there with them, and they’re in a bit of a huddle until we walk in. Then all their eyes land on us and they slowly break apart, sort of like sharks circling chum in the water.

Chooch and another guy I think I met briefly in the living room call me over to the breakfast bar. It’s covered with bottles of alcohol and a blender. I wander over, leaving Jordan to continue talking to Igor, his Russian teammate, and Oksana, Igor’s very blonde,
Playboy
model–looking girlfriend.