Game On

by Collette West

  "It's all right for you to embrace your fame, Jilly. I'm not judging you." I can kick myself for acting like such a…well, like such a bitch.

  I shouldn't have zinged him like that. He's been nothing but good to me since that night outside of Sake. Maybe it's time to finally straighten things out between us once and for all. If the person who ends up with my laptop leaks my identity, I don't know how much time I have left with him. Every moment counts.

  "I've been thinking a lot about…that night," I begin hesitantly.

  His eyes find mine, and he doesn't need to ask, "What night?" He knows the one I'm talking about—the night of our high school graduation.

  "For a long time, what you did… It really confused me, Jilly." I put down my spoon and sit back in my chair, determined to do this right.

  He looks at me from beneath his eyelashes, his gaze smoldering.

  "We were friends for so long, and I thought that's all you ever wanted to be. We hung out at school. We talked on the phone. But you never asked me out. I constantly rotated between hoping you would and scared that it'd mess everything up." Once I start, I can't stop. The words just keep tumbling out.

  "Hailey—" he begins.

  "No, let me finish," I plead. "I have to get this out, because despite how much your friendship meant to me, I always felt like there was something more between us. All along, I kept wishing you'd ask me to the winter formal, and when you didn't, the junior prom and then the senior prom. But you never did."

  "Because I didn't think you wanted to go to any of those things. C'mon, Hailey. You know you weren't into any of that school stuff," he protests.

  "Of course I wanted to go, Jilly! I shouldn't have had to spell it out for you." I reach for my glass of water and gulp it down. I can't believe I just said that.

  He waits for me to continue, his eyes unreadable.

  "That's why, the night of graduation…when you asked me to go with you to Beth Altell's party, I couldn't believe it. I mean, it was a co-ed sleepover, and everyone knows what goes on at those things—no parents, plenty of empty bedrooms, an endless supply of alcohol. They're the perfect opportunity to hook up."

  "That's not why I asked you—" he starts, getting all flustered.

  "And you think, by saying that, it makes me feel any better?" My anger over that night quickly resurfaces. "We were just sitting on the couch together, watching TV along with everyone else, and you asked me if I wanted to lie down. Jilly, for four years, you never once made a move on me, and then you were gonna do it in front of a room full of people? People who ignored me and ridiculed me—"

  "I didn't mean to put you on display. I just wanted you to get comfortable. That's all. You didn't have to take me up on it." He inadvertently bumps the leg of the table, causing it to shake.

  "It was the first time you ever showed any interest in me other than friendship, and you thought I was gonna turn you down?" I can't breathe for a second—the memory's too powerful. "But it felt weird with everyone there. It should've been private, just the two of us. But I was willing to take whatever I could get from you…even when you stretched out and pulled me down on top of you and some of the guys started to whistle and make comments."

  "I didn't know what I was doing, okay?" He runs his hand across his forehead. "I'd always wanted to take things further with you, but I didn't know how to go about it. I was all pumped up after graduation. You know what a high we were all on. We were finally done with school, and I thought I could do anything, even get you to like me like that."

  "I've always liked you like that! How could you not see it?" I exclaim, getting heated.

  He says nothing, and I'm not surprised. He can't even look at me. I don't want to push him away, but up until now, I had no idea what was running through his head that night. His clumsy attempt to show his feelings started off as something beautiful, something I'll never forget, and I want him to know that.

  "Jilly…" I say tentatively, and his eyes instantly snap to mine. "The way you held me all through the night, felt so…right. Even if we weren't in a room by ourselves, the way you touched me, running your hand up and down my arm, and later when you were stroking the inside of my palm with your thumb. God…it felt so good. You didn't have to say anything. I could feel it."

  "You don't know how long I'd wanted to do that," he whispers softly, his face turning red.

  I smile, breaking eye contact because I'm completely overwhelmed. He's saying the words I've always wanted him to say. This is the talk we should've had a long time ago, and I want him to know everything that's in my heart.

  I meet his eyes again. "What made it even better was that…you didn't have to touch me in all of those places…any other guy would have to make me want you. Your fingers on my arm were enough. I was in agony being so close to you and not being able to do anything more. I wanted you to take me somewhere, anywhere, to finish what you started—upstairs to one of the bedrooms, outside on the porch, in the back seat of the car—so I could kiss you everywhere I wanted to—but you didn't."

  He's staring at me so intently that I'm afraid to go on, but I have to. I'm almost there.

  "I know neither of us got much sleep that night because all I could feel was your hand caressing my body from my neck to my fingertips. But the next morning, as soon as it got light, you couldn't wait to get out of there. You started muttering to yourself about being late for something, propped me up on the side of the couch, and left me there. You didn't even say goodbye. Do you have any idea what that felt like?"

  He meets my eyes for a second before looking away. "If you were tightly wound, you can imagine how I felt. You don't remember what you were doing right before that, do you? How you were running your leg up and down mine? Your knee at my—" He stops, burying his head in his hands. "I had to get out of there because I—"

  I swallow, realizing now why he did what he did.

  "But I could've…" I stammer. "Helped you…with that."

  He pushes himself away from the table, and I'm afraid he's going to leave me sitting there all alone again. "I didn't know what to do. I—"

  "But you never talked about it afterwards. You acted like it never even happened, and that's what hurt the most. I went to Vinny Wargo's party the following week just because I knew you'd be there since Vinny was your catcher and all. I needed to see you when you didn't return any of my calls. It's like you had no intention of ever seeing me again, like you'd already put me in your rearview mirror, shutting me out like you didn't want to be saddled with me anymore. So I made sure you wouldn't be."

  "Is that why you kissed Kurt Nelson? Just to get back at me?" he inquires, a look of understanding washing over his face. "Is that why you started seeing him after that?"

  "I thought you didn't want me in your life anymore, so I let you make a clean break."

  There. It's all out in the open now. Yeah, I ended up with Kurt, but I never felt for him what I felt for Jilly. Not even close.

  "What? Didn't I get a say in the matter?" He leans forward, his eyes flashing.

  "You could have, but you just chose not to," I state blankly. "Up until then, I was yours for the taking."

  "Are you still?" His gaze burns into me.

  I bite my lip, unsure of what to do. My heart is screaming, "Yes!" But my laptop's still out there like a sword hanging over our heads, ready to drop at any second. He's asking me to forgive him, but will he be able to forgive me once he finds out what I've been writing about?

  I look into his soulful, brown eyes, which are holding nothing back from me. He's taking a giant leap for me now, even if he couldn't do it back when we were kids. Things could've turned out so differently if he had, but here we are, in New York City, sitting across a table from each other, four years older, four years wiser. I never thought we'd end up here when I first started writing about the Kings. I only did it because I'd thought he was lost to me forever, never to be a part of my life again. But he's here, offering me a second chance at what I've always wan
ted—to be with him.

  "I'll always be yours, Bruce," I utter like it's the easiest thing in the world to say. It's like telling him that the sky is blue and the Earth is round. There's no denying it; it's one of those indisputable facts.

  My heart belongs to him, and it always will.

  He grins as wide as I've ever seen him grin, jumping to his feet and slamming a wad of bills on the table. "C'mon," he urges, knocking over his chair and grabbing my hand. He rushes through the restaurant, bumping into people and nearly upending a waitress carrying a tray full of ice cream sundaes before pulling me out the door with him. He doesn't stop until he turns the corner, pushing me up against the side of the building, resting his hands on both sides of my head. He looks down at me like he never has before, in such a heated way—the way a man does when he wants a woman.

  I moan when his thumb trails along my jawline, my body quick to respond. My heart is beating double time when he bends down, slamming his lips onto mine, taking full possession of my mouth with his.

  A clap of thunder echoes above us and the heavens open up, pummeling us with rain, but he doesn't stop. He keeps kissing me hard and fast. We quickly become drenched as he brushes my sopping-wet hair away from my neck. I feel droplets of rain fall off his face onto mine, but it only seems to intensify the way he's kissing me. His tongue opens my mouth, and he eagerly explores every inch of it. I never imagined that he'd be so good at this. I whimper again, and he wraps his good hand around my waist, lifting me up against the building, pressing himself against me.

  I don't even know what I'm doing as I open my legs to him. He lowers his hand, finding the back of my knee and hooking one leg around him, and I follow suit with the other, our wet clothes weighing heavily on our overheated skin. This time, his hands aren't staying in those designated 'safe' areas like they did that night on the couch, and it's almost too much to handle.

  The only thought in my head is that I need to get him alone and continue this somewhere where I can have him all to myself.

  I throw my head back, freeing my lips from his, needing to breathe.

  He chuckles softly. "Was that what you wanted?"

  "Uh huh," I somehow manage to respond. "Even better than chocolate."

  He smiles, shifting my body in his arms until he's cradling me against his chest. "What do you say we get outta here?" he asks, reading my mind.

  I nod, and he smiles again, teasing my lips with his while walking slowly toward the street. He raises his hand to hail a cab, and I slide my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He starts kissing me deeply as the rain hits us full on. I can feel his heartbeat pounding through his wet T-shirt that's now clinging to his hard, muscular body, and I sigh, knowing this has to be, hands down, the sexiest moment of my life.

  Only confirming what I already knew—if he had been the first guy in my life to kiss me, I never would've kissed another.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hailey

  I hear Jilly's key turn in the lock, and I scoot up on the fold-out couch, drawing his T-shirt over my knees. Shit. It's nearly one in the morning. I wipe the sleep from eyes and try to curb the butterflies I feel rising in my chest.

  "You're still up?" Jilly whispers, smiling when he sees that I'm awake.

  "You're late," I counter, admiring how the span of his shoulders completely fills the doorway. "I thought you'd come running home, considering that, the last time I saw you, you were soaking wet and couldn't stop kissing me."

  "It's not my fault. I swear," he groans. "The game went into extra innings." He kicks off one custom-made size-sixteen Nike and then the other. "I got here as soon as I could. Trust me. Nothing else'd keep me away from you."

  I blink, letting the gravity of his statement sink in.

  Only his job has the power to drive us apart. He didn't come right out and say that his loyalty is to the New York Kings first and me second, but if push comes to shove, would he choose me over them?

  "What's wrong?" he asks, getting close enough to see my troubled expression in the moonlight.

  "I just missed you. That's all." I smile up at him, glad that he's home.

  "I'm here now," he whispers, running his thumb tenderly over my cheekbone. "You're safe here. No one can hurt you. You know that, right?"

  That's sweet. He thinks I'm still freaked out about the break-in, but that's not what has me worried. I didn't even mention my laptop being stolen to Jilly, too afraid to bring it up. There's no way my super would keep it because it'd tie him to the crime. It's only a matter of time before he ditches it on the black market. My only consolation is that I always back up whatever's on my laptop—my manuscripts, notes, etc.—to my iCloud account, and thankfully, I've been able to access everything through my phone for the time being.

  Today, after Jilly went to work, I got busy changing as many passwords as I could and notified my bank about the possible security breach, but I know it's not going to be enough. As soon as the new 'owner' of my laptop sees who it's registered to and starts reading through my files, it's not going to be hard to figure out that R.D. Bukater is really Hailey Halpert—Jilly Gillette's Queen of Diamonds's dream date.

  Then let the blackmail begin.

  But today wasn't all doom and gloom. Jilly gave me his credit card and told me to go buy myself some new clothes. For the first time, I got a true sense of what being his girlfriend might be like—going on shopping sprees on Madison Avenue, buying sexy lingerie with him in mind, coming home to a nice apartment at the end of the day.

  "Hailey?" Jilly asks, drawing me out of my head and into the warmth of his amber eyes. "Hey, where'd you go? I felt like you were miles away there for a minute."

  "I guess I'm more tired than I thought." I extend my legs under the blanket and lean back against the pillows.

  He stares at me a moment, unable to interpret the mixed signals I'm giving him. When he walked in, I was all flirty, giving him a definite come-hither vibe, and now, it's like I'm turning him down, making the 'I'm not in the mood' excuse like I suddenly have a headache or something. I don't blame him for being confused.

  "You don't have to sleep out here alone." He tilts his head in that adorable way I love. "My bed's big enough for two."

  Is it ever! It's king-size—or more like New York King size. But I know that, if I give in, neither of us will get much sleep tonight, and he's injured, so he needs his rest. I'm still a little nervous about going all the way with him while the dark cloud of R.D. Bukater is hanging over us. If we go there and he finds out that I've been lying to him the whole time, I know he'd never recover from a blow like that.

  "Jilly…" I sigh as he leans in and nibbles my earlobe. "I think we should take things slow."

  He emits a deep moan from the back of his throat, and I feel it all through my body.

  "I don't wanna ruin this," I continue, smoothing his hair back with my hands. "You're too important to me."

  "But after that kiss this afternoon…" He glides his mouth downward, and it takes everything in me to keep mine closed when his teeth tug on my bottom lip.

  I push against his biceps, gasping for air. "Jilly…don't."

  The hurt brimming in his eyes is undeniable.

  "Just not tonight," I say softly.

  I hold on to the sleeves of his shirt, and he sits back, drawing me up with him. I always feel so small next to him, but never more so than I do right now. He's putting his heart out there for me, and I feel like I'm smacking it away like I just don't care. There's nothing I'd like more than to crawl into bed with him right now, and I have to make him see that. Even if I can't give him what he wants. Or hell, let's be honest—what I want.

  "Come with me." I hold out my hand to him, sliding my feet onto the floor.

  His lips turn up when he sees that I'm guiding him toward his bedroom, but it's not what he thinks. I can only go halfway, but it's going to have to be enough.

  "Take off your clothes." I cross my arms and wait for him to obey.

  His e
yes burn into mine, but I have to remain strong. I can't give in, but he's going to have to stop looking at me like that before I lose all sense of control.

  He pulls his shirt over his head, flexing his muscles for my benefit, the hard curves of his chest so perfectly chiseled and defined. He winces a little when he bends his elbow to remove his shirt all the way, reminding me that I need to be gentle with him. He's in a lot of pain, probably more than I realize.

  And he's still all about pleasing me.

  His strong hands drop to his belt as he makes short work of the buckle before unfastening the top button of his jeans and lowering the zipper. He lets them drop to the floor before stepping out of them. He looks up at me expectantly, a hint of the boy I remember present in his gaze. He's standing before me in nothing but his boxers, a large bulge clearly visible, and his cheeks are turning scarlet.

  This big, strapping hunk of a guy is shy. But that's why he's my guy; that's what makes him Jilly.

  "Get…into bed." This time, my timidity overrides any attempt at foreplay.

  His eyes never leave mine as he tosses the shams off the bed and rustles back the comforter. He eases his body down amid the sheets, his gaze pleading with me to join him. But I hold firm, kneeling down beside the bed, getting ready to work my magic.

  "Close your eyes and relax," I whisper softly.

  He stares at me for almost a full minute before shutting his eyes.

  My heart is beating two forty, the air charged between us, as I watch his chest rise and fall. I reach forward with my hand, but it's trembling. I take a deep breath to steady myself and try again. This time, my fingers find his face and I begin tracing his eyebrows before following the bridge of his nose and over the lids of his eyes, pretending to draw each and every eyelash with my finger. I follow the strong line of his jaw over the stubble that's forming on his chin and sweep my pinkie over his soft lips like I'm painting a masterpiece.

  He issues a sigh, sinking deeper into the mattress, and I know he's remembering the last time I did this. We were in Mrs. Gellar's art class. The assignment was to sketch a portrait of the person we were partnered with, and of course, we ended up together. It was right after my family had moved into our new digs, and at the time, I was barely talking to anybody. Mrs. Gellar mentioned the technique of tracing the lines of the face as a good starting point, but nobody was brave enough to try it—except for me. I guess I was in a rebellious frame of mind, figuring I had nothing left to lose. Why not be the girl who traces her partner's face?