by Ciz, Alley
THE BIG HAMMER: I thought we already established you can’t hang up in a text convo. And geez woman, maybe I should have gotten you a bottle of chill pills for Christmas instead of the gift I did get you, because way to OVERreact.
THE BIG HAMMER: *picture of Jase sandwiched between two blonde toddlers*
BROADWAY BABY: OMG. They are the cutest!!! Are those your nieces?
THE BIG HAMMER: Yup. And thank you. It’s good genetics.
BROADWAY BABY: You do know you don’t get to take credit for it, right? They are your sister’s kids, not yours.
THE BIG HAMMER: Twins, remember? Of course I get to take credit.
BROADWAY BABY: You’re fraternal twins.
THE BIG HAMMER: Whatever. We have the same blond hair.
THE BIG HAMMER: *video clip of Jase asking the twins who their favorite person is, them answering with “Unk, Unk, Unk” and kissing him on each cheek*
BROADWAY BABY: Well shit. My ovaries just exploded.
THE BIG HAMMER: I can make you explode, baby.
BROADWAY BABY: And there he is.
BROADWAY BABY: Wait a second—did you say you got me a present?
THE BIG HAMMER: Of course I did. You think I’m the type of guy who doesn’t buy his girl a Christmas gift?
BROADWAY BABY: I swear to god if you tell me you got me a dick in a box I’m going to block your number in my phone.
THE BIG HAMMER: *GIF of Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg for the SNL Dick in a Box skit*
BROADWAY BABY: OMG I can’t even with you.
THE BIG HAMMER: Don’t even start—you know you’re already starting to fall in love with me.
BROADWAY BABY: **rolls eyes** Maybe you should have asked Santa to bring you some decent go-kart skills if you are losing to a pair of third graders.
THE BIG HAMMER: Nope. I only asked the big man for one thing this Christmas.
BROADWAY BABY: And that is?
THE BIG HAMMER: You.
Chapter Seven
January
What the fuck am I doing?
I’ve asked myself that question more times than I can count since I agreed to this, because what in the actual fuck?
Damn you, Jase Donnelly, and damn your stupid-looking—okay, gorgeous—face. And your potato memes, and your cute pictures with toddlers, and…and…gah!
Sonofabitch I still can’t believe I’m doing this.
Seriously, Mels. You are out of your mind here.
Oh, so now you want to put up a fight, hormones? But when he’s standing in front of us you’re all, “Take my panties! Take my panties!”
Shit—I can’t believe I’m having an argument with my hormones. Thank god I didn’t do it out loud.
It took a month and a half for the charming bastard to do the impossible, and I’m not talking about this date I’ve agreed to. No, he made me like him.
I worry the sleeve of the slouchy knit sweater peeking out from underneath my coat, my gut clenching, screaming at me that this can only end in disaster.
Thankfully I had the foresight to recommend doing something low-key and out of the public eye. First dates are nerve-racking enough; neither one of us needs the added pressure of the paparazzi.
I refuse to think about the other reason.
With every text that pings on my phone, the guilt inside me grows. Though I’ve faulted him at every turn, thinking the worst, assuming information I heard secondhand was credible, Jase has calmly answered and reassured me. He’s being nothing but honest, and me? I do nothing but lie—even if it’s only by omission. What’s even worse? He’s not the only one I’m lying to.
To Jase’s credit, he seemed excited by my suggestion and offered to cook for us at his place. Unfortunately, it led to me being subjected to Zoey and Ella acting out all the naughty things they think will be happening tonight.
I really need to find new friends.
They were also zero help in the getting ready department when I was stressing over what to wear. Since we’re staying in, I didn’t want to be too fancy or too casual, so while Meddlers One and Two pretended to hump each other on my bed, I settled on a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, low-heeled beige booties, and my favorite tan chunky knit sweater.
When Zoey finally stopped gyrating on top of Ella, she took one look at me, cursed in Portugese, and complained I was wearing a “grandma” sweater. I promptly flipped her off and proceeded to show how, when tucked into the front of my jeans and paired with a white crochet bralette, it was the picture of a sexy-comfy vibe.
The numbers on the elevator continue to climb, and with each floor ticked off on the way to the penthouse, doubts continue to creep in.
Geez, girl. You act like you’ve never been on a date before.
You can do this, Mels.
It’s just dinner.
I’m right. I can totally do this.
I’m an actress. I’m well versed in controlling my emotions, and if not actually controlling them, at least projecting what I want others to see. All I have to do is act like Jase doesn’t affect me and it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.
Ping!
I take a deep breath as the elevator doors slide open, telling myself once again, I got this.
And I do, until I step into the hallway and see Jase. Mamma Mia!
Leaning against the doorjamb to his open apartment, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his massive chest, he’s deceptively casual in his hotness.
“Hi,” I squeak. I had to be announced by the doorman when I got here, but I didn’t expect him to be waiting for me. Can’t a girl get a minute to prepare herself?
“Hey, baby.” The smirk that’s been on his face this entire time is devilish, and the way he unabashedly scans me from head to toe conveys zero shame. He can’t see much thanks to the heavy winter coat I’m wrapped in, but the way he watches me is downright carnal.
“Really?” I arch a brow. “You’re starting with the baby stuff from the jump?”
“Come on, baby.” He pushes from the wall, my gaze automatically falling to watch the way his muscles shift underneath his hunter green polo as he closes the distance between us with the same grace I’ve watched him exude on the ice. “By now you know me better than to ask that.”
Arms slide around my waist, the scent of soap and ice invading my nostrils as he bends to place the gentlest of kisses on my cheek. The move is so unexpected—I was sure he would go for a kiss on the lips right away—my breath stalls in my lungs.
Straightening, he takes one of my hands in his, threading our fingers together, and leads me into his apartment.
“Cute.” He taps the pink puff ball on my winter hat, helping me out of my coat and storing it inside a closet.
“Thanks. Keeps my ears warm.” Anyone who lives in the city knows the way the wind whips through the skyscrapers is no joke. “Plus Ella made it.”
“She did?” He links our hands again, the innocent move weighted by intimacy as he continues leading me into his place.
“Wow,” I murmur, catching sight of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the room.
“Yeah.” His free hand rises to run through his hair, the action the first to ever come off as self-conscious. “I know it’s a little much, especially since I don’t live here full-time, but I got a really good deal because a lot of the units were new.”
It’s clean. Leather couches, chrome and wood accents, a handful of muted throw pillows for good measure. There’s artwork and pictures carefully scattered throughout the space.
“You only live here during the season?” I scan the tastefully done décor; it is nothing like the bachelor pad I assumed it would be.
“Yup. I spend most of my time at a place a few of us have down the shore during the offseason.”
This is a whole different level of wealth.
“Something smells amazing,” I say to change the subject.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as I follow him into the kitchen area. The entire main space is one large open
concept room, so I can see everything in a glance: kitchen, dining room, living room, and seating area by the wall of windows. I would never admit it to him—because lord knows he wouldn’t let me live it down—but I like the way he stays in constant contact with me.
“Chicken pot pie and”—he spins, his arms looping around my hips again—“four different types of potatoes.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
“Went a little overboard on the potatoes, did we?” I have to tilt my head back to see him. Even in my heels, he has about nine inches on me.
“How could I not? Potatoes are totally our thing.”
“Did you really just say totally?”
Held in the circle of his arms, I’m close enough to see the way the dark green of his polo brings out the green flecks in his hazel eyes.
“My life is ruled by women. Some of the Covenettes’ words rub off on me and slip into my vocab from time to time.”
“Covenettes?”
He brushes an errant curl from my face, the long fingers skimming the skin at my temple and down my face before finally tucking it in place behind my ear, his thumb staying out to caress the line of my jaw.
Sparks of electricity radiate from everywhere he touches, and even under the warm yarn of my sweater, I break out in goose bumps.
My lips part, tongue peeking out of its own accord, and his eyes flash, turning greener as they lock on my mouth.
This.
This right here is why I tried to keep my distance.
Everything about Jase Donnelly just…consumes me.
Chapter Eight
Meal done, empty plates pushed to the side, I’m still pinching myself, not at all certain any of the night has been real and not another elaborate daydream. To be fair, the ones involving Melody Brightly have tended to fall more into the NC-17 category than the PG territory the night has stayed in—so far.
Let me tell you what a feat it has been, too. Like, I deserve a medal—and I’m not talking about the one I won for the good ol’ US of A in the Olympics—for the restraint I used in not mauling her the second she stepped off the elevator earlier looking like the physical manifestation of everything I’ve ever wanted and never knew I did.
She was all pale pink hair tumbling down her back in loose waves, matching pink lips, and dark doe eyes watching me, keeping her distance as if unsure if she should come in or run away. If she’d had any idea how badly I wanted to know what she looked like with her lip gloss smeared from my kisses and her hair mussed from holding on to it while driving myself deep, deep inside her, she just might have run.
Outside of Vince, I haven’t said a word to anyone about Melody. I’m not stupid enough to think they don’t know about her. Hell, two Covenettes were in attendance the night we met. So what if I’m still letting them believe nothing came from my crash and burn? And yes, I am well aware of the fact that both JD and Rocky will want to skin my hide when they learn of me withholding information, but that’s a battle for another day.
Plus, Vince is the only one who understands my pain without it becoming fodder for a Coven Conversation. He had a hell of a time convincing Holly to be his girlfriend but eventually won her over, making him the perfect sounding board. Sure, Holly’s reluctance stemmed from some serious issues, but I had my best friend’s back through each time he was shot down. It’s time for him to return the favor.
“So…” I drop a hand to one of her knees. I made sure to sit perpendicular to her instead of across the table, keeping her within touching distance our entire meal. “How was your first week of rehearsals?”
Aside from seeing the occasional show, I know nothing about the ins and outs of producing a Broadway musical. To say I was shocked to hear her schedule was as crazy, if not crazier, than my own would be an understatement.
The smile that overtakes her face hits me like being checked into the boards. I really need to ask Maddey for a better word than beautiful, because holy crap this girl is something else.
As if forgetting all about how she’s been trying to keep her distance all night—yes I did pick up on this and I will get to the bottom of it—she leans forward, resting an elbow on the table and propping her chin on her fist.
“It was amazing.” There’s a wistfulness to her tone. “It’s my first time being part of a production start to finish as a lead.”
“Is it different when you’re a lead?”
“The bones are the same, but there are additional rehearsals needed when you have a part outside of the chorus. I’ve been a lead or a supporting lead a few times in my career, but I always stepped in after the production had been running for a while. Seeing how the musical goes from just words and bars of music on a page to what it will be is…just…magical.”
Drawn by the passionate way she speaks, I mirror her posture, the hand on her knee skimming up her jean-clad thigh, hooking itself on her hip and dragging her a few inches closer. I don’t miss the way her lips part from the move.
“How does it work? Do you just sing and dance all day?”
She laughs, the tinkling sound resonating deep inside me. My new mission in life is to hear that sound every day.
“Some days feel like that, but the first week is more technical than anything else. First we get introduced to anyone involved in creating the show: the director, the producers, the creative team.”
My eyes wander to where her sweater slouches down her arm, exposing her collarbone. Two thin straps bisect her bare shoulder, and I want to slide my finger under them, follow the line, and push them the way of her sweater.
She pauses, noticing my distraction.
“Sorry.” I bite back a grin, because I’m not sorry at all. The damn sweater has been playing peekaboo with her body all night. It’s its own fault, really.
“We do the fun stuff like seeing all the sketches for the sets and costumes, but there’s also the boring stuff like the advertising plan that we go over too.”
“Oof. Don’t tell my sister you think the advertising stuff is boring when you meet her. JD and Skye live for PR and marketing.”
“You plan on me meeting your family?” She shifts away, surprised.
“Of course. Even if I didn’t plan on it, it’s inevitable. My people are a very codependent bunch.”
“You and your family…” I watch her throat as she swallows. “You’re close?” She looks away. Unable to see her eyes anymore, I’m not quite sure how to read the question, but if I’m not mistaken, I’m picking up an air of sadness.
“The closest.” Absentmindedly, I continue to run my thumb over the jut of her hip bone. “Honestly, I don’t know how my parents managed having three, then four, athletes for children, but we always had at least one of them there when we had a game or a meet.”
Her inky black lashes fan as she peeks at me through them, not flirtatiously, more shy, as if embarrassed to be asking. “Do they still come to a lot of your games now that you play professionally?”
Do they ever.
“Not every game since Ryan and I are on different teams, but a good number of them. Sean is the only one whose games Mom sees every one of, but a youth hockey schedule isn’t as insane as the NHL.” I pause, a thought hitting me. “But both my parents watch every game, whether live or on replay.”
Melody’s jaw drops open as if shocked by the information. There are eighty-two games in a regular NHL hockey season. Multiply that by two sons, and…well, yeah. I’m pretty sure the cape JD wears comes from Ruth Donnelly—the OG Supermom.
“Wow.” Again she looks away, her head bobbing like she’s answering some unasked question. I spend enough time with the women in my life to get a sense there’s more going on beneath the surface. The urge to pry is strong, but that’s too heavy of a conversation for a first date.
A chuckle breaks free as a memory resurfaces. “Hell, the only reason I saw you the night we met was because I needed to get away from the shit-talking Skye and Becky were giving me.”
“Mmmhmm.
” Her lips twist.
I scoot my chair around, our knees intertwining like two Vs. “One of these days I’m going to find out how you developed this preconceived notion of me as some Lothario when I’m really not.”
She worries the corner of her lip between her teeth, and I reach to free the pink flesh from the abuse. The urge to replace her teeth with my own is strong, but this topic is one I’ve tried and failed to get clarification on for six weeks.
I’ll be damned if some misguided idea about my reputation will keep me from getting the girl. There’s…something holding her back from giving us a real shot, and I need to figure it out so I can vanquish the demon and come out the victor.
“I’ll have you know I had one girlfriend in high school and one for a few years in college.”
“Why did you break up?”
“My high school girlfriend wasn’t super serious. We split shortly after graduation, each of us going to college on opposite coasts.”
“And the one in college?”
“You know…” My lips tip up thinking of how many times both Rocky and I have been asked this question through the years. You’d think by now one of us would have an actual answer. Alas, it seems to be as elusive as the Holy Grail. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. One day we were a couple, and the next we kind of just reverted back to being friends.”
“Really?” Skepticism drips from the word.
“Really.” I use my thumb to trace circles over her hip through her jeans. “Rocky is still one of my best friends. It helps that she’s a Covenette and besties with my sister too.”