Puck Performance: BTU Alumni Series Book #4

by Ciz, Alley

  “Yeah…that.”

  Please, please tell me. I’m lost here and I need guidance. Be my sherpa, Balboa.

  “It’s not really something I can quantify.” Her hand goes to her belly, rubbing circles on the baby bump poking out. “Why?”

  My insecurities over being the less than Donnelly brother are not something I’ve discussed with anyone, not even Rocky when we dated.

  I may have been the one to broach the subject, but I chicken out, not ready to delve deeper into this particular area of self-doubt, shoving it into the penalty box in my mind. Time for a redirection.

  “I don’t know.” A lie. “I guess being with Mels, getting to know her made me wonder why the subject never came up with us.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “Well, to be fair…I wasn’t a full-time employee when we were together. My issues came after graduation.”

  “You know I’m always here for you right, Rock?”

  “I do.” She places a reassuring hand on my forearm. “You’re my best friend outside of the girls for a reason—even when you tell my brother about having a girlfriend before you tell me.” Guess she hasn’t fully forgiven me for that. “You’re a good man, Jason Donnelly. Don’t let my crap ever make you doubt that.”

  “Love you, Rock.”

  “Love you too, Jase.” A growl comes from behind her. “Oh hush, you. I may love him, but I’m in love with you.” She kisses her husband on the cheek.

  Is this a sign? Does my best friend’s ability to get over her crap mean I can get over mine?

  You do when you’re with Mels.

  Sure, it may not be all the time, but my subconscious is right. When I’m with my baby, my baggage feels lighter.

  “Now.” Done with their little love-fest, the James-es turn their attention to me. “How about you tell me all the things while we watch Brick actually lose at ping-pong for once.”

  That’s a plan I can get on board with.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I burrow under the covers, sinking into my pillow-top mattress. My entire body is wrecked, from the top of my messy bun to the tips of my beat-up toes.

  I’ve seen every production Zoey has choreographed throughout her career so I know how talented she is, but witnessing it firsthand is magical. If only muscle memory would take over so I could stop feeling like I’ve been hit by bus. That would be great.

  One more day and I’ll have the weekend to recuperate. I do love that particular perk of rehearsals. If only I could spend it with Jase.

  Did I really just think that?

  Shit. I’m in deeper than I thought.

  Speaking of the hockey hunk…

  “Hey there, All-Star,” I say after accepting the video chat request.

  “Hey, baby.” There’s that wink.

  “Back in your room?” I take in the tufted headboard behind him.

  “Yup. I left all the crazies downstairs so I could talk to my girl without anyone jumping into our conversation like earlier.”

  Yeah, that was entertaining.

  I prop myself up on an elbow to see him better. “Taking advantage of being roommate-free?”

  “Hell yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, the muscles of his arm popping with the movement. “In college I was always the one forced to room with Ryan for away games.”

  “Why do I have a hard time believing your brother is a bad roommate?”

  “He’s not.” He chuckles. “He’s a model roommate…well, except…”

  “Except?”

  Another chuckle, another tousle of hair.

  “Dude snores louder than a herd of elephants.”

  “He does not.” I choke on a snort.

  “He does. I think I’ve lost count of the number of times JD has tried to murder him in his sleep with a pair of socks.”

  “Socks?”

  “She would shove them in his mouth to shut him up.”

  I drop my phone, not having expected that at all.

  “What?” I scramble to pick it back up.

  “You okay over there, baby?”

  “Yup. Fine. Just dropped my phone.” I circle a hand in the air. “Details please.”

  He’s ridiculous 99% of the time. I’m never sure how much I can believe, but I’m highly entertained as we share stories of our time in school—him in college, me from the arts high school I attended with Ella and Zoey.

  Every day he does something, no matter how minor, to prove he is nothing like the playboy I believed him to be. Yes, he is cocky, alpha, exaggerates like a boss, and can turn anything into a sexual innuendo, but he is also sweet, kind, and loyal.

  “So…” He shifts the pillows behind him and leans back.

  “So…”

  “Is there a limit on the number of people who can come to opening night of your show?”

  “Well…yeah. There are only so many seats in the theater.”

  “You’re cute when you act clueless.” He shakes his head. “What I mean is, are you limited in the number of people you can reserve tickets for?”

  “I don’t think so.” I mull it over. “I think the most I’ve ever needed to reserve was three or four, but getting an extra one or two shouldn’t be an issue.”

  Acquiring the tickets won’t be an issue; the problem will lie with if all the tickets—or one in particular—are used.

  C-O-M-P-L-I-C-A-T-E-D.

  Don’t you think it’s time to tell them, Mels? The longer you continue to lie, the worse it’s going to be. You know the truth always comes out.

  “Yeah, no, baby. I’m talking we need like two dozen or so.”

  What?

  I blink. There are no words. Where’s a script when you need one?

  “Did you really think we weren’t coming to your show?” There is a hint of amusement lacing his words.

  “Well…I mean…you guys…” Words. Seriously, I need words. “You all have your own packed schedules. I don’t expect you to worry about making it.”

  “First off.” He sits up, getting serious. “It’s not a worry. And second, we want to be there.”

  I’m not gonna cry. I’m an actress. I have impeccable control over my emotions, can cry on demand, go from angry to happy in the blink of an eye if the scene calls for it—but holding back tears? Talk about a challenge.

  “Baby.” Jase’s tone gentles when he sees the one tear I couldn’t prevent leaking out and trailing down my cheek.

  “I’m fine.” I wipe it away.

  “Yeah…no. You’ve met the women in my life. If The Coven has taught me anything, it’s that when a girl says she’s fine, she’s anything but.” He levels me with a look. “Talk to me, baby. Tell Big Daddy what’s wrong.”

  “Big Daddy?” I slap a hand over my face.

  “What? Doesn’t work?”

  I shake my head.

  “Challenge accepted.”

  I roll my eyes. I see what he’s doing, though. He’s using humor to let me off the hook—for now at least.

  Do you think he has enough of a funny bone to let you off the ultimate hook, Mels?

  “Tell me this.” His words cut into my self-flagellation. “Am I in bed with you?”

  I pan the camera to show my duvet then back up.

  “No, no, no. I know you’re on the phone with me in bed, but am I in there with you?”

  “Why do I feel like you’re talking in riddles?”

  “Mr. Potato Head—is he sharing your pillow with you?”

  Another pan of the camera, this time to show Mr. Potato Head in all his glory on my nightstand—not in bed.

  “You wound me, baby.” He mimes being stabbed in the heart.

  “I feel like I need to change your text handle to I can’t even, because I swear I think that about you multiple times a day.”

  He looks to the heavens as if searching for an answer. “Just goes to show I like you more than you like me.”

  “What? It’s not like I’m in bed with you.”

  “A
u contraire.” It’s his turn for a camera shift, and there on the pillow next to him is Mrs. Potato Head.

  I should have known better.

  “You’re something else, Jase Donnelly.”

  “So I’m told.” He punctuates the statement with one of his winks. “Now tell me this.”

  “I feel like we’re playing twenty questions with all the so tell me this you’re hitting me with tonight.”

  “We can if you want, but what I have in mind might be just a little bit”—he holds his thumb and forefinger an inch a part—“more fun.”

  “Oh yeah?” I arch a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

  “You and me, baby.” His expression turns salacious. “We have some unfinished business.”

  “We do?”

  He nods. “I believe someone was denied an orgasm the other night. I think it’s time to rectify that.”

  My entire body flushes with the memory.

  “What?” I have to swallow down the lump that’s formed in my throat. “What did you have in mind?”

  The green of his eyes takes over the gold as he looks at me through the five-inch screen.

  Why do I think I’m going to really, really like what he has in mind?

  “So tell me this.”

  I groan. “Again with that. I think you need to go find Maddey and have her teach you a new way to phrase that.”

  “I thought I was the jokester in this relationship?”

  I shrug, one of the straps of my tank top falling down my arm, and I don’t miss the way he tracks the movement or how his eyes turn even greener.

  “I do live with Zoey, meaning I’m force-fed sarcasm with my morning coffee. Some of it was bound to stick.”

  No matter how much I pick up from my best friend, my sarcasm game is in the minors compared to Jase’s.

  “I feel like I should send her a thank you gift.”

  See what I mean?

  “Why’s that, All-Star?”

  “Well, my little sweet potato—”

  “No.” I shake my head so hard my messy bun tilts to the side. “Just…no.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I never thought I’d say this, but I prefer baby to sweet potato.”

  “I don’t know…” I get distracted by the way his muscles pop and flex as he shrugs. “I think I like it. Potatoes are our thing. That’s it—now and forevermore, you will be Sweet Potato.”

  “No words.” Happiness blooms inside me.

  “We’re getting off topic here.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Yeah, even I wouldn’t believe me with how sarcastic that sounded.

  “Okay, smartass.”

  “Did I hurt your feelings?” I pout.

  “You did. Why don’t you take your top off to make it up to me?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Sweet Potato.” I narrow my eyes, making his lips twitch. “Take your top off. I think it’s about time I see those gorgeous tits of yours.”

  Oh my god. Is he trying to do what I think he’s trying to do?

  “Jase.”

  “Come on, baby. Let’s have some fun. Let me show you how good I am.”

  “How good you are?” Is it wrong that I’m intrigued?

  “Yup.” He pops the P. “I’m so good, baby, I can make you come all the way from St. Louis.”

  My breath hitches and I’m sure I’m blushing everywhere—not because I’m embarrassed, but because I believe him.

  “Are you trying to get me to have phone sex with you, Jason Donnelly?”

  His eyes brighten and he straightens.

  “Oooo, I don’t know what to address first…how hot ‘phone sex’ sounds rolling off your tongue like it’s something forbidden…or that you used my full name…or that I think I liked it.”

  Am I actually considering this?

  He’s quiet, waiting for my answer.

  Yes or no, Mels?

  Before I can change my mind and chicken out, I run across my bedroom to lock the door. As soon as the lock clicks into place, I jump back in bed, landing with a bounce.

  I’m really doing this, aren’t I?

  Yes. Yes I am.

  “Where’d you go?” Jase asks when I get back.

  “Seeing as we seem to attract interruptions like magnets, I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  “Ah…Zoey?”

  “And Ella.” I nod.

  Now what?

  “Time to lose the shirt, Sweet Potato.”

  People are going to start to think I have an eye condition with how often I roll my eyes at him. “You’re really sticking with this Sweet Potato thing?”

  “Without a doubt. Now strip.”

  Now or never, Mels.

  I grip the bottom of my tank, pulling it over my head and tossing it over the side of the bed.

  Jase sucks through his teeth, the sound whistling through my phone’s speaker.

  “Fuck, baby.”

  “What? No more Sweet Potato?” I can’t help but tease.

  “Not the time, baby. Not the time.” He shakes his head, his eyes not once leaving my chest. Did I forget to mention I wasn’t wearing a bra?

  His eyes continue to change, turning greener and greener until almost none of the gold is left.

  “Damn you have no idea how badly I want to forget about all the people it would piss off and hop on a plane to be there with you right now.”

  Me too.

  “Now—now what?” I choke out.

  “Grab my buddy Mr. Potato Head.”

  “What?” I frown. “Not a chance. I’m not masturbating with a children’s toy.”

  “What kind of animal do you take me for, Sweet Potato?” He feigns offense.

  I level him with a look that screams, Really?

  “Point taken,” he concedes. “Still…grab my replacement.”

  “Why?”

  “I want you to use him to prop up your phone. You’re gonna need two hands for what I have in mind.”

  Oh, boy.

  I grab Mr. Potato Head from my nightstand, but before I put him on the pillow, I remove his eyes in an effort to spare his virtue.

  “Very good,” Jase says after I have the toy arranged as a makeshift phone stand. “Lie back and let me put all the things I’ve learned from being a romance junkie to work.”

  Swallowing down my nerves, I do as I’m told. Goose bumps cover my skin, at odds with the lust burning through my veins.

  “Place your hands on your shoulders.”

  That is not where I thought he would start, but I follow his directions.

  “Skim the tips of your fingers down the length of your body, slowly.” I begin to do as instructed, but he stops me. “Lighter. Keep your touch so it’s like you’re barely making contact with your skin.”

  The new featherlight pressure only heightens every sensation.

  “Much better. Keep going.”

  My eyes flutter closed as I travel over the swell of my breasts, down the slope of my stomach, stopping once I hit the cotton of my sleep pants then reversing the path.

  “Using the same light touch, draw circles around your breasts, starting on the outside, making the circles smaller and smaller until you hit your areolas.”

  Circle, circle.

  “Brush your nipples with your thumbs and cup your tits, hold them up to the camera.”

  I twist to the side, the weight of my breasts filling my palms.

  “God, you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,” he growls. “They’d be in my mouth if I were there.”

  Oh that filthy mouth of his—a filthy mouth with a tongue ring.

  “Pinch your nipples.”

  My thumbs and forefingers close around my nipples and pleasure shoots straight to my clit.

  “Now twist.”

  “Jase,” I cry.

  “That’s it, baby. Flatten your hands over them and squeeze.”

  Pinch.

  Twist.

  Squeeze.

  “
Shit, baby. I’ve never been jealous of a pair of hands before.”

  “Ja—Jase, touch yourself.”

  “Oh, baby. Your wish is my command.”

  I force my eyes open, not wanting to miss my chance to watch.

  The ink on his inner biceps winks at me as his fingers splay over each pack of his abdominals. Is it wrong to want to lick him? Because I really, really want to lick him.

  Unlike me, there’s zero hesitation in his actions.

  His hands slip under the band of his sweatpants, pushing them down and pulling himself out.

  He’s hard. And big—really big. Like how does he expect it to fit big.

  I swallow at the sight.

  The mushroom tip is practically purple, glistening with arousal.

  His hand moves on his shaft.

  Up then down.

  “Touch yourself, baby.”

  “I—I am.”

  “No.” The veins in his neck strain, his head moving side to side. “Put your hand inside your panties.”

  Another swallow and my hand is on the move again.

  One finger breaches the band on my pants, then a second. Soon enough my hand is slipping beneath the lace of my panties, the wetness obvious as the fabric lifts.

  “What do you feel?”

  “What?”

  “Tell me what you feel. Are you hot? Swollen? Wet? Is your clit pulsing under your finger?”

  Yes, yes, yes, and all of the above.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? I can see it on your face. You’re flushed, and the prettiest pink is traveling down your neck and over your breasts.”

  What is he doing to me?

  “Use your forefinger and middle finger and alternate them.”

  Forefinger. Middle finger.

  Forefinger. Middle finger.

  “That’s it, baby. Back and forth. Back and forth. Keep the rhythm steady.”

  I’m embarrassingly close to coming.

  “No, baby. Eyes on me,” he instructs when my eyes start to close again.

  Thank god I listened because his hand is on the move again.

  Up. Down.

  In smooth, sure strokes, he works his length.

  “Lower your hand and slip those fingers inside.”

  “Jase.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed, baby. If I can’t be there with you, I need you to fill the space for me. Do it. Let your wetness ease your entry.”