by Ciz, Alley
See? They make themselves at home. You don’t have to do anything. Easy peasy.
“Sean, take your shoes off if you’re going to sit on the couch like that. Treat your brother’s place with respect,” says a female voice.
“Sorry, Mom,” a younger-sounding voice answers.
I stop in my tracks, feet glued to the floor like it’s turned to fly paper.
Oh my god! His mom is here?
My hands automatically rise to smooth my hair and fidget with my clothes.
Listen, universe, I know I’ve met almost everyone else in Jase’s family by them just showing up here, but don’t you think it’s going a little overboard having me meet his parents this way? **wags finger with hand on hip** And don’t even start with me about this being karma.
Sure, I’ve never done the whole meet a guy’s parents thing before, but is it really too much to ask for it not to happen after having spent the night screwing said guy’s brains out all night?
“Oh!” Jase’s mom says when she notices me, her hand covering her chest in surprise.
Her exclamation draws the attention of the other two occupants of the room.
“Mels is here.” Sean jumps up on the couch, earning another reprimand from his mother.
“Hi.” I offer the most awkward wave known to man.
Without warning, I’m pulled into a hug and squeezed inside a cloud of lavender. At first I stand stiffly within the embrace, unsure how to deal with maternal affection, but eventually I bring my arms around to return it.
“I am so happy to meet you, dear,” she says, holding me by the shoulders and looking me over. I do my best not to cringe when thinking about what she sees. Totally should have showered.
“Same here?” The words come out as more of a question than intended. Why didn’t Jase tell me his mother was coming?
Luckily she doesn’t take offense, chuckling softly before linking her arm with mine and leading us to the open section of couch opposite the kids.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She pats my arm, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling ambushed. I should have called first. The kids just wanted to see Jase before the game, and it didn’t even occur to me that you might be here.”
“Actually…it pretty much falls in line with how I’ve met every other member of your family.”
I go on to tell her all about the video chat when Maddey showed up during our first date and how Ryan and Tucker dropped by unannounced. Ruth—as she insists I call her—apologizes for her children and blames their father for their bad manners.
Carlee informs me I got off relatively easily where Tucker was concerned then spends a considerable amount of time gushing over my pink hair before she and Sean get involved in a heated Mario Kart battle.
“You know…” There’s a familiar twinkle in Ruth’s eyes as she curls a leg underneath her and gives me her full attention. “I’ve seen you perform, and you are very good, my dear.”
I’m caught off guard by the revelation.
She has?
I couldn’t even tell you the last role my parents came to see me play. They probably wouldn’t even be able to name them if asked. I want to say it doesn’t bother me and I’ve grown used to it, but I can’t. What child doesn’t want their parents to show an interest in their life?
“You have?”
“Oh yes. After my son told me about you, I asked him which shows you’ve been in. The girls and I try to see a few throughout the year, and I save all my Playbills as mementos. I went back and checked the ones I knew you had a role in, and there were several that included you.”
“Wow…what are the odds?”
“You’ve played some big roles in quite a few highly rated productions. I would say chances were pretty good.”
I’m not sure what to say.
“I’m really looking forward to opening night. It was one thing to think you were amazing as just an actor on stage—I can only imagine how much more special it will be knowing you.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away.
God. I never stood a chance when it came to Jase Donnelly. How could I when this is the type of stock he comes from? I have a feeling he’s not the only Donnelly I’m at risk of losing my heart to.
Please forgive me.
“Now…tell me all about how you got started on Broadway. From what I remember in your Playbill bio, you’ve been doing this for many years. I want to know all the things.”
I can’t help but laugh at how much she reminds me of Jordan.
I go on to explain how I fell in love with acting when my kindergarten class did a production of Peter Cottontail and I played one of his sisters. I tell her how I would stay with my aunt and uncle who live in the city and they would take me to auditions.
I lose count of the number of questions she asks. The sense of pride I feel coming from her when I tell her how I’ve been a member of the Actors’ Equity Association—the union that represents stage performers—since I was eight years old finally has me losing the battle with my tears.
It’s when I’m once again wrapped in one of her hugs that Jase arrives, and the look on his face is priceless.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I say goodbye to Cali as we step off the elevator onto our floor. Foregoing sleep in favor of making love to my girlfriend all night may not have been the best thing to do the night before a game, but hell if I was going to feel sorry about it.
Am I bone-tired? Sure.
Does that mean I made a mistake? Not in the least.
Besides, the best part of my job is the built-in time for a nap. Plus, with tonight’s game being a rivalry game against the Blizzards, I actually get an extra hour for my nap as the puck won’t be dropping until eight o’clock instead of at the usual seven.
That being said, I am hoping my girl is still naked in my bed and I can just slide in next to her before I slide back into her, if you know what I’m saying.
I’m not really sure what to do when I find her wiping tears away while she hugs my mother.
“Mom?”
“Hi, sweetheart.” She comes around, holding out her arms for a hug, and like any good mama’s boy, I automatically go to her. I may have outgrown her by a foot, but no one bear-hugs like Ruth Donnelly.
Leaning over the back of the couch, I plant a kiss on my girl’s lips. Cupping her cheek in my hand, I thumb away another tear and hold her watery gaze. “You okay?”
Melody nods.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” She reaches up, her small hand wrapping itself around my wrist, stroking the sensitive skin on the inside as she leans into my touch. “You have the best mom.”
My heart gives a pang. Here I am worried she would feel uncomfortable meeting Mom without me when really it’s the stuff it could bring up for her, witnessing how crazy involved my parents are in my life when hers can’t be bothered to show up when it counts.
I need to remember to give her brother a hug or something on opening night for always making my girl feel like a priority to him at least.
“Dude, you better not be logged in on my account and messing up my score.” I drop down on the couch next to Sean.
“Jason.” My mom scolds me like I’m nine years old and not twenty-five.
“Puh-lease.” Sean waves the wheel-shaped controller in my face. “I would boost your stats if I played for you.”
“Yeah right.” Carlee snickers. “He would only get a boost if I were playing, Donnelly.”
Carlee is the only one who can put Sean in his place—forget the fact that the rest of us are almost three times their age.
I bite my knuckle, trying not to laugh, and bury my face in Melody’s neck when I fail. Being ambushed—for the third time, I might add—by my family must have prevented her from showering, because I’m hit with the most intoxicating scent. I didn’t think I would find anything better than the sweet bubblegum one I’ve come to associate with Mels, but it mixed with
mine and sex now tops the list.
Mels trembles, and I feel a pinch at my side from her clutching the bottom of my shirt as I drag my nose down the length of her neck. Her responsiveness is a major turn-on, and I will myself back before I have an embarrassing situation on my hands.
Sporting a boner the size of the Empire State Building in front of my mom is not an achievement I need unlocked in the game of life.
“Hungry?” I ask Mels, getting up to head to the kitchen. Normally on game days I’ll grab lunch with my teammates, but I forwent that part of my usual routine to spend more time with her.
“What’s Gemma have prepped?”
Yeah, I haven’t lived down the pot pie incident.
“There’s a chicken stir fry we can share?” Gathering the appropriate dishes, I portion out the meal and call over my shoulder, “Are you two hellions hungry at all?”
“I resent that classification.” Carlee shoots me a look her older brother has given me a time or two.
“Look, Car.” I lean across the island on my elbows. “Your best friend is my younger brother. Comes with the territory.”
“Sean Patrick!” Mom scolds when he flips me off. “Oh, don’t you start, Jason Richard.” She turns on me when I snort. “You think I don’t know where he gets it?”
“It wasn’t me.” I’m the picture of innocence.
“Oh really?” Mom folds her arms over her chest, and I have the overwhelming urge to gird my loins when I’m hit with the full force of her mom look. Shit, no wonder JD is so good at it. She learned from the best. “Refresh my memory then…”
I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to take the bait of her incomplete sentence.
“Which one of my children was the one to teach my darling granddaughters to say asshole?”
Do not laugh. Do not laugh.
No matter how much I tell myself this, when I hear Mels say, “Oh my god,” and fall over laughing, I lose the battle. What? Hearing a pair of one-and-half-year-olds volleying asshole back and forth between them was funny as hell.
“But to answer your earlier question, no, they don’t need food. We’re meeting up with Sammy and Jamie soon. I know how important your pregame nap is, and I would never want to interrupt that.”
Can you tell she’s raised three hockey players?
Food heated, I retake my spot on the couch, pulling Melody’s feet into my lap as we settle in to eat. I don’t miss the knowing looks Mom shoots my way while she talks to Mels about her rehearsals.
It takes lots of hugging and kissing as well as a promise that Mels will join them in their box at the Garden tonight before we are alone once again.
She lets out a shriek when I scoop her into my arms and sprint for my bedroom.
After locking the door, I toss her onto the bed. “Strip,” I command, removing my own shirt and carelessly tossing it to the ground.
“What?”
“You heard me, baby.” My thumbs hook in the band of my joggers, and I rid myself of them and my boxer briefs in one go. The sight of her in my bed already has me at half-mast, and the way her dark gaze automatically homes in on my MD has my sails waving proudly.
“What about your nap?”
“What better sleep aid is there than an orgasm?” Kneeling on the bed, I peel her shirt off her since she still hasn’t made any moves to do it herself.
“I thought athletes weren’t supposed to have sex before a game…something about weak legs and stuff.” Her arms rise in an effort to help me remove her sports bra.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” She lies back as I roll down her leggings. “Personally, I think the memory of how it felt to have your sweet pussy milking my cock will put a pep in my step. Live and learn, I suppose.”
“Oh god.” She moans, whether from my words or the feel of my dick sliding through her folds when I cover her body to kiss her, I don’t know, nor do I care.
Her nails scour my back as I drag the head of my dick back and forth over her clit.
I would love to spend hours drawing out our pleasure, making her come over and over, but she’s right—I do need to nap.
One of her arms flings out to the side, the sheets making slapping sounds as she flops it around.
“Looking for something, Sweet Potato?”
Her neck arches when I bite her pulse point.
“Condom,” she rasps as I make another pass over her clit.
Unlike her shorter arms, my wingspan is enough to reach the bedside drawer. I make quick work of sheathing myself and get into position at her entrance.
“Fuck, you’re so wet already, baby.” Liquid fire covers the head, the heat so pronounced I can barely tell there’s a layer of latex between us.
“I am. Now stop fucking teasing me and fuck me.”
“Demanding, woman.”
I yelp when she pinches my side.
Circling my hips, I work myself inside her with small thrusts, giving her body a chance to adjust to my size.
“More.” Her ankles lock at the small of my back, her hips rocking up to meet mine thrust for thrust.
“Harder.”
I snap back and surge forward.
“Jase.”
“Mels.”
I hiss at her nails digging in hard enough to know I’ll have some interesting marks I’ll have to explain in the locker room later.
“Jase.”
I don’t know what’s better, the way my name sounds falling off her tongue breathily or her tight heat surrounding me.
“Jase.”
I snake my hands around her lower back, cupping her ass and tilting it for a deeper angle, driving into her until we explode together.
When we finally catch our breath, we each take our turn in the bathroom. Mels attempts to pull on a shirt, but I drag her back into bed before she can, telling her I’ll sleep better pressed against her skin to skin.
We settle under the covers, my big spoon to her little, just like last night.
I was kidding earlier when I made the sleeping pill comment, but joke’s on me.
Normally when we play the Blizzards, my mind spins with what I need to do, the plays I’ll need to make, what I can do to make sure I stop them—but mostly Ryan—from scoring. The worry about being compared to my brother always increases by ten when our teams play.
Yet today, as my eyelids slide closed, sweet bubble gum filling my nose, the warm body of the woman I’m falling for snuggled in my arms, everything fades away and I drift off to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I’ve been to a lot, and I mean a lot of hockey games in my life, but none of them have compared to what I experienced tonight.
Unlike the first time I came to watch Jase play—you know, when I wore his jersey—I didn’t watch this one from his seats. No, this time I watched from a suite with Jase’s family. I have the feeling they aren’t the sort to let a little thing like fire code get in the way of a good time because there were way more people in the suite than I’m sure is allowed, which is kind of ironic seeing as one of his friends is a fireman.
I also couldn’t believe the number of parents I was introduced to. Zoey has been teasing me mercilessly all night, but I also haven’t missed the knowing looks she’s cast in my direction.
Both my brother and I have managed to be very successful in our chosen careers, yet witnessing what it’s like to have not only involved parents but a complete support system makes me wonder what could have been if we had others cheering us on.
Forget cheering us on; I’d be happy with them responding to my messages. I don’t care how they choose to do so: phone call, text, email, snail mail, carrier pigeon—hell, I’d be okay with smoke signals at this point.
According to my message and call logs, it’s been a month since we had any two-way conversation.
“Aren’t you worried someone will snap a pic of you and Jase and post it?” Ella leans across our table to be heard over the noise inside The Sin Bin and to not be overheard by any nearby
Covenettes.
Ella, Zoey, and I were part of the first wave to arrive at the bar, and Pops—or Freddie to everyone else—had reserved the entire back room for us.
“No way,” Zoey answers for me. “I mean look at her”—she flicks the brim of the Storm ball cap I’m wearing—“she has on her fancy-shmancy disguise.”
I swat her hand away and roll my eyes. Mock all she wants, but it’s effective enough. All the guys of BoP have them on. If it helps rock stars keep some anonymity, why can’t it work for me?
“Okay,” Becky says as she and Gemma drop down on the open bench next to Ella. It’s been nice getting to know the person responsible for all the delicious food I’ve had whenever I’m at Jase’s, but I have a feeling I might want to keep Becky away from Zoey. If those two team up, they will be doing the cell block tango.
“I apologize in advance,” Gemma says, her thoughts obviously mirroring my own.
“Don’t ruin my fun, Gem.” Becky pouts.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Gemma holds up her hands, the gesture coming off as sarcastic as her words.
“I’m going to pretend you actually mean that and focus on what’s important here.” Emerald eyes turn our way, and I feel Zoey perk up beside me. Lord help us. You can’t stop the beat.
“Beck, you realize you speak like you text, right?”
“What?” Becky’s brows pinch together.
“You can never just get to the point. I swear you drag things out just to torture us.” Gemma levels her with a look I myself have used on Zoey countless times.
They continue to banter, but the words themselves no longer register as my sole focus turns to the sexy-as-puck hockey player stalking in my direction.
My heart skips a beat, and like a spotlight shining, I’m hit with the startling realization that I love him.
This man I thought was a playboy and wouldn’t know what loyalty was if it bit him on the ass has turned out to be the exact opposite of everything I believed.
I need to channel my inner Maria, take a page out of the West Side Story script—but without all the death—and not care what anyone else thinks. Jase Donnelly is too good to let go.