—
Not only did I love the movie, it turned me on. More than I already had been. Or maybe that was Chase, sitting right there beside me, stroking my shoulder, brushing my hair back from my face, leaning his cheek against my head. He smelled really good. His body heat burned into me. Every touch electrified me more and more, until I was practically vibrating by the end of the show.
He laughed and exclaimed with me even though he’d seen the movie before. When it was done, he turned off the TV and tossed the remote aside. And I turned into his arms.
We came together so perfectly, like he knew this was what I wanted and he wanted it too. I curved my fingers over his shoulder and he shifted me against him, tipped his head, and kissed me.
It was…beautiful. Slow and sweet and lazy. At first. His teeth grazed my lips, his tongue flirted there…then slid inside. I opened for him because I wanted him, so much, his tongue sliding against mine, his body so hard and hot, his hands big and strong roaming over me…my back, my hips, my ass. He slid a hand around one thigh and pulled it up over his. My knee nudged the bulge behind his fly and he groaned.
His hand kept moving on me, everywhere, up and down my thigh, gripping my butt, up under my sweater to my waist. The touch of his fingers on my bare skin made me shiver with delight, everything inside me clenching. His other arm banded around me, and we kissed on and on.
He tasted delicious, spicy and male, and he smelled so good too. I breathed in his scent and lost myself in it.
I brushed my fingers over his stubbled jaw, savoring the roughness of his beard. His sweater was in the way. I wanted to feel skin. I slid one hand under the turtleneck to find his neck, the skin there smooth and warm. My other hand burrowed under the hem and clutched the firm muscles of his back.
With a fast move, Chase picked me up and lifted me onto his lap. I straddled him, knees on the couch, my legs spread and my pussy aching. I shifted my knees closer, and he palmed my ass through my jeans, helping me. A small moan rose to my lips at the contact between my aching pussy and the hot hard ridge of his need, despite the layers of fabric between us.
I rubbed my swelling breasts against his chest, and another groan rumbled there. His hands slipped under my sweater and swept up my bare back, over my bra and down again. More tingles slid down my spine to the backs of my thighs.
He cupped my face with one hand, kissing me again and again, still slow but not as sweet…hotter…dirtier…his tongue licking into my mouth. Our mouths wide, I felt like we were trying to devour each other.
Oh God.
I closed my hands around his neck again, holding on, almost dizzy with all the sensations pouring through me. He pushed my hair off my face and held it back to kiss me again, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth and slowly releasing it. Liquid heat drizzled through me.
His hands curled around the hem of my loose sweater. With his eyes on mine, he slowly began to raise it. I held his gaze, sparks snapping all around us, and I didn’t stop him.
Slowly he lifted my sweater and tugged it off over my head. My skin quivered as air brushed over it. The condo was warm from the fire—the fire! Jesus, I’d forgotten all about the fire. I shot a nervous glance over my shoulder at it, but it burned safely in the fireplace…beautiful. It lit the room with a romantic amber glow. I let out a soft sigh and turned back to him.
“Okay?”
I nodded slowly.
His gaze dropped to my torso…lingering on my breasts and the satin and lace bralette I wore.
“Christ, this is sexy.” He traced the edges of the lace with big blunt fingertips. I watched, and the combination of rough male fingers and soft feminine lace made liquid heat slowly melt through me. Then he cupped my breasts…and my eyes fell closed. Pleasure swelled inside me, my veins rushing with heat and glitter. My nipples beaded into hard peaks.
“You’re so beautiful, Jordyn.” His voice rasped. “So fucking perfect.”
A little moan leaked from between my lips. He squeezed my breasts so gently, molding them, rubbing them.
“And this…is sexy as fuck.” He brushed his fingertips over my tight nipples through the silk. “Christ, you’re killing me, you’re such a knockout.”
I huffed out a laugh and twined my arms loosely around his neck.
“Seriously.” He bent his head and kissed my chest, then the top curves of my breasts, and then he kissed one nipple through the silk. Oh God, that was hot. Warm liquid surged between my legs.
He kissed his way back up, over my throat, licking my pulse there, over my jaw. Then he found my mouth again in another kiss, endless, so sexually charged and electrified I was dying for him. He cupped my face and held it as he ate at my mouth, and I was aching for him, melting into him.
“You’re such a good kisser,” I gasped when he left my mouth to graze his lips over my cheek. “God, you turn me on.”
“Yeah. Me too, baby. You’re so fucking hot I’m about to explode.”
I swallowed. I set my hands on his chest, my knees splayed wide, my pussy pressed to his hard cock, sitting in my bralette and jeans. I met his eyes and blinked. “W-we should stop.”
His eyebrows rose. His hands curved around my hips and held me there. For a long moment, heat pulsed between us. Then he lowered his chin. “If you want.”
I sucked my bottom lip in between my teeth, so torn between wanting him and wanting him and wanting him…and being careful.
I’d been burnt before. Slept with guys who’d immediately told National Enquirer or Perez Hilton. I’d been young and naïve. The fact that I was a “child star” probably made the media harder on me, because everyone still thought of me as sixteen years old. So I’d been determined to stand up for myself and defend a woman’s right to say yes to sex—because I was a woman.
It was funny, in a way. Usually women were talking about their right to say no. And don’t get me wrong, consent was a huge issue in my books.
But a woman had a right to say yes too, to freely embrace her sexual desires and actions, however and whenever she wanted, without being condemned. I’d decided no matter how public my sex life had become, I wasn’t going to be humiliated about expressing my sexuality. In fact, that shaped some of the songs for my next album.
But still…it all made me think twice before jumping into bed with someone. Because sex makes you vulnerable, in so very many ways, and I was already feeling pretty damn vulnerable with everything that had just happened in my life.
I leaned my forehead against Chase’s, my nose alongside his. We were both breathing fast. “I’m so attracted to you,” I said in a low voice. “I want you so much. I just need to be…careful right now.”
“You’ve been through a lot.” His hand slid up my back and into my hair, fingers twisting into it in a way that was both comforting and erotic. “I get it.”
“Really?”
“Fuck yeah.”
My heart beat a rapid cadence in my chest. Some guys would be pissed about a woman putting a halt to things at this point. We were both obviously turned on and wanting more.
“We’re still having another date,” Chase added.
“Yeah.” I smiled. “Guess I have to stop making bets with you.”
“Or not.”
I closed my eyes as amusement, relief, and affection rushed through me. “When are we going out again?”
“Next week’s our bye week. We have five days off. I’ll figure something out.”
“Okay. You’ve done pretty well so far.” It was kind of freaky how well he knew me.
“I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s late. It’s cold.”
“It’s not a problem. I put you in a car alone last time and I hated that. I’ll take you home.”
He got my jacket from the closet, and we both bundled up, then rode the elevator
to the parking garage beneath his building. He led the way to a gorgeous black Maserati.
“Jesus,” I said, stroking the fender. “This is your car? It’s beautiful.”
“Come on. You probably ride around in Maseratis all the time in L.A.”
“Ha ha. Not so much.”
“What kind of car do you drive?” He opened the door for me.
“I have a BMW convertible in L.A. Here, I’m just renting a Lexus.”
“Nice.”
His car was immaculate inside, unlike my Beamer that had workout gear in the backseat, paper napkins from various fast-food restaurants scattered throughout it, assorted pairs of sunglasses, and various cosmetics.
It wasn’t far to my place, a quick speed along Lake Shore. He pulled into the circular driveway in front of my building, an older, narrow building squeezed between neighboring high-rises.
“You don’t have to come in.” I nodded at the doorman. “I’ll be safe.”
“It’s like you read my mind.” He studied the doorman. “Okay. But when I pick you up for our next date, I’m coming up to see where you live.”
I smiled at him in the dark car. Then I leaned over, laid a hand on his face, and kissed him. My belly flipped and warmed at the feel of his mouth moving on mine, firm and insistent.
I couldn’t wait for our next date.
Whatever the Aces thought they were getting with the trade, Hartman hasn’t lived up to their hopes. He’s still logging his regular ice time, but his offensive contributions have been dismal, with just a single goal and 6 assists in 44 games. Hartman is plus 56 for his career and has a respectable 420 points in 515 career games, but he needs to chip in a lot more than he has done this season.
—The Hockey Report
* * *
—
I got to see Chase again before our next date though. Sort of.
My dad took me to the Aces game Saturday night.
It had been a while since I’d been to the Moen’s Center, but I remembered it well. My dad had gotten decent tickets in the two hundred level near center ice. I was excited, clutching my popcorn and bottle of water. I so wanted a beer. I was okay to drink alcohol, but the carbonation wasn’t good for my throat.
“Remember, no yelling,” Dad said to me as we settled into our seats.
I grimaced. “Right, right. That could be hard.” I liked to express myself when I watched hockey. I was a passionate fan.
I watched the teams warm up, searching out Chase. There he was…number 9. Excitement buzzed in my veins at seeing him play live like this.
“So, um, I never told you and Mom this, but I went on another date with Chase Hartman.”
They’d known about my first date with him. Hell, the whole world had known.
Dad’s head whipped around. “Really? When?”
“Saturday.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Huh. I don’t know whether to be impressed or worried.”
“Why worried?”
“He’s a man.”
I laughed. “You’d rather I date women?”
“Jesus, Jordyn, no. I mean, if you wanted to, we’d be okay with that. Oh, you know what I meant.”
I bumped his arm with my shoulder. “I don’t want to date women. And you don’t have to worry about Chase. He’s a gentleman.”
“Good to know. Are you seeing him again?”
“Yeah, next week.”
“So is this…serious?”
“No.” I answered that immediately. How could it be serious? Two dates couldn’t be serious. Not even three dates could be serious. This was just some happy times to cheer us both up as we struggled in our careers. Eventually it would end—I’d recover and go back to L.A. He’d figure out what was wrong with his game and move on. “Not serious.”
“Okay.”
I watched Chase throughout the game, which sometimes meant I missed other things, like the first goal of the game scored by Vancouver. And when Duncan Armstrong took a penalty. I managed not to cheer when Aces captain Marc Dupuis scored the first Aces goal but I still jumped to my feet and threw my arms into the air, then clapped wildly.
I watched as Chase took possession of the puck and skated toward the Vancouver goal. “Holy shit!” I clapped my hands over my mouth watching him dangle twice, moving the puck around two defenders with sweet moves to go in all alone on the Vancouver goalie. He snapped the puck toward the net. But the shot was weak, and the netminder easily stopped it.
Bad enough that he hadn’t scored, but I was even more dismayed when Chase bent over as if he was in pain. He headed to the bench at the whistle, skating slowly and shaking out his hand.
I bit my lip. Had he hurt himself? That hadn’t looked like a particularly dangerous play.
He actually went down the tunnel behind the bench, which made me more anxious. Was there something really wrong? I was distracted by keeping an eye out for him to return. Finally he did, sitting on the bench. I watched him say something to the player beside him.
He came back on the ice next shift, but the rest of the game he didn’t seem to be playing as aggressively as he usually did. I hated the way my stomach felt, knotted and rigid.
The Aces lost, three–two, dejected players leaving the ice as soon as the final horn sounded. Many of the fans had already left, but my dad and I had never done that. We always stayed to the end of the game. I was disappointed at the loss. But more than that, I was worried about Chase.
Chapter 12
Chase
“Do you have a passport?” I stood at the window of my condo talking to Jordyn on the phone the next day.
“What? A passport? Why?”
“You have one?”
“Um, yeah.”
“A bikini?”
“I have several.”
“Excellent. Pack those and a bottle of sunscreen for our next date.”
“What?”
“We’re going to Aruba.”
“What?”
He laughed. “Aruba, baby. I have five days off. It’s our bye week. Lots of guys are going away, taking their kids to Disney World, some of the single guys are going to Cancun. I thought it would be cool for you and me to go away. It’s four nights.”
“Oh my God, that’s crazy!”
“Yeah, it kind of is. But why not? I have the time off. You don’t have anything keeping you here. Right?”
“Riiiight…” She was thinking about it, obviously. “Okay! I can’t believe we’re doing this!”
My smile just about split my face. “Don’t ever say I don’t give good date.”
“You give the best date. What do I need to do?”
“Nothing. I’ll take care of it all.”
“This is crazy. I love it.”
“Good.”
Christ, I couldn’t wait to get her all to myself in a hotel room for four nights. This was going to be epic.
“You looked like you hurt yourself in the game last night.”
I froze. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. “I’m fine. Tweaked my wrist a bit.” I was lying. When I’d taken that wrist shot last night, something had snapped in my wrist. It had hurt like a motherfucker. It had been better since that cortisone injection, until last night. They’d taped me up and I’d finished the game, but with less motion and pain in my wrist, I’d played shitty.
Again.
Now they were sending me for an MRI to see if there was something that hadn’t shown up on the X-ray. And another cortisone shot.
“You didn’t look fine. I was worried about you.”
“Things like that happen all the time during a game.”
Her silence told me she was unconvinced.
“I play again tomorrow night,” I said. “Then I have five days of
f. As long as you don’t make me carry you around, a few days’ rest will be good for my wrist and I’ll be fine.”
“I think I’ll be able to manage walking.”
I grinned. “We’re good then.”
“Where are we staying there? I want to look it up.”
I gave her the name of the resort. “I’ll pick you up Tuesday morning at seven. Bring some things to keep you occupied on the flight. And warm-weather clothes in your carry-on. You can change on the flight there.”
After we were done talking, I set down my phone and held out my arm. I rotated my wrist. It was fine. Fucking weird. Hopefully it would stay fine for the game tomorrow. This sucked so bad, never knowing when it was going to hurt, affecting my play.
It took a lot of joy out of playing hockey, something I’d loved nearly my whole life. Which dragged my mood down even more. Hockey was my life. If I didn’t enjoy playing it anymore, what would be left for me?
Jesus. That was really depressing. I’d be fucking nobody without hockey.
I rubbed my face. This wasn’t supposed to be happening to me. I was a top draft pick. I knew I had the talent to be a top player in the league. I hated this feeling of being helpless. Anger flared hot in my gut. I had to get control of myself and not let this take over my life.
I inhaled a deep breath and held it. What I’d said to Jordyn was true…five days off would help. After some R&R in the Caribbean sun, I’d be good as new by the time we got back Saturday night.
* * *
—
Jordyn’s condo was cute and funky, like her. The building might have been old, but her unit had been all renovated. It was a lot smaller than my place, but it was cozier. I liked the black lacquered doors and the zebra-print chair with gold arms in the small foyer. In the living room, the rug on the floor was charcoal gray with white stars, the furniture a combination of a new comfortable-looking gray sofa and loveseat, and antiques including two more zebra chairs, a brass and glass coffee table, and an oak dresser loaded with framed pictures. In the far corner of the room near the window sat a black grand piano.
Playing Hurt Page 10