by Sarina Bowen
It’s a good game. My whole family loves football—it’s our thing. I ruffle Jamie’s hair to console him over that awful play.
“Sit down,” my brother says, pointing at the obvious piece of furniture. The one I’ve been avoiding since I crossed their threshold. “The massage chair is awesome,” he adds.
Right.
I approach the chair the way I might approach a bloody crime scene—with both curiosity and discomfort. It still looks brand new, with buttery leather upholstery and a deep seat.
“Something wrong?” Jamie asks. He’s watching me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Not a thing!” I turn and sit on the edge of the chair. Actually, sit isn’t the right word. I perch one butt cheek on the edge of the cushion.
But the memory comes back, anyway. I was sleep deprived on that March day, and really stressed out. I’d taken the red-eye from San Francisco to Toronto to take care of Jamie the first time he’d been released from the hospital. When I’d knocked on the apartment door, Blake Riley had answered.
He and I had clashed immediately, fighting over every little thing—who would get Jamie’s glass of water, what we’d feed him for lunch. And the whole time I was all too aware of how gorgeous he was and how much space his muscular body took up in the room. It was too distracting, and I didn’t like it. I asked him to leave, but he refused, that dickhead.
After I tucked Jamie into bed to sleep off his illness, things got a little weird.
I sat down on the couch feeling teary. I was worried for Jamie, and anxious about a bunch of things in my life. My sister Tammy had just had a new baby. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend. And only a few weeks into my new career, I was already having second thoughts about party planning.
Tired and vulnerable, I’d sat there trying to disguise my unhappiness, surreptitiously wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my T-shirt.
Blake was onto me, though. And that dude is a lot like a big, drooly dog. Doesn’t matter if he just met you, he wants to lick your face and hump your leg. Three seconds after I started crying, he was clucking over me, bringing me a cup of water and dabbing my face with tissues.
When that didn’t work, he picked me up like I weighed as much as a throw pillow and scooped me into his lap. “Shhh,” he’d said. “J-Bomb is gonna be fine. He’s tough.”
I sniffled and pulled myself together. But the all-nighter I’d pulled to get to Toronto took its toll and made me unusually emotional. I told Blake all my problems. How I’d broken up with Raven because he’d been pushing for us to move in together and I couldn’t see that ever happening. How my career choices were always wrong.
“You are a big ol’ ball of stress, Jessie,” he’d informed me. “I have just the cure.”
“You do?”
“Scotch whiskey.”
As it happened, accepting a single tumbler of single-malt was a major tactical error.
I drank and watched a movie with Blake. I got sleepier and even more sentimental. Blake went to check on Jamie, returning to tell me that my brother was sleeping like a baby.
“He was such a cute baby,” I’d hiccupped into my glass. “I’ll never have babies because I can’t stick with a man for more than ten seconds.” The tears began to leak from my eyes again.
“Shhh,” Blake said again. “Time to call in the big guns.”
“What?”
“Try this,” he’d said, scooping me into the air. We landed a moment later on the massage chair. It was built for one, but Blake didn’t care. He reclined in the usual fashion, positioning me on his lap. “Here we go,” he said, his voice smokier than I wished it was. There was a click, and then the chair began to hum. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he’d drawled.
It was…different. A wave of harmony swept down my frame. Big hands landed on my shoulders and began to massage me.
“Aauuughhhg,” I moaned.
“I know, right? I think I need one of these in every room of my apartment.” He kissed the back of my head, and it didn’t even seem weird. My tired, tipsy eyes flickered over to the TV, where the movie we’d put on had advanced to a make-out session between the action hero and the starlet he was trying to protect from the mob. He pushed her down on the bed and climbed on her body.
“Ugh,” Blake grunted from behind me. He was watching the movie, too.
That’s when I realized his lap had firmed up. A lot.
Sitting here again six months later, my memory of that night seems a little questionable. Because the hard length that had been pressing against me in the chair had been so ridiculously sizable that it almost seemed impossible. From that moment on, I could think of nothing else. In fact, I’d arched my back a little just to see if it would still be there when I returned…
As I close my eyes to try to sink deeper into the memory, Jamie’s apartment door flies open, hitting the wall with a bang.
“Wesmie!” Blake calls out. “Whatcha watching?”
I leap to my feet as if the massage chair had just delivered an electric shock.
Blake stops, his body freezing into position in the doorway. “J-Babe. Welcome to Toronto.”
“Thanks,” I squeak. A glance at my brother and his husband calms me only a little. The game is back on, so they haven’t noticed my odd behavior. And Blake’s presence is so routine that they seem not to have registered him, either.
Blake stomps into the kitchen to toss the six-pack he’s brought onto the counter. He takes one of the beers, pops off the top and then crosses the room again.
I’m still standing in front of the chair like a dork.
He nudges me aside. Then he sits down in the chair, reaches down and slips the switch.
The hum of the chair makes goosebumps rise all over my body.
Blake looks up at me, an evil glint in his eye. Then he pats his massive thigh. “There’s room right here.”
Several parts of my body spasm at once, including my uncooperative mouth. “Graghhff,” I say as panic sets in. I lift my beer bottle to my lips and drain it.
When I check his face again, he’s watching me lick my lips, his lust-filled gaze aiming like a laser pointer at me.
“I gotta go,” I stammer.
“Aw, but I just got here.”
All the more reason to go.
I turn to my brother. “I have class at nine tomorrow. I should really get a good night’s sleep, you know, so I’m bright and bushy-tailed for my first day of school.” I give a half-hearted fist pump. “Yay school!”
Jamie stands up. “You’re going to do great, Jessie.” He slings an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the streetcar stop.”
Blake is on his feet in a heartbeat. “No need. I can drive you.”
No way. “No way.” Shit, did I say that out loud? At Blake’s hurt expression, and Jamie and Wes’s confused ones, I hasten to add, “I’ll be fine taking public transit. I don’t want to put you out.”
The seductive look he gives me says I can put him anywhere I want, any time, any place. Luckily, Jamie and Wes don’t see it, because they’re too busy looking at me. “I’d feel better if Blake drove you back to the dorm,” Jamie admits. “You’re not used to the transit system here yet, and it’s late.”
Blake walks over and claps Jamie’s back. “No worries, J-Bomb. I’ll make sure J-Babe gets home safe. I’ll even walk her all the way to her door.” He brightens. “We can do a buddy-system thing, holding hands and all that so we don’t get separated.”
I swallow a scream. “Don’t even think about holding my hand,” I grumble. “But fine, if you’re serious, then let’s go.”
He makes a grand gesture toward the door. “After you, milady.”
10 A Fox Not a Dog
Blake
“Cheezus, it’s just a ride home, Old Yeller. I’m not taking you out back to shoot you.”
Jess glares at me from the passenger seat. “Did you just call me old?”
Grinning, I start the engine and reverse out
of the underground parking spot. “So it’s okay to call you a dog, but it’s not cool if I say you’re old?”
“Because I know I’m not a dog,” she says haughtily. She winks at me. “I’m a fox.”
Hell yeah, she is. It was damn impossible to keep my tongue inside my mouth when I walked into Wesmie’s place and saw Jess Canning standing there in her tight jeans and low-cut tank. Her body is out of this fucking world.
“But you think you’re old?” I prompt.
“I am old.” Her expression darkens again, and I kind of wish I hadn’t revisited the age comment. “I’m a twenty-six-year-old freshman—I feel ancient.”
“Aw, honey, you’re not ancient.” I give her a very slow, very pointed onceover, making sure to stare extra long at the delectable tits that are practically pouring out of her top. “You’re the hottest freshman I know.”
Instead of thanking me, she shifts her gaze out the window. I can see the pout of her lips and the nervous set of her profile. “This car is such a gas guzzler,” she mutters. “Do you really need to drive this macho-mobile?”
Seriously? At six-five and two hundred and fifty pounds, I don’t fit comfortably in many vehicles. Even this Hummer is a wee bit cramped for my rockin’ physique. “Have you seen me? Oh wait—you have.” I give her a wink and she blushes.
My macho mobile emerges from the underground, and I steer onto the main street. Admittedly, the Hummy is like ten feet taller than all the other vehicles on the road. I like that, though. Makes me feel like a badass.
The hot blonde next to me, however… She makes me feel all of two feet tall. Seriously. She’s not good for my ego, this one. “You should’ve told me you were moving to the T-Dot.”
“It was last-minute,” she answers without looking over.
“So? Takes all of a second to shoot a text.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because we’re friends?”
“Are we?”
I smirk at her. “Would you rather I said ‘former lovers’? Or maybe soon-to-be-lovers-again?”
She smirks back. “In your dreams.”
“Fuck, yes. Absolutely in my dreams. The wet kind.” I reach over and cover her knee with my palm. “How about we make those dreams a reality?”
Jess flicks my hand away. “Do you ever give up?”
“I play hockey.”
“I didn’t ask what sport you play!”
“That’s the answer, though. Do I give up? Of course not. I’m a hockey player.”
She makes an unflattering noise under her breath, then jerks when the cup holder starts vibrating. Or rather, when my phone makes it vibrate.
“Check that for me, will ya?” I ask as I execute a miraculous lane change without smashing into any other cars. This Hummer wasn’t designed for the narrow streets of downtown Toronto.
“It’s a text. From…Brenna.” Jess puts on a high-pitched voice. “Blakey! I need that recipe for your famous Rippin’ Riley sangria!”
My sister doesn’t sound like that at all, but Jess doesn’t give me the chance to point that out. She just grumbles something else under her breath.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
The light at the intersection turns amber, and I slam my foot on the brakes harder than necessary, mostly because I want to stretch my arm out and across Jess’s chest to protect her from such an abrupt stop. An intentionally abrupt stop, but whatever.
“Oh my God! Did you just cop a feel?” she sputters.
“Of course.”
“Blake.”
I glance over. “What is it, baby?”
Aggravation flares in her brown eyes. “Don’t call me baby.”
“Okay, J-Babe.”
“Don’t call me that, either.” She thrusts both hands through her hair. “You know what? Pull over after this light.”
My dick does a happy dance against my zipper. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Not for that,” she screeches. “We…” She takes a deep breath. She seems to do that a lot when I’m around. I make her breathless. “We need to get a few things straight.”
Shit, I don’t like the sound of that. But I still do what she asks, pulling over the moment I see an empty stretch of curb. It’s a fire zone, so I leave the engine running in case we need to drive away quick-fast.
Jess starts saying ridiculous things the moment the car comes to a stop. “Here’s the situation, Blake. We’re not going out. We’re not having sex again. We’re not sexting or flirting or playing these weird games. We’re not anything, okay?”
“Are you playing hard to get?” I’m genuinely asking, because I’m genuinely not sure.
“No! I’m not! I—”
My phone buzzes again. “Hold that thought,” I cut in, because I see my sister’s name on the screen. Bethy, this time, reminding me that Brenna’s baby shower is coming up. Not that I’d forgotten—I’m about to become an uncle for the first time, and I’m totally pumped about it. My fingers are too big for this touch screen, so it takes longer than it should for me to text back a quick Duh. I’ll be there with bells on.
“Are you done?” Jess’s tone is lined with impatience.
“Sorry.” I drop the phone in the cup holder.
She takes another breath. “Look. I’m sorry I led you on at Jamie’s wedding. I shouldn’t have let you…uh…do stuff to me. It was good—”
“I do good work,” I say with a nod.
“—but it was a mistake.”
“Giving you orgasms is a mistake?”
“Yes, it is. Was. I won’t be falling into bed with you again, okay? I’m not in the right headspace to sleep with anyone right now. I’m starting a new school program. I’m in a new city I don’t know my way around yet. I need to buckle down and be serious for once in my life, and you, Blake, are not…um…”
“I’m not what? What’s so bad about hooking up with me again?” I challenge, just as my phone buzzes for a third time.
“Oh my God. Who is it now?” Jess snatches it from the cup holder, her lips tightening as she reads the message. “Britt wants to know if she can get an extra ticket for the next home game so she can bring her sorority sister Cassandra.” Growling, she slaps the phone in my hand. “That’s why I won’t hook up with you again. Three different chicks have texted you in the span of ten minutes! Three!”
I open my mouth to object, but she cuts me off again.
“You’re a player, Blake. You’re hands down the least serious person I’ve ever met in my life. You’re fun, I’ll give you that. But fun is the last thing I need at the moment. All I want to do is study my ass off and impress my instructors and keep my scholarship.”
Her little speech makes me bristle. Yeah, I get it. I’m fun. I like to laugh. I like to fuck. And why the hell not? Life is too damn short, and I want to enjoy every second that I have on this awesome planet. I want good food and fast hockey and hot girls and even hotter orgasms.
I tried the serious thing once before. I almost got married, and look where that almost got me. Serious is overrated.
Without a word, I move the gearshift and pull away from the curb.
“What, you’re mad at me now? Just because I was honest?”
“Honest?” I spare her a brief, smug look. “That wasn’t honesty, honey. That was you making excuses because you’re too freaked out by how much you want me. And PS? All those chicks who just texted? They’re my sisters, so you can retract those Jealous Jessie claws.”
Another glance reveals her expression to be a combo of frustration and sheepishness. “Your sisters?” she echoes dumbly.
“Yup. All three of them.”
“Brenna, Beth, Britt…and Blake. Did your parents stop watching Sesame Street after the letter B and didn’t realize there was more to the alphabet?”
I snicker. “That’s a good one. Remind me to tell it to my ma next time I see her.”
I turn left onto Jess’s new street, and she
directs me to a low-rise on our right. “Just park here,” she says. “This is my dorm.”
I give the building a quick appraisal. It’s made of red brick and looks bland as hell, but this area is safe and clean, so I approve. “I’ll walk you inside.” I move to flick the ignition.
“No, it’s okay.” She reaches for the door handle, then hesitates. With a sigh, she offers me a rueful look. “I’m sorry. That stuff I said about us not being friends. We are friends. You’re a good guy, Blake. Seriously. And now that I’m living in Toronto, I know we’ll probably end up seeing a lot of each other because of Wes and my brother. But it’s not going to lead to any sexy-times, okay? I meant it when I said I don’t have time for that. I…” She blows out a tired breath. “I need to focus. I really, really need to focus.”
Aw. I have a Stress Jess on my hands. That’s what’s really happening here. I’ve been accused of having a bulldozer approach, but even I know to not push a chick who’s so clearly on the ledge. I’ll have to de-stress her, obviously. Just not tonight.
“It’s fine,” I assure her. “You go ahead and focus on what you need to focus on.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. Focus away.”
Her hand moves to the door handle again.
“Oh, one other thing,” I say before she can go. “A minor thing, really, but we gotta be on the same page, right? I mean, I like hearing someone tell me when I’m wrong. Constructive criticism, you know?”
“What the heck are you talking about? Who’s wrong about what?”
“You, about, well, everything.” I grin at her. “We’re way more than friends, Jessie.”
“Blake—” She sounds exasperated.
“But no worries,” I finish breezily. “I’ll just sit tight until you figure that out.”
11 Cheezus
Blake
She hasn’t figured it out yet.
I was hoping it wouldn’t take long for Jess to acknowledge to herself how hot she is for me. A day, maybe day and a half, seems to be the right amount of time for such an easy thing to figure out. But it’s been four days since I dropped her off, and she hasn’t called or texted.