“You want to buy my house?”
I can’t tell by her tone if she likes this idea or not. When she stands up and walks to Christmas tree, I start to feel panic bloom in my gut.
“Yeah,” I say, and shrug like it’s no big deal. I stand and walk up behind her. “I mean, it’s near Dev’s new place, it’s big enough. It needs some renovations, like a new kitchen, and I’d add a bathroom to the master. Oh, and I would totally get rid of that heinous Pepto color in your room. But, yeah. I like the place. I want to buy it.”
She turns to face me. Her pretty features are twisted into a mask that’s equal parts confusion and shock. She shakes her head, then she smiles—then she shakes her head again.
“It would be weird,” she confesses quietly, her eyes on the floor between us.
“What’s weird about it?” I ask, worried that she’s going to say no. “I’ll pay fair market value.”
Jessie walks over to one of the windows that faces the front porch and stares out. “So what? You’re just going to…live here? Like your summer bachelor pad or something?”
I can tell by the way she says “bachelor pad” that she’s thinking of me bringing girls back to her house. I want to tell her that the only reason I want her house is because I want her to live in it with me when I come home for the offseason. Not random girls, just her. But that’s too much honesty for her to handle right now. Plus, I promised to be her friend, and that’s not a friend thing to say. So I keep my response light. “I just want a place to live that doesn’t involve my relatives. And if I buy it, you and your sisters can crash here anytime.”
“Jordy, it’s a dump,” she whispers, and an embarrassed flush crawls up her cheeks. “Lily never maintained it. The roof leaks and the plumbing sucks. And it’s not very big. You could buy something much nicer. Or build something new.”
“I don’t want new,” I say firmly. “I want old. I like old. Old has character. Old has history. It feels right.”
I catch her reflection in the window. She holds my eye for a long, hesitant moment. I hope she’s contemplating the meaning of my words. I hope she knows I’m not talking about the hundred-year-old farmhouse.
“I guess it would be cool to know it went to someone we know,” she muses, her back still to me so I can’t read her expression.
I stand up and walk over to her. She turns around and seems shocked that now I’m standing right there. She looks up at me, her eyes sweeping slowly over my chest, neck and face before they lock with my stare.
“Well, think it over. There’s no rush or anything. Talk to Rosie and Callie,” I say, and rub her shoulders. “I won’t buy anything else until you decide.”
“Okay, sure,” she says, equally as casually. “I’ll run it by them after Christmas and everything. Ultimately, if they’re okay with it, I’ll be okay with it.”
“I should get going.”
She follows me to the front door where she leans against the kitchen counter—the one I first kissed her on—and stares at me, arms crossed over her chest. God, she’s fucking beautiful.
I step forward, uncross her arms and pull her into a hug. “Night, Jessie.”
“Night, Jordy.”
She’s so warm and soft in my arms. I love how she feels, so I keep one arm around her back, to keep her close while I reach up and take my cap off her head with the other. She tilts her head and looks up at me with a soft smile. Impulsively, I kiss her forehead, pressing my lips softly to her skin for a long moment.
Just as I start to slowly pull back, I feel her shift. She gently, almost unnoticeably, shifts her weight to the balls of her bare feet and pushes up, making herself taller. Her cheek is next to my lips now. If she tilts her head just a fraction of an inch…Jessie tilts her head just a fraction of an inch.
The sound of footsteps bounding down the stairs fills the room, and I step back as Jessie drops her arms from my neck and turns away. Callie walks into the kitchen in red flannel pajamas with cats in Santa hats all over them. She looks from me to Jessie and then rolls her eyes and continues on to the fridge.
“See you tomorrow,” I call, and head out into the snowy night. The cold air envelops me and calms the fire coursing through my veins.
Friendship, I tell myself. Friendship isn’t supposed to light your insides on fire and make your dick throb in your pants. Get it together, Garrison.
Chapter 26
Jessie
After parking the truck at the curb in front of the Garrison house, we follow the shoveled path around the side of the house. There, in the backyard, are the battered boards for the old skating rink that Devin, Jordan and Cole grew up practicing on.
It was a treat. Wyatt hadn’t put the rink up for a few years, since the boys were gone all winter and Cole didn’t skate anymore. I was so excited when Jordan mentioned last night that we should bring our skates today.
Wyatt sees us first and waves. “Caplan girls are here! Now it’s officially Christmas!”
I feel a swell in my heart that gets even bigger as everyone yells welcomes and Jordan grins at me like a big goofball. We all quickly lace up and then hit the rink.
Devin is at one end of the ice, bent over with his hands hooked under the armpits of the snowsuit of his son, Conner. Conner, on his first set of skates, is the most adorable thing I have ever seen.
Ashleigh and Leah are skating backward in front of the duo, clapping and cheering for the little rugrat. The blond munchkin is grinning from ear to ear. Donna is just outside the rink recording the whole adventure on her phone.
Cole and Luc are at the other end of the ice with hockey sticks trying to steal the puck from each other. Rose skates over to them and does a delicate, graceful spin.
“No figure skating allowed. This is a hockey rink,” Luc warns her gruffly, but he’s smiling brighter than the sun as he wraps an arm around her neck and pulls her in for a rough, loving hug.
I skate over to Jordan who is standing mid-boards looking helpless. Because of his hand, all he can do is skate—no stick and no roughhousing for him. I do my best boy-style stop, snow flying up at his shins. I’m actually impressed I can still do that without falling on my ass.
He reaches down and hugs me, lifting me off my skates, and whispers in my ear, “Merry Christmas.”
I ignore the delicious shiver running down my spine. “You too, Jordy.”
We play an impromptu game of hockey with Rose, Devin and Leah on one team and Luc, Callie, Cole and Ashleigh on the other. Jordan sits with Conner on his lap in the corner of the rink, and they cheer us on.
I can’t stop staring at the sight. Jordan is still so similar to the sweet, goofy preteen I first met with his long limbs and yellow-blond mop and happy blue eyes—but now he’s got stubble growing over his chiseled cleft chin, proving he’s no longer a boy. Now he’s a man with a tow-headed, smiling toddler curled into his chest. The image is crushingly sexy. I can’t believe how it inexplicably turns me on.
Donna calls us in for dinner at four and, thankfully, Ashleigh skates over and swoops up her child, allowing me to shove away that beautiful image of Jordan with a child and the forbidden thoughts it encourages. Thoughts that do nothing to help me forget that I totally almost kissed him last night.
We pile into the modest dining room with the antique oak table and cram ourselves in around it. Dinner is a feast: mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, broccoli, cranberries, gravy and a giant turkey cooked to a golden color. I shamelessly stuff myself. We all do. And there’s so much laughter. Everyone is so happy. God, I missed this so much.
Rose looks positively euphoric as she sits beside Luc, laughing at something Wyatt said. Donna is beaming as she impulsively kisses the side of Jordan’s head while she reaches for the gravy. Even Callie is grinning as she tells Leah some story about a commercial she worked on.
I glance up at Jordan sitting beside me as he shovels some mashed potatoes off my plate and into his mouth. He always used to do that—just eat
off my plate, even though his plate had plenty of food.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. He looks confused. “For letting me have this again.”
A serious, almost sad expression flickers across his face and then he reaches out, wrapping his long arm around my shoulders, and squeezes.
“Thank you for wanting it back.” He presses his lips to the top of my head. It’s a brotherly gesture but still makes desire spark inside me.
Inwardly, I chastise myself.
After dinner, Ashleigh puts Conner down for the night and we all settle into the living room for board games. This has always been a tradition, but now that we’re adults it involves drinking. We start with Jenga but Luc keeps losing. For a guy with such smooth hands on the ice, he’s a complete klutz off it. We move on to an old high school favorite—Cranium.
We take a break halfway through Team Jordan and Jessie kicking every other team’s collective asses to refresh everyone’s beverages. Donna and Wyatt announce they’re exhausted and going to bed.
I head to the kitchen with Jordan and Callie, where we all watch my sister put her bartending skills to use with Donna’s blender.
“Where did Cole and Leah go?” Rose asks, wandering in with Luc behind her.
“Off for a quickie?” Luc suggests, prompting Rose to smack him in the chest.
“He took Leah out to the rink,” Devin says, pointing to the window above the sink that faces the backyard.
I glance out the window and see two parka-clad figures moving cautiously out to center ice in their snow boots.
“What on earth is he doing?” Callie questions but before anyone can answer, Cole is lowering himself to the ice—on one knee.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” Rose starts chanting excitedly.
“No fucking way!” Jordan breathes, clearly shocked.
I glance at Devin and Ashleigh, who are both smiling knowingly.
“Donna!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “You need to get out here!”
Donna’s bathrobe is tied tight around her as she comes charging in, demanding to know where the fire is. I point out the window just as Cole slides a ring on Leah’s finger and Leah squeals joyfully.
The room erupts in cheers. Donna fights tears. She knows better than to cry in front of her boys—they’re not comfortable with it. Wyatt joins us as Cole and Leah come back in, and he rushes to the garage for a bottle of champagne he was saving for the next Stanley Cup winner.
The next few hours are full of bubbly and laughter.
Ashleigh and Devin are the first to head to bed, knowing Conner will wake them up early. Wyatt and Donna follow soon after as Cole takes Leah home and declares he’ll be staying there. Jordan puts Luc to bed because he’s completely sloshed.
We’re in no condition to drive home either, so Callie and Rose grab sleeping bags from the hall closet and head down to the den.
I gather the last of the champagne glasses from the living room and decide to give them a quick wash before I head down to the den so Donna has one less thing to do tomorrow.
I’m carefully placing a glass on the drying rack when a sliver of light appears in the hallway. Jordan’s childhood bedroom door creaks open. I glance up to see Jordan padding down the hall in nothing but a pair of navy blue flannel pajama pants.
“Water,” he says, smiling slightly.
I watch him make his way to the fridge, taking in his body. It’s quite the sight with all that perfect porcelain skin wrapped around tight, hard, lean muscle. He takes the Brita pitcher out of the fridge and then turns back to me. I blink and give my head a small shake.
“Hangover prevention,” he explains, holding up the pitcher.
“Ah,” I say, trying as hard as I can to look at anything other than his smooth, muscled chest. Or at his toned shoulders and arms, which have always been my favorite physical part of him.
He walks right up to me, standing only a few inches away. I can feel the heat from his bare skin through the fabric of my sweater. I tilt my head up as he reaches behind me with one of his impossibly long arms and pulls out two glasses from the cupboard above my head. Still smiling his lopsided, dimpled smile, he places the glasses on the counter to my left, then takes a small step in that direction to fill them both with water.
He hands me one of the glasses. Our fingers brush and I feel a tingle shoot up my spine as my belly clenches. I take a big gulp, almost choking. I’m suddenly feeling completely out of sorts—sure, I’ve had a couple of daiquiris and a glass of champagne, but I don’t think this feeling is from the alcohol.
I put the water glass down next to the sink and turn back to the last champagne flute. Jordan jumps up and sits on the counter beside the dish rack.
“So, Cole and Leah,” he says, and sips his water. “Another one bites the dust.”
I laugh. “Those two have been in love since they were sixteen. It makes perfect sense.”
I place the flute in the dish rack and look up to find him staring at me with really intense eyes. I have a feeling I look the exact same way. The air in the room feels thick and heavy all of a sudden. I avert my eyes and notice he’s flexing and unflexing his hand.
I reach out and touch it tentatively. “Is it still sore?”
He nods wordlessly. I carefully remove his tensor bandage and turn his big mitt so the palm is facing up. I start to massage him gently. His eyes close and he sighs.
I work diligently on his thumb joints and the pad of his hand and then move to the fingers. I’m swiftly slammed with the memory of how those fingers felt inside me so many years ago. Not just the pleasure of it but the comfort of it—the way he felt so incredibly…right. All these years later, even after all the pain and drama, I still can’t forget that feeling…
“I don’t know how they did it,” I hear him say softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Did what?” I ask as I move my fingers to his wrist.
“How they didn’t fuck the whole thing up when they were teenagers.”
I realize he’s back to talking about Leah and Cole.
“I fucked it up,” he says.
My hands stop moving along his wrist. I stare at the soft blond hairs on his arm, unable to look up. I’m terrified I’m reading way too much into his words. I don’t want to look at him and have him see how hopeful I am. I don’t want to admit I’m hopeful.
I swallow and shrug, fighting to calm down the hormones raging in my body. “They really love each other. They just never forgot that, I guess.”
“But I really loved you,” he says in a voice so deep and angst-ridden I barely recognize it. “And I’ve never been able to forget it either.”
I watch as he wraps his fingers around my forearm and starts to pull me by it. I take a step and close the short distance until my body bumps the counter between his long legs.
Don’t look up at him, I warn myself. Don’t look up. Don’t look…
I look up.
He’s leaning forward. His face is inches from mine. And then it’s just…happening.
Jordan is kissing me.
The second his tongue pushes its way into my mouth, I whimper and my knees get weak and my heart explodes. I suddenly want him more than I even knew was humanly possible. I wrap my arms around his neck and tangle my fingers in his overgrown hair, holding onto to it. He stands, pushing his thick, hard body into the space between me and the counter. My whole body is pressed tightly against his; his bare skin is so warm, it’s making me dizzy.
His hands slide from my waist to my ass and he cups it, scooping me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the tip of his cock under the pajamas as it pushes against the denim covering the space between my legs.
And then he’s walking. My shoulder clips the doorframe as he moves us into the living room. He drops me down onto the couch and climbs on top of me. We’re dry humping wildly, like our lives depend on it. Our lips move over every piece of available skin. I kiss his neck, he licks at my earlobe, I suck on his collarb
one. He nips my jaw.
He pulls my sweater off my body and starts unbuttoning my jeans with his good hand.
I know we should talk. We should say something. Talk about what we’re doing and why we’re doing it and what it means. We should communicate, not fornicate. But all I want in the world right now—in the entire world—is for him to push himself inside of me. For him to own me like that again.
I start pushing down his pajama pants as his hand finds its way into the front of my jeans, sliding right into my underwear and then into me. I buck my hips and muffle a groan of pleasure into his shoulder. My hand is in his pants and I wrap it around his length. So long and hard—all because of me. He wants me again as much as I want him.
“Jessie,” he whispers against my lips, in the middle of a kiss.
“Please,” I whisper back, and he understands. He knows.
He pulls himself to a sitting position, his pajama bottoms still bunched at his bent knees. He yanks my jeans and underwear off in one forceful tug. The only light in the room is the twinkling, multicolored lights of the Christmas tree glowing in the corner by the fireplace. It’s enough that I can make out the hard-muscled edges of his beautiful pale skin and the perfect shape of his sizable length pointing toward the ceiling.
His eyes take in my naked body and he smiles down at me. He has that same mesmerized look he had so many years ago, but now it has a glimmer of something he didn’t have at eighteen—something voracious. Neither of us is an inexperienced, confused kid anymore. We know what we’re doing and how to do it. We know exactly what the consequences are this time, and we’re doing it anyway.
I reach up and wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him toward me. His body is heavy against me. If I had air in my lungs he’d have pushed it out, but I don’t think I’ve taken a breath since our lips met in the kitchen. He uses his forearms on either side of my head to pull himself upward, every part of him rubbing against every part of me.
One More Shot (Hometown Players #1) Page 19