The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  The game is finished and I’m leaning up against the brick wall of the building opposite the locker room. I’m doing my best to appear unobtrusive and failing because of the damn skirt.

  My gaze is pinned to the locker room door. Even though I know Jordan’s not the type, I’m not willing to risk a change of mind and have her sneak out. She’s the last one to emerge. The moment I see her everything else fades. Her eyes lift, clear blue hitting mine. Pink tints her cheeks and a slow smile forms. It rocks me down to my toes. Fuck, but I don’t know how she undoes me this way. I unravel completely.

  I give her a small wave. It’s a casual gesture that hides the welling emotion. She starts toward me. She looks beautiful with her hair out. Shiny waves spill over her shoulders and down her back. A black sweater hugs her top half and form-fitting jeans encase her legs, hiding nothing. God willing, I’ll be peeling those off later tonight and sinking myself inside her.

  Jordan takes in my unchanged outfit as she gets closer and bites down on her bottom lip. “Ummm …”

  I have a change of clothes in the car, but it can’t hurt to tease her a little first. I run a hand up one thickly muscled thigh and the hem of my skirt lifts suggestively. Is there anything more attractive then the hairy leg of a man in women’s clothing? “You like?”

  A huff of laughter escapes her lips.

  “I’m very expensive.” I purse my lips and scan her body. “But for you, twenty dollars.”

  Jordan stops in front of me, brows high as she readjusts the heavy sports bag slung over her shoulder. “Are you hustling me?”

  I cock my head. “That depends.”

  “On?”

  I sweep a hand down over my body. “On whether you want this fine specimen of man taking care of you tonight.”

  Jordan’s lips part and she takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. There’s cockiness in her stance, and so much heat in her eyes it burns me to ash. “You plan on manhandling me?”

  My breath comes a little faster and heat tightens my groin. “I do.”

  Jordan leans closer and my mouth goes dry. “Good.”

  Our date is a blur. We talk and laugh, and we share a beer in celebration of Jordan’s win—an advancement into the semifinals next week. Pride swells in my chest over her talent. Jordan’s played a huge part in putting the Colton Bulls soccer team on the map this year. Her passion is appealing and so goddamn sexy. She glows with it. When our waiter comes to take our food order, I can’t drag my eyes from where she sits across from me. I simply tell him we’ll take a large pepperoni pizza “to go.” I want her to myself.

  We reach my car and I open the back door and toss the large box on the seat. It’s already forgotten when I slam the door closed and turn, finding Jordan right behind me on the sidewalk.

  She’s waiting for me to pounce. It’s my usual modus operandi with her. I can’t help it. Jordan brings out the caveman inside me, but this time it’s different. This time it feels so much more. Simply grabbing and taking feels wrong.

  I reach out, my palm gently cupping Jordan’s face. My fingers skim down her cheek, the whisper of a touch on her soft skin. She shivers visibly and let’s out a shaky breath. I can’t describe the craving in my chest right now. It’s so far beyond anything I’ve ever felt before that it’s an effort to go slow.

  “You’re extraordinary, Jordan Matilda Elliott,” I say quietly.

  Jordan chuckles lightly. “I try.”

  I know by her flippant tone that I’ve flustered her. Lighthearted humor is how she creates her little barriers when I’ve overwhelmed her. I like it. And I like that I see it for what it is, because it tells me I need to push a little harder rather than back away.

  “You don’t even need to try.” My hand slides around the back of her neck and tugs gently, bringing her face to mine. “You just are,” I say against her lips.

  My mouth brushes hers. She brings her hands between us, lightly fisting my shirt when I go to draw away. I’m pulled back and her lashes sweep upwards, her eyes wide and searching mine.

  Then Jordan does something that almost brings me to my knees. She wraps her arms around me and hugs me. I’ve grown up in a family where love and warmth is non-existent. Where emotional abuse and harsh words are an acceptable form of affection. How did Jordan know how much I needed this when even I didn’t know?

  Her lips brush my ear. “You are too, Brody.”

  My body begins to quake. I snake my arms around her lower back and hold on.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I bury my face in her neck and breathe deep, closing my eyes because I’m so in love with this girl I can’t even see straight. “If I wasn’t, I am now.”

  Eventually, I let her go so we can leave. When we’re inside the car driving to her apartment, I take her hand in mine. Linking our fingers, I rest them on my thigh and ask about her life in Australia.

  She turns her head to stare out the window. It’s a touchy subject. She misses home and Nicky, but I want to know everything. “Did you ride a kangaroo to school?”

  She groans and rolls her eyes.

  “I assume that’s a no?”

  “Despite what people might think, kangaroos don’t roam the streets willy nilly.”

  I laugh. “Of course they do. I saw it on the internet, so it must be true. And did you just say willy nilly? What does that even mean?”

  Jordan glances over at me, her lips twitching. “It means you won’t see them bounding across suburban streets when you’re out for a walk.”

  “Say no more. You’re ruining the fantasy,” I tell her, bringing her hand with me when I change gears. “So your brother. You said he’s in construction, right?”

  Jordan stiffens. I feel it when her hand tightens in mine. “He is.”

  “How did he get into that?”

  “Family friend,” she says.

  It’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I do. “Is that what he’s always wanted to do?”

  “No.” She pulls her hand from mine, withdrawing like a damn turtle back in its shell. “It’s not what he ever wanted to do.”

  Pulling into the parking lot, I apply the handbrake and switch off the ignition. It leaves nothing but heavy silence between us and a light ticking sound of the warm engine cooling down.

  “He was a better soccer player than I was.”

  I twist in my seat to look at her. “Was?”

  She swallows visibly, her eyes falling to where her hands fidget in her lap. “If my career was going to the stratosphere, his was going to the stars.” A tear rolls down her cheek and plops on to her jeans. Another one follows. She dashes it away with her palm before it falls.

  I feel it. Her distress. It squeezes my chest, and now I’m angry with myself for pushing too hard. How are you supposed to get the balance right?

  Yanking out the keys, I get out of the car. Walking around the back, I reach the passenger door and open it. “Jordan.”

  Her lips are a tight white line that trembles. She shakes her head and I know speaking right now is too much.

  “Baby,” I whisper. Taking both her hands I pull her from the car and fold her in my arms. I can only hope it offers her the same comfort it does for me, because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how long we stay like that, with Jordan crushed to my chest. A minute. An eternity. All I know is that I’ll never tire of holding her this way.

  “He was driving the car,” she eventually says, her voice muffled because her face is buried in my neck.

  The car? For a moment I don’t get it, and then the light goes on.

  “We were only sixteen, not long having had our learners permits. Nicky loved driving. He pestered our parents all the time to go. It was night when it happened, and the streets quieter then. Mom decided to go with them last minute. She needed something from the store. I can’t even remember what, but I remember her picking up her purse, joking that dad would get the wrong thing like he always does.” Jordan takes a
deep, shaky breath but keeps her head buried. “Another car barreled straight through an intersection and slammed into the passenger side. My parents were killed instantly. Nicky’s left leg was broken in three different places. Otherwise he was okay, physically. But he was trapped in the car. Nicky couldn’t move.” The absolute horror of what her brother went through sickens me. Jordan burrows in further and my arms around her tighten. “He was stuck in that damn car and couldn’t do anything.”

  Apologies feel useless right now, but it’s all I have to offer. “I’m so sorry.”

  Jordan pushes from my embrace. Her head is downcast as she wipes her face. “It was five years ago.” She shrugs and finally looks at me. “You think it would hurt less by now, but Nicky … His leg healed, but not his heart. We never had much, not even insurance, so he gave up soccer. School too. He took the construction job so he could take care of the both of us.”

  Respect for her brother hits me hard. The inner strength it would take to give up your dream and hand it over to someone else. That’s not huge. It’s enormous. And now Jordan’s doing everything she can to be worth the sacrifice. My lips graze her forehead.

  Jordan lets out a shaky breath and lifts her chin. “Will you come up?”

  A faint smile reaches my lips. “Don’t expect me to say no.”

  When we reach her room, I have a plan. Slow and tender. But Jordan blows it out of the water. She shuts the bedroom door behind us and peels away her sweater. She comes at me, unfastening the back hook of her bra and flinging it away. At the same time, she splays a hand against my chest and shoves. It’s not enough to push me down, but I get the hint and sink to the edge of the bed.

  “I thought you wanted to be manhandled?”

  “I do,” she says, tugging her jeans down. It’s an effort, one I’m thoroughly enjoying watching. Peeling one leg off of her right foot, Jordan goes for the other and pitches forward.

  We fall back on the bed with her landing on top of me. Before I can grab skin, she’s rolling off, panting as she pulls the other leg over her foot and throws her jeans to the floor.

  My cock is already hard. She’s driving me insane and all she’s done is rip her clothes off like a maniac.

  “What’s this?” I ask, taking in her black lace panties—what little there is of them. It’s not her usual practical attire. The little black scrap is provocative and indecent. It sets my pulse skyrocketing, but it’s anger that drives my next question. “Have you worn these for anyone else?”

  Jordan pauses at my tone and looks at me. “What?”

  The sudden surge of anger is irrational, but I can’t seem to get a handle on it. “You heard me.”

  “Brody,” she breathes. Untangling her long legs, she gets up off the bed. Her black sweater is half hanging from the bedside table. She picks it up and shrugs it back on.

  My fisted hands rest on my knees, knuckles white. Sweat dots my brow and my heart is pounding a hard unnatural beat. What the fucking hell is wrong with me? “I’m sorry.”

  Jordan

  Brody’s jealous outburst is like icy water dashed in my face. I turn and look at him. His head is downcast and jaw tight. I don’t understand his anger. No, I haven’t worn this underwear for anyone else, not that I’m telling him that because it shouldn’t matter. In actual fact, the bra and panties are new, and the guilt from the reckless purchase left me sick. My pillaged bank account was left devastated, but I told myself it would be worth it to see Brody’s face.

  Brilliant plan, Jordan, I snort to myself.

  Not that I expected this reaction. I should have. Lately, when I expect Brody to go right, he goes left. Down? He goes up. The unpredictability is insane.

  “Save it,” I tell him.

  Yanking on the handle, I throw the bedroom door open and stomp toward the kitchen, my heart pounding a furious beat. I’m only in my sweater and tiny scrap of black lace, but it doesn’t matter because Leah is at Hayden’s apartment tonight.

  “Jordan,” Brody calls out and follows behind me.

  My eyes land on the pizza box we set on the kitchen counter earlier. Perfect. That’s exactly what I need right now—carbs and calories. Ripping open the kitchen cupboard, I grab plates. They make a loud, satisfying clank when I dump them on the counter.

  “Jordan, I’m sorry,” Brody implores from behind me.

  “I heard you the first time,” I tell him, my voice terse as I rummage for paper napkins. I’m not sure we have any. Hayden goes through them like candy because he never stops eating. It stupidly fuels my anger. I spin around hard. “Maybe you shouldn’t waste your apologies. At the rate you’re burning through them, you’ll have none left soon.”

  Brody flinches at my snide tone. I barely notice. I want to throw the entire pizza box at his head, delicious carbs be damned. I don’t. Coming from a family that’s never had much, the idea of wasting food makes my toes curl.

  “Are you going to start trying to control everything I wear from now on? Because if you’re going to be a jealous dick all the time, I’d really like a heads-up on that.”

  “Shit, Jordan.” He rakes fingers through his hair, leaving it in messy tufts on his head. “No. I would never do that. I love you in anything you wear. And those panties …” He exhales audibly, waving a hand at them as if he has no idea what to say. “I am a jealous dick. The thought of another guy seeing you the way I do makes me see red.”

  This argument is as ridiculous as his outburst. “I don’t plan on any other guy seeing me this way!”

  We stare at each other for a beat of silence. After a moment, Brody ducks his head. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes, a stupid grin pulling at his cheeks. “You don’t?”

  Damn him. “No!”

  Brody takes a step toward me. His eyes fall to my mouth, and down lower. I take a step back. My lower back presses into the counter behind me. There’s no more room for me to move.

  “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he says.

  The acute relief in his voice deflates my anger like a limp balloon. It annoys me because I want to be angry. I want to make him work for my forgiveness, but how can I when all he has to do is smile like that to get it?

  Brody takes two more slow, deliberate steps forward, his eyes holding mine, using them to pin me in place. It ramps up my pulse. I’m being stalked. “Let me make it up to you.”

  I don’t need to ask how. Brody’s intent is written all over his face. The way he looks at me, like nothing else exists for him, sets off a heavy, pulsing ache between my legs. My body responds to him so easily, and it’s scary. I want him, but I never expected this level of need. This thing between us is a freight train. Nothing seems able to stop it. Not me. Not him. Maybe not even distance.

  I barely process the thought with Brody now standing in my space, his wide shoulders crowding me. His massive hands settle on my hips.

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

  “Let me.”

  One of his palms slides around my belly and down, gliding lower until he’s cupping me over my panties. He rubs his whole hand between my legs, back and forth, back and forth, a slow steady rhythm designed to send me mad.

  Brody’s chest expands as he breathes in deep through his nose, keeping himself in check. His eyes are watching me, reading my reaction.

  My lips part and a small moan escapes. Touch me. God. Please.

  That’s all it takes.

  He wrenches my panties aside, and a thick finger glides through the slick, swollen heat of me.

  “Fuck.” His exhale is harsh and he groans. “Jordan.”

  The relief from his touch is instantaneous. Yes. God, thank you. But it’s not enough. My hips rock forward, a silent demand for more. His lips land on mine, tongue thrusting inside my mouth at the same time his finger pushes inside me.

  The invasion forces a pleasured whimper from my throat. Brody swallows the sound, kissing me so hard it almost hurts. My hands grab his shoulders, holding on before I buckle b
eneath the pressure.

  He draws back, panting, long enough to rasp, “Your sweater. Get it off.”

  I barely get it past my shoulders when his mouth latches onto my nipple. Brody sucks it deep in his mouth, all the while his finger keeps up its steady assault, plunging inside and then pulling out to stroke over my clit, again and again. My breath hitches at the relentless onslaught. I wrench the sweater over my head and it drops to the floor, already forgotten when he picks me up and sets me on the counter.

  “Oh god,” I gasp as he sucks open, wet kisses down my belly.

  Brody drops lower, spreading my thighs wide. His gaze settles between my legs and he bites down on his lip.

  I squirm. “Brody. Please.”

  His eyes lift, lust-filled and dark. They hold mine as he takes the thin, elastic strap of my panties in his fists and drags them down and off. His eyes drop. I’m completely exposed, wearing nothing while he’s still fully dressed. I don’t care. I need him, any which way he wants to give himself to me.

  Brody dips further down, between my thighs. Rough palms glide along my outer legs. He urges them over his broad shoulders. I comply, squealing when he grabs hold of my waist and stands. His strength is immense, each defined muscle bunching tight as he takes my weight.

  My ankles lock around him, my thighs bracketing either side of his head. I dig my fingers into his hair, clinging unsteadily on his shoulders. Right before I think I’m about to pitch to the floor, he turns and shoves my back against the high kitchen cupboards behind me, his breath warm and harsh on my clit.

  “I want to eat you every which way, Jordan,” he tells me in a tone that leaves no doubt he means what he says. A single moment later he strokes me with the flat of his tongue. I moan long and hard, my head falling back and hitting the cabinet with a thunk. “Oh god.”

  My hands shift to his shoulders. The rounded muscles are solid and thick beneath my grasp—straining. My fingers dig in hard and he grunts a sound of pleasure as his tongue plunges deeper inside me.

  I know I’m safe—Brody’s hands on me are hard and secure, yet I still feel dizzy and overheated. My head is near the ceiling and my heart pounds feverishly. My gasps and moans get louder and closer together as his mouth feasts on me, his tongue lapping steadily as my orgasm approaches.