“What are you sorry about? I’m the one who took him there.”
“He’s my dog. He doesn’t usually pee in other people’s houses.”
“It was a tree. He pees on trees.”
“Well, yeah. But still. Oh, Byron.”
He looks back at me with big, sad eyes.
“Yeah, I know, you’re not feeling well. You did that to yourself, you rascal.” I stroke his fur again.
“How was your Christmas?” JP reaches out and takes my free hand. “Did you have fun with your sister?”
“Yes! And the munchkins. I have pictures.” I jump up to grab my phone and show him all the pics I took. I scroll through them quickly, not wanting to bore him, but he stops me a few times and asks questions, wanting to know which little girl is Penelope and which is Mia. There are even a few of me with the nieces that Dad took using my phone, and a selfie I took with Amy, heads together, big smiles.
“You two look alike.”
“Yeah, apparently we do.” I set down the phone. “It was great to spend some time with them. Amy and I managed to get a little alone time so we could talk about Mom and Dad. And you.”
“Me?”
I smile and smooch his lips. “Of course you. I missed you.”
“Mmm.” He kisses me again. “Missed you too, Sunshine. Although I was pretty traumafied last night, thinking that I’d killed your dog.”
“Traumafied?”
“Yes.” His lips twitch. “Seriously, I think I would have packed up and emigrated to Kazakhstan if he didn’t make it. I could never face you again.”
“Oh.” My heart squeezes, both at the thought of Byron so sick and JP being so…“traumafied.” “Are you…going to miss Byron?”
He frowns and doesn’t immediately answer. “Maybe.”
I give his broad chest a little shove. “Yes, you are. You love him.”
“Eh. I’m kind of used to having him around now.”
I can’t stop my smile. He does love Byron. Look how upset he is about Byron being sick. “When Dad reminded me that he’ll be able to take him again, I realized that I’m going to miss him too. This house he’s looking at is in Mar Vista, which isn’t that close. But, Dad misses him now, so…”
“Hmm. We may have a custody battle on our hands.”
I laugh, but it’s not really funny.
I want to tell him how I feel about him. I’m bursting with it, bursting with love and affection for him…also lust. Maybe I can show him how I feel about him…
I shift so I can kiss him, my mouth lingering on his. He makes a happy noise, his hand coming up to cup the back of my head. He tilts his head and kisses me back, deeper, his tongue sliding into my mouth.
“Missed you, Sunshine.”
“Missed you too, Killer.”
I feel his smile before he kisses me once more, lifting me onto his lap. His hands slide under my sweater and my skin reacts, tingling everywhere. My belly flips and my breasts ache where I press them against his chest.
I want to feel his skin too. I slide off his lap, off the couch, and onto my knees between his thighs. I skate my hands up under his tee, enjoying the ridges of his abs, the firmness of his pecs. I brush over his nipples and he groans. Leaning lower, I press a kiss to his stomach, a slow, open-mouthed kiss, letting my tongue brush there. I kiss him again, working open the button of his jeans.
His cock is hard and straining behind his fly. I press there before I undo the zipper, and JP makes another low noise of pleasure. I kiss the soft skin I reveal as I lower the zipper and part his jeans. “I love this place on a man.”
His hand is gentle in my hair. “What place? My dick?”
“Well, yeah, that too. But this place…” I tug the elastic of his boxer briefs lower. The head of his cock is already poking above them and it springs up. I wrap a hand around his shaft and move it so I can kiss him below his navel. “Right here.” I lick him there. “It’s so soft and sensitive and…low enough to hint at what’s beneath it…” I trace my tongue over the trail of dark hair, then kiss lower and lower, until my lips meet the neat thatch of dark hair.
“Christ.” Now both his hands are in in my hair.
I curve my hands over the square, masculine bones of his hips, so different from mine, then nuzzle his groin, nipping at the thin skin with my lips, teasing him by kissing and licking all around his cock. His hips lift, his body hot and trembling, and finally I kiss the head of his cock. My tongue laps delicately, still taunting him. His fingers tighten on my skull, but he’s not pressing me to do more than I want.
“That feels so good.” He lets out a rumbling groan. “Please…suck me.”
“Mmm.” I want to. I open my mouth and take him in, swirling my tongue around to get him wet and slippery so my lips glide over satiny flesh. Smooth and hard, I love the feel of him filling my mouth, the weight of him on my tongue, the male essence of him tantalizing my taste buds and filling my head with his scent.
It’s heady and wild, making me so wet and aching.
He releases me to shove his jeans lower and now I can access his balls. I cup them tenderly, sliding my mouth up and down.
“Is it weird doing this in front of Byron?” he chokes out.
I lift my head and meet his eyes, smiling. “You want me to stop?”
“Fuck no.”
“He’s a dog. And he’s asleep.”
I resume my blow job, relishing everything about it until JP’s body tenses. His hands are back in my hair and he holds me up off him. “Gonna come, baby.”
“Good.” And I suck him more, and more, faster, clasping the base of his cock tighter, until he shouts as he releases in my mouth. I swallow him down, savoring him, so turned on I could almost come myself.
He hauls me up on top of him, his hands shaking, his breathing fast and ragged. “Jesus. I love that.”
“Good.” I kiss his cheek.
He returns the favor by carrying me into his bedroom, stripping me out of my clothes and worshiping my body from head to toe, eventually focusing on where I need him most…his lips and tongue gliding and sucking, his big hands cradling my butt and holding my pussy to his face. Sensation slides down my legs, weakening them, and coiling heat spirals up inside me until I burst into a million pieces of light and heat.
* * *
—
Much later, we’re nestled in his bed, even though it’s only seven o’clock. I don’t have to work tomorrow. We just ordered in food, though it’s not here yet, and checked on Byron, who’s doing fine.
“I know you’re beating yourself up over what happened with Byron.”
He sighs. “Yeah.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Okay.”
“Seriously.” I shift and prop myself up on an elbow to look at him. His gaze drops to my bare breasts. I smile. “You keep doing that. Remember what Arya says in yoga class?”
His eyebrows pull together. “What?”
“About being nonjudgmental. Including toward ourselves. You’re too hard on yourself when you screw up. That causes you stress you don’t need.”
He gazes back at me. “You’re right.”
“I do it too,” I confess. “That’s why I didn’t want anything to do with you after the wedding.”
His forehead creases. “What were you beating yourself up over? I thought you were pissed at me for getting in a fight.”
“I felt like the fight was my fault.” I bite my lower lip. I still feel guilty about that, even though it was Manny who instigated things.
“How was it your fault? You said you weren’t with Martinez then.”
“I wasn’t. But…he saw us leaving together when we were going up to your room…and…” I stop. I haven’t ever told him this. “And
I wanted him to know what we were doing.”
JP goes very still. “What?”
“I know. I felt terrible. I hate fighting. I was so afraid you were going to get hurt, and Lacey and Théo’s wedding was ruined, and it was all my fault.”
“Wait. Back the fuck up.” He sets me away from him and stares at me. “You wanted him to know we were going up to my room to fuck?”
“Well…yeah.”
“You were using me to make him jealous? That’s what that was?” His voice rises.
“No! I wanted to go with you! But Manny had—”
He interrupts me, and honestly I don’t blame him, because I sound really lame right now.
“Fuck! I pissed off my entire family because you were trying to get back at a guy who dumped you?”
I flinch and jerk away from him, my heart kicking against my ribs. “What?”
“What is wrong with me?” He gets out of bed, looking away, not meeting my eyes, hand on his jaw. “Goddammit. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” My mouth hangs open.
“I keep screwing up, making the same mistakes over and over.”
“What mistakes?” Then I feel like I’ve been slapped. “Are you thinking I was using you like Emma was?” Heat burns through my veins and I throw back the covers and jump out of bed. I’m naked, but so what.
“Huh?” His shoulders hunch as his head jerks around.
I march over to him and poke my forefinger into his chest. “I am nothing like her!”
He stares at me.
Tears threaten. I swallow, my throat strangled. Does he really believe I was using him to make Manny jealous?
“No,” he says slowly. “You’re nothing like Emma. That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, that’s what it sounded like!”
His head moves from side to side. “No.”
“I get why you feel like I was using you. Believe me, I’ve been over and over that. It’s why I feel guilty. But I wasn’t using you. The night before the wedding, when I came to your room…that had nothing to do with Manny.”
Some of the tension eases from his rock-hard jaw as he watches me. Listens to me.
“I was…attracted to you. I wanted to be with you. And it was the same the night of the wedding. I just…didn’t mind if Manny saw us together. I never thought he was going to start a fight with you. And that’s on him.”
His shoulders slump. “Fuck. You’re right.” He slides a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me up against him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. “You’re right. I’m an asshole.”
Now I’m shaking even more, with relief. “Yeah, you are.”
His soft laugh ruffles my hair. “I get frustrated when I think I’ve screwed up again.”
“It…hurts that you think being with me is screwing up.”
His chest expands against me and his arms wrap tightly around me. “I don’t think that. I was wrong. I didn’t screw up. You’re honest and real and you don’t play games. I lost my temper because…” He tenses. “I hated to think you only wanted to be with me to get back at someone else. That already happened to me once.”
Oh. Oh God. I can tell how hard that is for him to admit. My heart softens. He blames himself for hurting his brother by going out with Emma, but the truth is, he got hurt too, when he found out she didn’t really care about him. I hate that…but I hate her more, for hurting him.
“I’m still here,” I say gently, laying my hands on his face, holding his gaze steadily.
“Yeah.” He closes his eyes, and covers my hands with his, then brings each palm to his mouth to kiss. “I don’t know why. Like I said, I’m an asshole.”
“Yeah. Sometimes you are.”
“Thank you for calling me on it.”
I smile and kiss his mouth. “Anytime, Killer.”
Chapter 24
JP
Tonight, our first game after the Christmas break, we’re playing in Nashville.
Yep, that means me and Manny Martinez on the ice together again. He pissed me off in that preseason game we played against the Predators, but that was months ago. Hopefully he’s over Taylor now. I just want to play hockey.
I’ve been doing so well. When we played Boston, that shit-disturber LeHane was on my ass all night. He’s a fucking pest, and his whole role on the team is to annoy the opposing team and try to draw penalties. I’ve gotten sucked into it in the past, but not this year.
The guys who are like that know me. They know my temper, they know they can get to me with chirps and dirty hits behind the play, trying to get under my skin. I was doing pretty well at ignoring LeHane but when he stood in front of Mac, our goalie, hassling him, my anger started growing. I didn’t let it take over, though: I channeled it for good and laid a crushing hit on him on our next shift together. Totally clean, but he had to pick himself up off the ice, shaking his head. That sent a message.
Martinez is not that kind of player, so there shouldn’t be problems tonight. I just want to play good hockey. The Preds are in a different division, but we need every two points we can get. Right now, we’re on track for a playoff spot and we need to stay there. I’ve been scoring goals; in fact our entire line has been hot lately, getting more minutes, getting recognition from Uncle Mark in the dressing room and when he talks to the media. I don’t want to let down the team by taking dumb penalties or letting someone mess with my game.
I tape my stick before the game, part of my routine. You want to know something weird? Every Wynn family hockey player tapes his stick the same way. We have different preferences when it comes to the actual stick—length, lie, weight, curve, flex—but taping is something I learned from my dad, who learned it from Grandpa. This is weird, because usually hockey players have pretty individual preferences when it comes to taping sticks, but it’s kind of a family superstition or something that we all tape our sticks the way Grandpa did—white tape on the knob and shaft, the first piece twisted into a rope that’s wound around the handle exactly five revolutions, creating grips. White tape over that starting from the top. Then black tape on the blade, leaving the tip bare. Heh. I remember the discussion that night at Taylor’s new apartment when she moved in.
The precision and care needed to get it perfect helps me get in the zone. I’ve got earbuds in and I’m listening to “All Night” by Walk the Moon, part of a motivational playlist I put together that I’ve been listening to. The steady beat has my head moving. I feel great.
I’ve had this feeling for a while now. Like everything is going right. Things have been relatively peaceful with my family. The team’s been playing well and I’ve been contributing. And…Taylor.
I have to say, I like it when she’s there when I get home. I like it when she’s in my bed all night. I really like it when we have days off together and we can have morning sex and coffee in bed, and take Byron for long walks on the beach, and cook dinner together or hang out with my friends or with Théo and Lacey. I like…her.
I like her a lot.
I catch Abs looking at me and realize I’m smiling like an idiot. He knows better than to say anything to me, though, because interrupting a player’s routine is a total dick move. We like to trash-talk and play pranks and joke around, but a guy’s game-day routine is sacrosanct.
I go through my own warm-up that I learned last summer from Bernard. It hits every body part, starting with ankle hops and marching, ending with side shuffles and high-knee running.
In the dressing room, the mood is light, music pumping out “Wow” by Post Malone. I have a routine for how I get dressed too, like most players. I always put my jersey on last.
Uncle Mark comes in for a few last-minute reminders. “Their goalie’s playing well,” he says. “We gotta get pucks on him. Get traffic in fro
nt of him.” He tells us who’s starting and we all clap.
I hit the ice at a run and it feels great, the ice smooth, my blades sharp. I love that feeling. I take a spin, then head to the bench since I’m not starting and pull off my helmet for the national anthem.
The game is intense. We get off to a flying start, moving our legs, keeping our game north-south. Martinez lays a few hits on me, most of which I manage to absorb or evade. I’m good at that. The first couple weren’t an issue—I had the puck along the boards, so of course he was going to hit me. Then he comes after me after I pass the puck to Dutch, driving me into the boards from behind, snapping my neck back. I didn’t even know it was him at first. It was dirty and right on the numbers and he should be going off, but no whistle sounds, and I can’t fucking believe it as I haul myself up off the ice to catch up to the play. Jesus Christ.
Now I’m pissed.
Luckily I’m not hurt, but I’m pissed.
On the bench I vent to Frenchy (Louis Ouellet). “What the fuck was that? I can’t believe that didn’t get called.”
“I know.” Frenchy shakes his head. “Asshole.”
Benny, our head trainer, claps a hand on my shoulder behind me. “You okay, Japester?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my head around. My neck might be sore later, but I’m okay.
Both goalies are going to be stars of this game, because both teams are fighting hard. They’re standing on their goddamn heads, though, blocking shot after shot, and it’s the third period before we finally manage to put one past their netminder.
We celly like we’d just won the Cup, jumping on each other and pounding one another’s backs. Thank fuck.
We’re up by one with about six minutes left in the game. One goal’s not good enough. Still lots of time for them to tie it up. We’re changing on the fly, and I leap over the boards and chase the puck deep in the Nashville end where Copper dumped it before heading off. Their defense is on it, though, and I’m slammed into the boards. By Martinez. Again.
Dutch takes the puck and passes it to Bergie.
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