by Lane, Stacy
“Blasphemy!” I smack her ass for ever daring to say something so untrue. “Does that mean you’ve thought about other ways you could be screaming my name, Jo?”
“You’re never going to find out.”
Well, we can’t have that…
Pulling her from over my shoulder, I slide Jo down my front, but not releasing her from my hold. The gentleman that I am, I fight the urge to move my palms further down as I held her there. But as she slides I can feel every angle of her tight body roll off of mine. Her breasts press into my chest, the small mounds pushed up and perky as I peek down the front of her shirt.
I lift my gaze, and there she is. Golden hair falling loosely around her face, bright lights at her back, and a beautiful temper marring her eyes and mouth, I find the perfect angel.
In the presence of my teammates, the guys who are nearly as close to me as my own brothers, they witness the first time a woman has robbed me of every last bit of my common sense.
“If you even try kissing me right now I will bite you,” Jo growls.
“Is that foreplay? ‘Cause I don’t mind,” I rumble roughly.
Her cheeks stain a bright pink. “Do you flirt with everybody like this?”
“Just the women.” I laugh at her put out expression. Lowering my voice, I say, “Yes, I flirt. Flirting is only the introduction to all the other methods I plan on delivering.”
“Who says I’m willing to be the recipient?”
“As long as you’re wanting, I’ll have you willing in no time.”
“So cocky.”
“So true.”
“This is fun to you—this game,” Jo whispers, her minty breath falling on my lips. “But if I were to give in, and give you what you want, it would all be over. That’s the difference between you and me, Brooks. I like you enough not to ruin the fun we have.”
Her soft hands unlatch from around my neck. I hold on, but as my playful smile falls away, so does my grip on her.
Jo’s feet touch the ice. I’m stunned into silence as I lock eyes with her.
The game, she called it. It’s not untrue. But there’s so much more on the line in this chase. I want to believe Jo is the same as every woman I go after. Eventually, I get them out of my system and I’m able to walk away.
She skates off, meeting up with Chelsea and the other WAGs.
If I continue to play this out, and catch Jo right where I want her—in my bed—it’ll become more than a chase.
It will be the epic fall of my life.
FOURTEEN
Jo
Brooks: You got me in trouble.
Me: How did I do that…?
Brooks: Mom chewed my ass for not making you have dinner with us.
Me: Sorry?
Brooks: She’s holding the apple pie hostage.
Me: Ooh yeah…sorry.
Brooks: She won’t even let me have any pumpkin pie.
Me: You poor thing.
Brooks: My brothers are rubbing theirs in my face.
Me: Brb…
Me: I have to put my pumpkin roll back in the fridge.
Brooks: Liar.
Brooks: You are joking right?
Me: (attaches a photo of myself with fork-full of pumpkin bread aimed at my mouth)
Brooks: That’s hot. I’m so turned on. I can practically taste it in my mouth.
Me: Er…the pumpkin?
Brooks: Get your mind out of the gutter, Angel. The only thing I care about right now is getting my pie.
Me: Want me to talk to your mommy for you?
Brooks: No point. She’s given an ultimatum.
Me: You have to clean your room first?
Brooks: Cute. No.
Brooks: I need your help.
Me: Ok.
Brooks: It’s that easy?
Me: As long as I stay on your mom’s good side, then yes.
Brooks: She definitely has your side.
Me: What do you have to do?
Brooks: Bring you an apple pie.
Me: When?
Brooks: Tonight.
Me: I’m surprised you’re telling me this. You could have said you’d bring me the pie, then escaped with the whole thing for yourself.
Brooks: She would know. Mom sees E V E R Y T H I N G
Me: Well tell her I appreciate it, but I have a whole pumpkin roll to eat by myself.
Brooks: I’m already on my way.
Brooks: I have to send proof of delivery. She’s crazy.
Brooks: You gonna save some of that pumpkin for me?
Brooks: You’re freaking out right now aren’t you?
Me: Are you really coming over?
Brooks: (attaches a photo of the traffic light on Linebaugh Ave)
Scrambling off the sofa, my phone flies across the floor as I jump up. As I’m running to the kitchen, licking the cream cheese filling off my fingers, I panic at the state of dress I’m in. I threw my hair into a messy bun first thing this morning and haven’t touched it since.
The picture one draws up when they hear “messy bun” is not this picture. It’s messy. And it’s not even a bun, more like a tangled knot of uncombed hair.
I toss the pumpkin roll in the refrigerator, landing with a hard thunk and ruining the symmetrical cylinder shape with a sizable dent. Flying across the house and into my bedroom, I stand in front of the mirror to see the damage. A baggy navy blue hoodie—fittingly says “Math is easy as cake Pi”—white cotton shorts, and Harry Potter tube socks.
Yanking on my hair tie until it unravels—with a large chunk of hair too—the curly strands from the day before are kinked and knotted. Flipping upside down I finger comb through the rats nest until it’s detangled as much as possible and wrap it all back into another messy bun. This one a lot closer to the cute, I-made-it-look-messy-on-purpose kind.
Taytum would kill me if she saw my appearance and found out I wasn’t changing my clothes knowing Brooks would be hanging out inside my home with me alone. But it’s my home and I would rather be comfortable more than attractive. Especially if I’m about to pig out on more desserts.
Who knows, my lack of effort on looking sexy could turn him off. Not that I’ve really tried being sexy any other time I’ve been around him, and he still hits on me. That makes me feel good, actually. Of course, Brooks is most likely that guy who is attracted to any female that walks by, but having guys like that in this world is great for the timid personalities who need it occasionally.
The chemistry, the flirting, it’s put a boost of confidence in me. My knee-jerk reaction is to have self-doubt, and nearly every night since I begrudgingly walked through the doors of Triplets Bar I’ve kneed that doubt right in the lady balls.
I feared hanging around these hockey player types would weaken me. Their lifestyle alone was beyond my capabilities. I thought them superior just because of their status. But they’re good people. I’m fortunate to be surrounded by them because it’s what I’ve needed.
Taytum, and even Nick, have been my only bright lights in this dark mind of mine. Early on, indifferences were ingrained in my head. I can’t throw blame at one specific occurrence, because I’ve had many. But I’m old enough now to know that I haven’t had the proper support system to overcome the negativity.
With a final glance in the mirror, a smile warms my face as I feel the rare wave of courage rush over me from head to toe.
Spending Thanksgiving alone has been a nice change up. Whenever I’m at my parents’ house nothing is ever sane or peaceful. Mom chatters nonstop, Dad mumbles about politics in the hope to engage one of us in a debate, my brother keeps to his normal stuffy self, and then there’s the aunts and uncles and cousins who both liven and diminish one another. They’re a loving family, but they are difficult to handle if you are not willing to do battle.
I bounce through my house tidying up small pieces that are out of place, and then put on a pot of coffee. Right as the first drops ding onto the bottom of the carafe, the doorbell rings.
I
know who’s there, but I peek through the peephole anyway. On first glance, every time I see him, my breath catches and I rather no one is witness to that if it can be helped.
His grin greets me as soon as I swing the door open, the luring, heavy scent of cologne riding the breeze.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Brooks says, holding up a pie with both hands. His eyes sweep over my appearance. They seem to darken as they follow the length of my legs, but what do I know. There is barely any light on at the front of my house. When they pause at my chest, I see them swipe side to side as he reads my sweater. “Did you wear that just for me?”
“Ironically, no.”
He steps inside, and the weight of the door closing hits me with a slap of awareness.
I’m alone with Brooks.
The scent of coffee clears the fogginess of instant lust. Clearing my throat for no reason at all, only to fill my own awkward silence, I walk ahead and make my way back to the kitchen. “I made a pot of coffee. I even have pumpkin spice creamer if you like that.” Glancing over my shoulder, I smile with knowledge.
“You get me,” he smirks, following my steps.
My kitchen is separated from the living room, but it’s spacious. After I bought this house, which was beautiful and didn’t need any updates, I chose to remodel the kitchen anyway. The kitchen is my favorite room in the house.
Painted in an off-white color, my dark teal cabinets fill two of the walls with an island in the matching color. The countertops are a white and gray quartz marble. The island sits in the center, one end near the stove and fridge where I do all my food prep, and the other end overhangs as a table for two.
“Wow. Beautiful kitchen,” Brooks says.
“Thanks. It’s the only upgrade I’ve done on the house. I love to cook, so I wanted something pretty to cook in.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call my kitchen pretty, but it’s my favorite spot too.”
“You cook?” I ask with wavering sarcasm.
“Yes. Why is that funny?”
“It’s not,” I shrug and try to cover up my humor. “I just thought you’d have a chef or have food delivered, or something.”
“Obviously, you’ve Googled my salary, but not every millionaire hires people to cook for them.”
“I haven’t Googled you,” I say defensively.
Brooks lifts a dark eyebrow.
“Don’t get a big head, alright.” Giving him my back so he can’t see the rising flush on my face, I open the fridge and reach inside for the pumpkin roll. Straightening and spinning around, I gasp when I find Brooks standing inches from me.
Dropping his voice to above a whisper, Brooks leans his face toward mine with a husky drawl. “You can’t go bending over in those tiny shorts and talking about heads.”
Shivers race down my spine. “Get your head out of the gutter,” I reply, using his same words from a little while ago. “I thought you were here for pie.”
“Mm,” he hums, the deep rumble touching me like a glorious caress. My anti-sexy attire is failing. “I’m a big fan of all kinds of desserts.”
“I think your parents are pimping you out again.” I’m trying to go with my natural sarcastic nature, but it’s kind of hard when I all I want to do is jump him.
“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind that’s what they intended.”
“And yet you went along with it.”
“It involves pie and finishing my evening off with a lovely woman. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Seducing me is not their end game.”
Brooks scoffs. “They created me. Seducing you is the first thing on my agenda, and they know it.”
“I’m not your normal type, Brooks. Seducing me will have a completely different result.” Clambering away before it’s too late, I move to the other side of the island with the pumpkin roll.
He’s doing a damn fine job in the department of seduction if my weak knees are any indication. I’m out of my element here. Men like him do not pursue the likes of me. If he keeps pushing, I’m bound to give in.
“That you are right about,” he mutters, turning away from my line of sight. A pang twists in my stomach, chasing away the shivers right as I was getting used to them.
Messing with the frames of my glasses, I say, “So what kind of proof do you need to send your mom?”
He raps his knuckles on the counter, picks up the apple pie he brought inside, and carries it over to where I sat with the pumpkin roll. Brooks reaches for a plate I pulled down, and the knife to cut with. I watch him like a hawk as he cuts a slice and sets in on a plate. As he pushes the dish over to me, he raises his thumb to his mouth and sucks off the gooey, cinnamon-apple filling that smudged his skin.
My eyes fall half closed as I watch his tongue dart out to lick it clean.
His small chuckle brings me back to reality.
I grab the second plate, cut a chunky piece out of the roll, and lay it in front of him.
“Say cheese,” Brooks mumbles, holding his phone out in front of our faces. He snaps the picture, showing me first before sending the pic to his mother, I presume.
“You’re mean,” I comment.
“How?” he vibrates with mischief.
“Your parents are sweet and loving and doing their damnedest to set you up with someone, whom you have no intention of dating, but you’re making them think it’s working.”
“Okay, one, you have no idea how often they do this to me and my brothers. It’s just some healthy payback. And two, who said I have no intention of dating you?”
With the fork suspended at my mouth, I pause before taking a bite of the divine smelling apple pie.
“I would date the hell out of you, Angel,” Brooks confesses and the heavens open to deliver an incandescent light so bright I can feel the heat. Then his next comment shuts those doors closed so fast I’m positive it was a relapse in judgment on my part. “But you would eventually want different things than I do.”
“That’s…presumptuous.”
“That’s facts. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t believe she could get me to settle down with her.”
“Are you talking marriage specifically?” I take my first bite of Betty’s pie and moan as soon as the flavors hit my taste buds. “Oh my God, okay, now I know why you gave in to your mom’s demand.”
“Uh-huh.” Brooks takes a bite of the cream cheese filled pumpkin roll. With over exaggeration, he responds, “Dammit, woman, if you cook like this then I take back everything I’ve said. Marry me.”
Grinning, I turn my head sideways. “Sorry. I’m not the marrying kind.”
Staring at me with curiosity as he chews, he takes an extra moment before replying, “What?”
The abrupt way he said that one word causes me to laugh directly at him. “You are so arrogant. You know that right?”
“Depends on how you perceive arrogance. I believe any man with a proper dose of arrogance has the clout to back it up. We’re cocky because we’re charming and it works for us.”
Shaking my head in amazement, I say, “I can’t tell whether I shockingly understand that enough to agree with, or if that just deserves no response at all.”
Brooks waves it off. “That’s not what’s important. Why are you not the marrying kind?”
“Simply because I don’t ever want to get married.”
“Huh. That’s a first.”
Leaving him baffled, I walk to the coffee machine. I fill each mug and then carry them over to the island. Going back for cream and sugar before taking my seat, Brooks’s hot gaze follows my every move.
“Bad breakup?” he asks after a long, long thought on the matter.
“No. Did a woman scar you so badly that it’s tainted your view on dating and marriage?”
“Nope,” he replies, candidly. “Hell, I have the most happily married, disgustingly in love parents on this planet. I probably should want that, but I don’t. There were three of us in the womb. I think my brothers sucked up all the dopamine.”
/> I laugh as I sit down, mixing creamer into my coffee. “I do believe in settling down, but I don’t have to get married to do it.”
“See,” he shakes a finger at me, taking a sip of coffee. “You say that and then you’ll change your mind.”
“I won’t. I’m not traditional in any way. I want a practical guy to live comfortably with, have a kid if it suits us. All very boring, simple things.”
“That’s not romantic at all,” he deadpans.
“Pot. Kettle.” I point to myself, and then him.
“Fine. Romance aside, that sounds like a terrible way to live.” Brooks stresses the “terrible” part. “Where does the sex fit in on this scale of yours?”
“I said I wanted kids. Obviously, there will be sex.”
“I don’t think we’re on the same page when it comes to sex,” he replies in a dry tone, staring at me like I’m not of this earth.
“It’s just sex. A relationship is not all about the sex.”
“Okay, that’s it. Where’s your bedroom?”
“What?” I laugh it off until his serious expression never changes. Then my smile slips, and my palms sweat.
“Sex matters. Sex should be great. I think we should have sex right now.”
“Oh my God!” I leave him sitting alone at the island, walking across the kitchen with my hot cup of coffee. The distance is crucial. Especially if he says the word sex again. “How am I friends with you?”
“You’re special, Jo. You’re my first girl friend. Girl friend with a space.”
“Yeah, got it,” I clip back.
“Not sure I do, though. Get it, I mean, because I have a lot of guy friends and I don’t want to have sex with them. You, however…”
“Please stop mentioning sex.” I close my eyes, groaning.
When I open them I see him watching me with unabashed humor.
Silence falls comfortably between us. My gaze darts back and forth between my Harry Potter covered feet and those patented Labelle gray eyes.
Speaking about sex as much as we did is planting all kinds of hot thoughts in my head. Could I sleep with Brooks and be able to walk away unscathed? Cleary he will be able to, but I’m not so sure about me. It wasn’t falling in love with him that worried me. I’ve been in love and the feelings were safe. Just standing near Brooks felt so far from safe I had no barriers left. It was lust that ruins a person. And I was in such deep lust with Brooks.