“Happy Birthday, Jack. I hope it’s a really great year for you.”
The phone disconnects, and I pull it away from my ear, wearing what must be a big, stupid grin. I strip and head to the shower, where I wrap my hand around my cock and definitely think about what she sounds like when I’m between her thighs. The hot water beats down on my shoulders as an orgasm races up my spine. I slam my eyes shut, picturing her hands tracing my hipbone, the feel of her mouth against my skin, the way she sighs my name.
I hate that she’s not here. That I’m alone in my hotel room halfway across the country.
Shit, I’m in so much trouble.
I thought I’d miss her less by Thursday, but she called me last night while she was folding laundry and watchingTen Things I Hate About You. Today, we texted things we hate about one another.
Jack: I hate that you hog all the blankets.
Izzy: That was one time. I hate that you eat the crust first on your pizza like a psychopath.
Jack: I don’t like to wait for the best part.
Izzy: It’s called delayed gratification.
I know all about delayed gratification. This entire scheme of ours is delayed gratification. Watching Izzy fall apart on the bed, fuck…
Jack: I hate that you smell like vanilla. It’s distracting.
Izzy: That sounds like a YOU problem.
Jack: I hate that you’re always right about everything.
Izzy: I hate when you don’t wear your glasses. Hate more when you wear them, because I forget how to speak.
Jack: I hate that you’re smiling at your phone right now, and I’m not there to see it.
Izzy: I hate that you know me this well already.
Jack: I hate that I’ve been gone for five days.
I want to share that I miss her, but I keep that to myself. This… whatever is happening between us is already a lot.
Izzy: Yeah. I hate that too.
Today, I sent her burritos from her favorite place because I know she’ll stay at the store too late for book club and forget to eat. I included a stupid note on the order:Figured you could use a hot meal. Call me later.
No one’s ever remembered little details for her. And for a second, it feels good, knowing I can take care of her from five hundred miles away.
I should be out with the guys after tonight’s game, but I head straight to my room after the presser. I loosen my tie. My shoulder aches from a blocked shot, and I’m black and blue. I was too rough out on the ice. My vision blurred twice during the game, and I didn’t tell the trainer. And I’m sure as shit not going to tell Izzy.
I rummage around my bag for Advil, swallow a few, and gently rub my temple before I pull up FaceTime.
Izzy answers, curled in bed, hair damp, an oversized pink sweatshirt swallowing her up. She looks tired, but she stillmanages a smile. I want nothing more than to climb through the screen and lie down beside her.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She rubs her hands over her eyes and blows out a big breath. “The week’s catching up with me.”
“Did you watch tonight?”
Her lips twitch. “No.”
I laugh. “Figures. Too busy taking care of everyone else.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I watched a little.”
