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“Ha! No, sorry. But I am meeting with a couple creators to discuss the show.”
Birdie and Raleigh get caught up on kid stuff, and I eavesdrop on the conversation between Micky and Kendra while I browse the menu.
“What do you mean he dropped out?”
Kendra shrugs. “Yeah. Can you believe that shit? So now I’m on the hunt for a new bachelor. I’ve got to come up withsomebody soon, or they’ll scrap the show. So if you know of anyone...”
Camden Teller comes to mind.
“What about Rhys’s old captain? Lee Sullivan?”
Kendra frowns and raises her eyebrows as she considers it. She shifts her weight. “Would he be interested?”
“I’ll have Rhys talk to him. Do you have a card?”
Kendra digs one out of her purse and hands it to her. “Okay, my team is here. Thank you so much. Let’s talk later!”
“You got it! Good luck.”
She nods. “Good to see you, babe.”
“Okay, who’s hungry?” Birdie asks.
“Me,” Raleigh says, opening up a menu. “Swear to God, if I have to eat another bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast I’m going to start intermittent fasting. I can’t do it.”
41
When I pick up Jordan and Chicken Salad from Rhys and Micky’s, she’s slightly buzzed. I appreciate that Micky didn’t get her bombed at brunch. It was bad enough I was the sober cab for a bunch of drunk hockey players—last night was a fucking disaster.
Colby got in a fist fight with some guy at the club after partying a little too hard, then between breaking up the scuffle and getting back to the hotel, I realized my phone was gone. Still don’t know if it fell out of my pocket or if it was stolen. While waiting for our flight this morning, I spent an hour at a carrier store in the airport getting it replaced. Ugh, it was a goddamn nightmare, especially since I’d been looking forward to coming home to her since I left the ice. Now all I want to do is take her home and crawl into bed. “Hey, Sunshine,” I say, kissing her cheek. “Ready to go?”
She pulls away, putting distance between us, and nods. We take the stairs down to the curb where I’m parked. I load her suitcase in the car, along with all of Chicken Salad’s stuff. This dog needs its own luggage. Jordan climbs in thepassenger seat and puts her seatbelt on. When I get in and drive away from the sidewalk, I ask her about her weekend with Micky. Every answer is short and clipped.
“I missed your face.”
Turning to face me, her temple cushioned against the headrest, she gazes at me with a sad smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Nice try, but I’m not into you.”
I scoff. “Again, I was talking to Chicken Salad, but congrats on having such high self-esteem.”
“Stop lusting after my dog. She’s not into you either.”
“She will be when she sees that I brought her a”—my voice crescendos—”squeaky toy!” Reaching into the driver-side door pocket, I wrap my fingers around the stupid plush team mascot from Vancouver and squeeze it. It squeaks, causing Chicken Salad’s massive ears to stand up. She wedges her big fluffy head between us on the center console, pawing for it.
Holding it up, the furry monster takes it from me more gingerly than one would expect for a dog of her size.
“Tear it to shreds, Chicken Salad,” I say, winking at Jordan. “Good girl.”
She turns away from me. My fingers itch for her. I want her affection. Her kiss. Her touch.Anything.I was expecting a warmer reception when I got to Micky’s, but she seems distant. The closer we get to home, the more my mind wanders with all the ways I want her.
When I pull into the garage and turn off the car, she unclicks her seatbelt. Before I can do the same, Jordan reaches out, flips my hat backward, and turns me to face her. Her gaze drops to my lips, and my fingers sink into her blonde locks. I yank her into my lap.Fuck, I missed this woman.She always knows exactly what I need. I want to be what she needs.
Wanting more, I lean forward, but she shoves me back. At my shoulder, she draws out excess length from the seatbelt strap and holds it across my neck. We regard each other for a moment, the way she’s taking dominance over me. Physically and metaphorically. She has me in a chokehold, controlling me more and more every day. The longer we’re away from each other, the more I crave her.
She pushes the strap against my neck, glaring at me, and I swallow. Her lips crash to mine again, and I groan and grip her thighs like she’s my fucking life source. Jordan’s my oxygen. She’s all I need. Her lips are commanding and greedy. And punishing.
What the fuck happened while I was gone?This is a different Jordan.
She withdraws, and when my eyes find hers, sadness flickers in them. “Don’t play with me.”
