Page 49 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

JAXON

I didn’t think it was possible. Being more attracted to Rory than I already was.

But seeing her dance with Poppy in the middle of my penthouse was a fucking wake-up call.

One I’m not sure I wanted or was ready for, but now that I’ve seen it, felt it, tasted it, it’s messed with my head.

Made me want things I didn’t know I could.

Even brought me out of the darkness from the Lions’ loss.

Add in how good she tasted sprawled out on my bed as I ate her pussy like a starving man after I put Poppy to bed, and I was a fucking goner.

She wanted to reciprocate, but Poppy woke up, saving me from turning her down, and fuck if it wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made. Not because I don’t want her, but sitting across from her father is hard enough now that I know what she tastes like. Feels like.

Fuck.

If she’d actually touched me. Given me her hand, her mouth, her sweet pussy, I’m pretty sure I would’ve started confessing like a sinner in church as soon as I entered the boardroom .

“Jaxon?” Henry prods.

Shit.

Talk about getting caught with your pants down.

“I’m sorry?” I choke out.

“What are your thoughts on the way Skanchy played last night?” Henry clarifies.

I blink away the view of Rory with her legs spread beneath me and shift forward, scratching my jaw while praying Henry can’t see the guilt on my face. “It was, uh, it was his first game, and he’s in a tough spot. It isn’t easy filling Crowther’s position.”

“Yeah, but Skanchy?” Hoffman questions from the opposite side of the large conference table. “I thought we agreed?—”

“Your grandson needs to go through the proper channels, Hoffman,” Henry reminds him. “We’ve already discussed this.” His sharp gaze shoots to me. “Jaxon?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Skanchy has what it takes, or should we pull someone else up from the AHL until Crowther’s back?”

Count on Henry Buchanan to command the boardroom exactly like he does everything else in this world.

Over the years, he’s reminded me to do the same.

And sometimes it’s difficult. Riding the line between respect for those around me and not coming off as conceited or entitled while still being a good listener who’s open to criticism, other viewpoints, the list goes on.

I wonder if he’d be as open to my viewpoint if I told him what his daughter looked like when I made her come in the parking lot a few days ago.

Not the time.

Clearing my throat, I double-down, announcing, “We stick with Skanchy. He’s the fastest learner and the best man for the job until Crowther’s back. ”

With a slow nod, Henry turns to one of his assistants. “This meeting is over.”

“Yes, sir.”

Everyone stands, and I grip the leather coating the armchair to do the same when Henry adds, “Jaxon, stay a minute. I have something else I want to discuss.”

My pulse thrums in my ears as I let go of the arms on my chair and rest my elbows on the glass table, unsure what the hell I’m supposed to do.

One by one, everyone files out, leaving me alone with Rory’s dad.

Not Henry, my boss. Not Uncle Henry. But Henry, the father of the girl I like and messed around with recently.

Fingers steepled in front of him, he asks, “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

I tilt my head but stay quiet, refusing to show my hand.

“You seem off,” he clarifies.

Off. It’s a vague answer, but one I can work with.

Choosing my words carefully, I admit, “I’m tired.”

To be fair, it’s the truth. Apparently, my celibacy has only made my dreams of what Rory would look like bouncing on top of me even more vivid.

Not. The fucking. Time.

“It’s no excuse,” I add, “But…”

“Don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like to run on no sleep. How was miniature golf?”

I keep my expression blank, wiping my sweaty palms against my thighs beneath the table. Miniature golf? He knows about miniature golf? “What?”

“When I was with your dad at the gym this morning, he said he saw you,” Henry explains. “Seems my daughter’s wrangled you into helping her with Crowther?”

Fuck!

“Uh, yeah,” I lie. “She did well. Not sure when Crowther’s planning to take her out, since his mom’s going through everything, but, uh, she was excited, so…” Again, my voice trails off like my hard-on withered away some time during my wet dream of Rory last night.

“You should ask the team’s physical therapist for a massage,” Henry decides. “You look tense. Everything going okay with Pops and Iris?”

Relief washes over me at the safer topic of conversation, and I answer, “The usual.”

“And Rore?” he prods.

Aaaand, we’re back to shitting my pants.

“She treating you all right?” he asks. “Working hard?”

Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke.

I swallow past the bile in my throat and force myself to nod. “Yeah, she’s been great. You raised a good one, Mr. Buchanan.”

Mr. Buchanan?

What the fuck? I haven’t called Henry Mr. Buchanan once in my life, and I blurt that shit out now? What is wrong with me?

“Mr. Buchanan?” Henry repeats, somehow managing to weave his words with amusement and confusion. “Yeah, I’m going to make that massage mandatory. Since when am I Mr. Buchanan to you?”

I shrug. “You know, trying to keep things professional so I don’t feel like I’m taking any handouts by being here.”

He frowns. “Is this about my comment to Hoffman about his grandson? Jax, you know I wouldn’t have offered the coaching position if I didn’t think you were qualified.

Look at our stats from the season so far.

They might not be perfect, but you’re doing a hell of a job.

” He shifts closer. “Which is another thing your father and I discussed this morning.”

Dread lines my stomach, though this time it has nothing to do with Henry’s connection to the girl I’m seeing and everything to do with his praise.

“Thanks,” I murmur, no matter how hollow it feels. I want nothing more than to have my dad’s and Henry’s approval. In every aspect of my life, if I’m being honest. I guess we never really grow out of that. Seeking approval from the people we look up to.

Would either of them want to sleep with their boss’s daughter?

I doubt it.

The problem is, I can’t find the willpower to stop.

“Heard all the grandkids are having a sleepover at your Mom and Dad’s,” he continues. “Maybe you’ll finally get a good night’s rest.”

Finally.

As if I don’t already have her part time.

Nah, my exhaustion has little to do with my daughter and a hell of a lot more to do with Henry’s.

I appreciate my parents’ efforts to consider whether or not I have custody when they plan out all our family gatherings, though.

The way they always try to include her despite her young age and lack of enthusiasm—aka meltdowns—when I’m not around.

Honestly, it’s one of the reasons why I said yes.

Why I accepted the invitation for a sleepover.

The more time she spends with them, the less time she cries in their presence, and the more opportunities they have to cultivate their relationship.

Add in a date night with Rory, and I caved, accepting their offer.

“Yeah, It’ll be good for her,” I reply.

“And you.” Tapping his knuckles against the conference table, Henry says, “All right, I’ll let you go. But I’m serious about that massage. Understand?”

Numbly, I nod, pushing to my feet. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure thing.”

“Good,” he replies. “And tell my daughter hi for me, okay? Seems she’s never home anymore these days. Guess I have you to blame for that one, don’t I?”

He has no idea.

My stomach churns, but I nod again. “I’ll be sure to tell her.”

Then, I beeline it out of there like my ass is on fire.