Page 17

She thinks she doesn’t give anything away. That she’s got her shutters up tight, letting no one see the real Becca and what she thinks.

But I do. I see so much in her beautiful eyes. The pain. The wariness. The expectations that I’ll let her down, because every man in her life has so far. I’m all too ready to show her how different I am from the assholes she’s dealt with, including her shit-for-brains brother.

When I asked her to tell me she wanted me, I saw it in her eyes. She wanted to tell me all kinds of things. But she doesn’t trust me fully yet. I’m a somewhat patient man. While I’d love to fast forward the process of Becca learning to trust me, I know I just have to bide my time. I know, deep in my soul, that Becca is my end-game. She’s worth the wait.

While I can’t force her to fall in love with me more quickly, I can show her that she’ll love how I fuck. Considering this is the first time Becca has blatantly expressed her attraction to me, I’m not giving up this opportunity.

I grab Becca’s leg and yank it up and around my hip. She immediately grinds down on me as my tongue circles hers. She gasps into my mouth, and I feel her fingernails dig into my scalp. It’s a pleasure that borders on pain, and I fucking love it.

She called me a golden retriever. I can see how that would be correlated. I am generally pretty happy. I can find light and joy in most things. I’m the life of any party. Becca is about to find out, though, that golden retriever does not equal vanilla and boring.

Ending the kiss to drag my tongue down her neck, I nibble on her collarbone before lifting my head to put my lips beside her ear. “The first time I fuck you will not be in a bathroom at an arena in Cleveland. The first time I feel you come on my cock will not be here. Our first time will be when I can take my time to unravel you. Spread you out. Make you mine.”

“Wow,” she pants, and I smile against her skin. “Jax!”

“No,” I correct her, pushing back. Eyes closed and mouth open, Becca looks like a goddamn wet dream. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Her eyes open, the gaze is glassy and unfocused.

“I’m Jacob to you.”

“What? Why?” she asks breathlessly. “Everyone calls you Jax.”

“That’s why. You’re not everyone. You’re my wife. You’re the only one who gets to call me Jacob.” I barely blink as I tell her this. I can’t remember anyone ever calling me Jacob. In school, I was Jake or Jax. My parents never even called me Jacob. But from the moment Becca referred to me as such, I knew I never wanted her to call me anything else.

Well, except husband. That was fucking hot.

“Okay,” Becca replies, her voice apprehensive.

“I love that you call me Jacob, darlin’. It’s like you see me differently than everyone else. You don’t see me as a hockey star, or a dollar sign. You see me as … me.”

Her eyes soften. “Hockey isn’t what you are, Jacob. It’s a job. You’re so much more than that.”

Not knowing how to respond, and feeling like I might shout out a love proclamation that scares the hell out of her, I lean forward to kiss her again. Becca sighs as she melts in my arms.

“We should get back,” she murmurs between kisses. I nod, but I don’t stop. I’m not kissing her as a precursor to anything right now. I like the feeling of Becca in my arms. Against my body. On my lips. She feels right. Like comfort, home, and happiness.

“In a minute,” I whisper against her.

Becca giggles, and I love how the feeling vibrates my lips. “Jacob.”

I shake my head, making her laugh again.

“Husband.”

“Fuck,” I groan. “That will not make me leave this room any faster.”

I hear the muffled noise of the horn signaling a Cleveland goal at the same time as someone tries to enter the bathroom. Becca gasps, shoving me away as she drops her leg from around my waist. “Get that —” she hisses, pointing at my crotch, “— under control.”

Head held high, she unlocks the door, opens it, and steps outside.

“Why was it lo — oh.” A surprised man stares at us as I grab Becca’s hand. “Hey, aren’t you …”

“Nope,” I reply.

“But you really do look like him,” he stammers.

“Not him,” I answer, swiftly walking away with a snickering Becca in tow.

“You don’t know who he thought you were,” she laughs. “Maybe he thought you were Jack Harlow. Or Justin Timberlake. Or that dude from Shameless . Maybe Jesse Eisenberg!”

I stop walking, turning to stare at her incredulously. “Are you seriously just naming men with curly hair?”

She gives me an adorable grin. “I would have picked out athletes with curly hair, but I really don’t pay attention to sports.”

I dramatically place a hand over my heart. “You wound me, darlin’. I may have to request a divorce now.”

Becca rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say I hate sports. Just that I don’t pay attention to them.”

“Gonna have to change that. Maybe not all sports. Just pay attention to hockey.”

“Okay,” she says with a breathy giggle. Her green eyes sparkle, and I’m relieved to see some joy in her expression. I hope with every passing hour, and the further we get away from her toxic family, Becca will feel confident and happy again.

A couple of hours later, I pull a very nervous Becca onto the team bus. She’s gripping my hand so tightly the blood is pooling in my fingers, but I don’t shake off the connection. I like that she’s depending on me, and that she trusts me enough to take care of her.

“Uh-oh, Jax brought his ball-and-chain with him this time!” One of the rookies shouts, a huge grin on his face, but before I can react, Levi pops the guy on the back of his head.

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Levi snaps. “You better watch how you talk, Rookie.”

“Does that mean we can bring bunnies?” asks another rookie.

Oh, hell no. “She’s not a bunny, she’s my wife. Say another nasty thing about her, asshole, and I guarantee you’ll be eating your breakfast through a straw.”

“Jacob,” Becca whispers. “It’s okay.”

Turning to her, I stare down into her gorgeous green eyes, which look like pools of water in a mountain reservoir. “No, it’s not okay. I won’t stand by and let them talk about you this way.”

“Alright, alright,” Coach says from behind us. “Gentlemen, this is Jax’s wife. No, we don’t normally allow anyone on the bus that isn’t part of the team, but this is a unique circumstance. Don’t think you can just turn up and get anyone on board. Now I’m fucking tired, so let’s get this show on the road.”

I motion for Becca to scoot into an available row, then sit beside her, extending my left arm along the back of her seat. It’s a power move, designed to inform everyone that Becca is mine, and no one better fuck with her.

“Still can’t believe you got married,” Grant grumbles from the row behind us. Turning my head slightly, I cock an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “Who the hell am I supposed to drag out with me now?”

“Dude, I rarely went out with you before I got married. It’ll be the exact same thing,” I point out. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been Grant’s wingman in the last year, and half of those instances had us home before midnight because even he got bored.

“But now I can’t call you,” he grumbles, and Becca turns around to stare at him.

“I have no problem with you guys continuing to hang out. Honestly. I have an early bedtime anyway,” she says.

“An early bedtime?” Grant says with a chuckle, but I don’t miss the bitterness that oozes along with his words. “Do your mommy and daddy come tuck you in, too?”

“I’m the chief meteorologist for channel twelve in Denver. I get up around three in the morning, because our broadcasts start at five.”

Grant stares at her, dumbfounded. “You’re a weather girl?”

Becca sighs. “No, I’m a meteorologist. I have a couple degrees to prove it.”

“What’s the difference?” he asks.

“I’m trained to read weather models, make forecasts, and provide information to the public to keep them safe. A person who is not a certified meteorologist is usually just reporting a forecast someone else has made,” she explains.

“Who makes the forecasts I get on my weather apps? Because those suckers are never correct,” Levi pipes up from behind Grant.

“Weather apps just compile information from the different weather models. It’s all computerized, so there’s no human connection. Weather models don’t have the ability to factor in other variables, such as how mountains can impact the weather. The Palmer Divide, between Denver and Colorado Springs? It’ll create vastly different weather between the two locations. Meteorologists understand how to take topography and factor it into a forecast.”

The bus is eerily quiet as we begin the short drive to the downtown hotel, while everyone listens to Becca as she animatedly describes different weather scenarios we experience in Denver. I watch, completely captivated, as she glows with happiness. It’s clear Becca is doing what she loves, and it shows. I’m incredibly proud of my wife.

Wife.

That word does something to me, and as if she knows, her soft hand tentatively finds mine. As her hand closes around mine, her fingers graze the fabric of my trousers, and her words falter as she realizes what she’s feeling.

I assume she’ll move her hand away, or squeeze my hand tightly to avoid touching my cock. I grunt quietly when Becca doubles down, dragging two fingernails along my length. She does it again, and I swallow a moan.

How fucking far is this hotel?

I cannot come in my pants. I cannot come like a fucking teenage boy just because I got a brief touch from Becca.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, a twitch in the corner of her mouth telling me she’s fighting a smile.

“What do you think?” I reply quietly. Her fingers move again, dragging from the tip all the way to the base of my cock, and I squeeze my eyes closed as I capture her hand in mine. As the bus slows down, I visualize every ball sack I can think of, trying to will my damn dick to calm the hell down.

Shit. It’s not working.

Saggy old man balls.

Saggy and hairy old man balls.

Okay, that’s working. Fuck, the bus has stopped, and it’s so obvious I’m rocking a full chub right now.

Becca’s brother’s balls.

The old dude’s balls who wants to marry off his son to Becca.

Alright, we’re getting somewhere.

“Jacob,” Becca whispers.

“Hmm?”

“Everyone is waiting for you to get up,” she says. I snort as I carefully stand. Getting it up isn’t the problem. Getting it down is. I rip my beanie off my head, choosing to hold it in my hand in front of my groin, as I exit the bus. Coach tells me to head to the desk to get a room key. Once we grab our luggage that the team so nicely brought over from the arena, I get a room key from the concierge before heading up to the eighteenth floor.

“Let’s hope we don’t get the honeymoon suite this time,” I tell Becca with a grin.

“I don’t know,” she muses. “It might be nice to compare and contrast the two. It couldn’t be as bad as the one in my hometown, right?”

“Only one way to find out,” I tell her as we arrive at the room, furthest from the elevators. I wave the key card in front of the sensor, but as I grab hold of the door handle, I realize I’m forgetting an integral part of our wedding night. I push the door open, then shove our two rolling suitcases through the door. “Hold on, Spitfire. Gotta carry you over the threshold.”

“What? Oh!” Becca shrieks as I pick her up gently, kicking the door open with the tip of my nice cowboy boots that I wear on many game days. Her hands immediately wrap around my neck, and I can’t help but think about how nice it feels to have her in my arms. As I go to set her down on her feet, Becca doesn’t let go, instead slowly sliding down the length of my body. I find myself tracing her hairline, tucking pieces behind both ears. She softly sighs, leaning in to my touch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as much as I want you, darlin’,” I confess, my voice husky as I drag a finger down the curve of her neck. Placing my thumb against her pulse point, I find it’s beating wildly, and I wonder if mine is beating quicker than hers. I’m like a tightly coiled rope, desperately needing to be unraveled. Fuck, do I want to be unraveled by Becca.

“I’ve never had a man be so forthcoming with his desire for me,” she whispers, her pupils darkening with lust. “If I’m being honest, it both excites and terrifies me.”

“Terrifies you how?” I ask. “You know I’d never hurt you, don’t you?”

She nods as her hands find purchase inside my suit coat, gripping my shirt tightly. “I’m terrified about what you make me feel. I’m afraid you’re going to break my heart.”

“Oh, darlin’,” I say quietly, leaning forward to rest my forehead against hers. “I think I’m much more likely to end up with a broken heart.”

I want to say so much more. How I feel like I’ve been waiting for her. That she’s meant to be mine, and I’ll proudly tell anyone that I’m hers. How just feeling her hand in mine brings me a peace I never knew existed, and that she already holds my heart in her hands.

But Becca isn’t ready for me to profess my love and adoration for her. Instead, I’ll patiently wait until she’s as obsessed with me as I am with her.