Page 12 of Game Changer (Wynn Hockey #5)

Molly

I’m not going to make Jax take me with him to visit his grandparents. I feel bad enough about tagging along to the party yesterday. He needs to do this, and I need time at the pool.

After sleeping late, we have breakfast together in the lobby coffee shop, then Jax goes back up to the room while I visit the hotel gift shop.

It’s well-stocked and I pick up sunscreen, a tote bag and a paperback romance to read.

Sadly, my loaded-up Kindle is still at Steve’s place. I toss in a fashion magazine as well.

Back in the room, Jax is ready to go out, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and rests loosely on his flat abs. He’s just shoving his phone into his pocket and looks up at me.

“Success.” I hold up my shopping bag. “I’m all set for a relaxing day.”

“You’re sure you’re okay by yourself?”

I lower my chin and look at him through my eyelashes. “I’m fine, Jax. I’m a grown woman.”

“I know,” he mutters, dropping his gaze to the carpet.

My body tingles everywhere as tension wraps around me.

I heard him masturbating last night.

My inner girl parts squeeze at the memory of that. Holy mother of hotness.

And…was he thinking about me?

I can’t go there. I push that thought aside.

“I just mean you’ve been through a rough time,” he says.

“I’m fine. Maybe some alone time will be good to think things through and gain some perspective.”

“Okay, yeah.” He hesitates. “I’ll see you later. I’ll be back before dinner and we can grab something together.”

“Perfect.” I beam a smile at him and pluck the turquoise bikini I bought at Target yesterday out of a drawer. “Have fun.”

He leaves the room, and I drop onto the side of the unmade bed.

Where he masturbated last night.

Oh God.

He was obviously trying to be quiet, but I could hear the bed moving, the rhythm quickening, and soft noises managed to escape his lips. His breathing got harsher and faster, too.

I imagined what his cock looked like in his big hand.

It was so hot, I slipped my hand between my own legs where I throbbed.

I wanted to do the same as he was, except clearly he thought I was asleep and it would be so embarrassing for both of us if he knew I wasn’t, if he knew I was listening, my ears attuned to every shift of the bed covers, every breath.

My body quivered and heated. I was wet.

Then he got up to go to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed behind him, my fingertips found my swollen clit and rubbed wet circles over it. I came so fast, heat spiraling inside me in delicious, blissful pleasure.

My breathing is fast again now, without even touching myself, just remembering.

Get a grip, girl. If you’re going to share this room with him, you can’t be getting all horned up over him.

And what the hell is up with that? I’m still in love with my ex-fiancé. I mean, I have to be, right? I was ready to marry him two days ago.

Then he let me down in the worst possible way. Showed me who he really is. How could I love a man who would do that?

I shake off these thoughts to change into my swimsuit. I also bought a cover-up, a loose, lightweight caftan. I slide my feet into flip-flops and pack my bag, then make my way down to the pool.

It’s a gorgeous day, the sky a clear blue bowl above, the sun bright and hot. I stroll around the pool area and pick out a lounger to station myself at for the day. There are thick towels on a rack, and I pick up a couple of them for when I’m ready to take a dip in that delicious-looking pool.

I make note of the Agave Bar and Grill where I can grab a snack and drinks later as I spray sunscreen all over myself. My skin is pale and freckly and there’s no way I can spend even an hour in the sun without SPF 50, so I’m always careful about using protection.

I settle onto the lounger with my magazine, flipping through the glossy pages. An article about how to deal with problems with coworkers distracts me for a while, but then my thoughts drift back to Steve.

It’s hard not to feel like a failure. I couldn’t even hold a man long enough to get married to him. I can’t help but wonder why he turned to someone else. Why wasn’t I enough for him?

I remind myself that he’s the one who cheated. He’s the one with the character flaw, not me. But still…it’s hard not to feel like maybe it was my fault. That I wasn’t good enough.

I’ve had relationships in the past. A high school boyfriend I stayed with for three years even though near the end I felt like we were friends more than lovers.

I can see now that I was comfortable with him and reluctant to break free.

I dated a few guys in college, one turned into a year-long relationship that was…

well, unhealthy. He had a lot of issues and was afraid of commitment and strung me along for a long time.

And I let him. I vowed I’d never let another guy treat me that way.

After that, I had lots of guy friends, men I liked, who were fun to spend time with, but they always treated me like a sister or a friend.

I can’t deny that troubled me and I wondered if I’d ever find someone who’d love me as more than a friend.

Then I met Steve.

He was like a rock star—rich, famous, talented. I couldn’t believe he was interested in me. I fell hard for him, and there was no doubt in my mind when he asked me to marry him.

And look what happened.

So yeah…I’m wondering if something’s wrong with me.

I lay my head down and close my eyes. That’s a depressing thought. And I don’t want to be depressed.

I guess I could have pretended I didn’t know about the cheating and gotten married anyway. Or I could have confronted Steve privately and maybe we could have figured things out.

Deep inside, though, I know I couldn’t have done that. I may have self-doubts, but I have enough self-esteem that I won’t put up with a man who cheats on me. I’m going to be fine.

I spend the day giving myself pep talks, swimming in the pool and drying off in the sun.

I luxuriate in the warmth and the beautiful vistas around me of palm trees, bright flowers and tropical plants.

I eat at the snack bar, avocado toast enjoyed with a margarita.

In the afternoon, I’m joined at the pool by some people my age.

They’re not wearing swimsuits, but business casual attire, I’d call it—two women, three men.

We exchange smiles and strike up a conversation and I learn they’re here for the software convention.

One of the guys keeps looking at me, his smile open and friendly…maybe a little flirty? It’s been a while since I’ve been the object of attention like that. It’s kind of fun, so I smile back and we get into some teasing banter.

“I’m going to get another margarita,” I say, standing. I tug at my bikini bottom discreetly. “Does anyone else want something?”

“I’ll come with you,” Justin says, rising as well. He takes requests from his friends and we head to the bar. I lean against it, bopping a little to the Latin music playing while we wait for our drink orders.

“So, Chicago,” he says. “Have you always lived there?”

“Mostly. I went to college in Charleston. You’re so lucky to live in New Orleans. I love that city.”

“I love it too. If you ever come visit, look me up. I’ll give you one of my cards.”

“Sure.” I’ll never do that, but I play along, smiling at him.

Jax

Grandpa’s not having the greatest day, I learn when I arrive at his place. Chelsea tells me he’s probably tired from the family gathering. I sit with him and try to have a conversation, but it’s frustrating because he keeps repeating the same things over and over.

I meet Chelsea’s eyes at one point and hers are brimming with sadness.

I follow her into the kitchen when she goes to make coffee. “I gather he’s like this a lot now?”

She nods, busying herself with the coffeemaker and not looking at me. “There are good days and bad days, but yes. More and more like this.”

“He said he was going to go into the office today.”

“Yes. I still take him there because he loves it, but he doesn’t do much anymore.”

“You drive him.”

“Yes. I drive everywhere now. It’s safer.”

“I saw you encouraging him to eat last night.”

“Yes. He forgets if I don’t remind him. He’s lost a lot of volition. Sometimes I have to remind him to get dressed. I make sure he wears a jacket when it’s cold. He misplaces things.” A smile touches her lips. “One day I found the TV remote in the fridge.”

“Ha. I’ve done that. Well, not the remote, but I once put the milk in the cupboard.”

“We all have our moments. But his are a lot.”

I’m silent for a moment, struggling with emotion. “It fucking sucks,” I growl out.

“It does.” She bows her head as the coffee brews.

What she describes sounds like looking after a child. Not a husband. I feel like a band is wrapped around my chest, squeezing.

She’s still here.

She loves him, no matter what.

“What does he do at the office?” I finally ask.

“Not much, anymore. He can’t really make decisions. Luckily Théo is there, and I’ve been helping.”

“So I hear.”

She gives me a sharp look.

“Everly tells me you’ve been more involved,” I say. “It’s good.”

“Do you really think that?” She faces me, challenging me in a way she’s never done. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with Chelsea alone before.

Might as well get it out in the open. “I had my doubts,” I admit quietly.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Honesty is best.

“And?” She arches a brow.

I study her. She’s tough, but I see the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head and peers at me. “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sorry I doubted you. And I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding Grandpa because I was pissed that he stole Dad’s money.”

Chelsea sucks on her bottom lip. “Thank you, Jax.”

“I guess I’m a little late, but it seems like the rest of the family has already realized all this.”

One corner of her mouth lifts. “I think so, yes.”

“You’ve never defended yourself to us.”