Page 32 of Game Changer (Wynn Hockey #5)

I’m reading an advance copy of my mom’s new book she sent me. It’s fantastic, but I grew up with a lot of her ideas about how to stay humble as an elite athlete.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

My eyebrows fly up at another expletive from the kitchen. Then I hear a loud thunk and a crash.

I jump up. Okay, now I need to check in.

I stride into the kitchen and find a disaster—an avocado has been thrown against the wall and a salad bowl sits upside down on the floor with greens scattered all around it. And Molly’s in tears.

“What’s going on?” I approach her. “What happened?”

“I had three avocadoes,” she sobs. “They were rotten when I cut them open. All of them.”

“Ah…” She’s crying about overripe avocadoes? “That’s okay. We’ll have the salad without them.”

“You can’t have a Cobb salad without avocado!

” She sweeps a hand out. “And then I was so frustrated I threw an avocado and I knocked the salad bowl on the floor.” Another sob bursts from her lips and she swipes at the tears on her cheeks.

“Now we have no dinner and a big mess to clean up and dinner is ruined.” She cries harder.

I take her in my arms and press her head to my shoulder, rocking her slightly, a little mystified. “Shhhh. It’s okay. It’s not that bad.”

“It is,” she moans against my shirt. “It’s a disaster. I just wanted to make a nice dinner.”

“We have other food.” I pat her back. “Or we can go out.”

“I can’t go out! I’m a mess.”

“I can go get us something.”

She nods and sniffles, not lifting her head. Okay, good. Maybe that calmed her down. What the hell?

“What would you like?” I ask.

After a short pause, she mumbles, “I could really go for a bacon double cheeseburger and fries. Large fries. And ice cream.”

“Okay. We can do that. I’ll pour you a glass of wine and you go sit on the deck and I’ll clean this up.”

“You’re so good,” she sobs, stepping back. Her face is red and blotchy, her nose pink, eyes swollen. She’s still gorgeous. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I hand her the glass of wine. When she’s outside, I survey the mess. Wow.

There’s bacon, which looks delicious. That salad would have been epic. Oh well. I put some things in the fridge, throw out the greens, and clean the floor. Then I grab my keys and step out onto the deck. “I’ll go get the food now. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.” She heaves a sigh. “Thank you, Jax.”

“Sure.”

I drive to the Wigwam and place my to-go order. While I’m waiting, I order a beer in the lounge and watch the baseball game on the big TV. Some guys there recognize me and start talking to me, which is cool. They even pay for my beer.

Then I carry the big bag of food out to the car and head back to the cottage. Molly’s still on the deck. Her tears have dried and her face looks less red. She gives me a wan smile as she joins me in the kitchen to unpack the food. I slide the ice cream into the freezer for later.

“I’m really sorry about my meltdown,” she says when we’re sitting at the table. “I, uh, have PMS.”

I blink. “Ah.” That explains it. I remember when Riley had her period—nobody could even look at her, never mind talk to her. Luckily, Mom explained it to me. “Do you need anything else? Midol? Tampons?”

She smiles. “I’m good. Actually, what I need is someone to rub my back and play with my hair while I watch The Notebook and eat ice cream.”

“I can do that. We even have a DVD of The Notebook .”

“It’s probably not your favorite movie.”

I grin. “No. But we watched my favorite the other night, so it’s fair.”

“You’re the best.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. I just feel so yuck. I’m bloated and crampy and my boobs hurt.”

I nod. This is a lot of info. But I can handle it.

“On the upside,” she adds with a grin, “at least I’m not pregnant.”

Holy shit. That would be a huge complication. “Good point.” I give my head a shake. “Have you always had bad PMS?”

“Yes. When I was in ninth grade, I got frustrated because we were having a discussion about something, I can’t even remember what, it was a history class, and people were asking such stupid questions, I put up my hand and asked if I could murder someone.”

I laugh.

After she devours her entire burger and fries, we move into the living room. I start the movie and when she’s done her ice cream, she lies on the couch with her head in my lap and it’s no trouble at all to stroke her hair and back while we watch. And yeah, she cries.

After the movie, she rolls onto her back and looks up at me. “That’s such a great love story. But so sad.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so horny,” she adds.

My eyes widen.

“But I’m so gross.”

I smile and stroke her hair again. “You’re not gross.”

“It’s shark week. You’re probably not into that.”

“We can do other things.”

“Oh yeah?” She bites her lip adorably.

My hand moves down to her lower abdomen. I gently press and rub here there.

“That feels good,” she says with a sigh.

I move lower, over her shorts, to cup her pussy. Slowly I move my hand back and forth.

“Ohhhh.” Her eyes close.

“Is this okay?”

“Yessss…”

I slip my fingers into her shorts and panties. She’s wet, and I slick up the lubrication and circle my fingertip over her clit. She adjusts my hand at one point, sighs with delight, and I fucking love watching her come on my fingers, her body trembling, her hand gripping my wrist.

A smile curves her lips and her eyes flutter open. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I cup her pussy gently, then withdraw my hand.

She lays her hand on her lower belly. “My cramps feel better. I think orgasms are supposed to be good for cramps.”

“You should have told me sooner.” I lean down to smooch her mouth. “We could have dealt with that before you threw an avocado across the kitchen.”

Luckily she smiles at that, then shimmies off the couch. “Okay, your turn.”

I smile too, letting her unzip my shorts and pull my stiff cock out. She looks so eager and enthralled; it’s a huge turn-on. And her mouth is amazing—soft and wet, her tongue agile and slick. My entire body buzzes with arousal.

She takes me deep and sucks on me. Pressure gathers in my full balls, my lower back aching, my thighs tensing.

I slide my fingers into her hair, holding it off her face so I can watch, because, fuck, it’s sexy as hell seeing her lips on my cock, her eyes peering up at me.

“You really are fantastic at this,” I mutter.

She lifts up and off. My dick pulses in protest. “Really?”

“Really. Please…don’t stop.”

She smiles and resumes her amazing blow job, her tongue smooth and supple, licking over the head of my cock, around me, all the way down to the base and back up, then her tight lips sliding up and down in tandem with her fist. My consciousness narrows to that tiny slice of reality, her on her knees in front of me, her mouth on my cock.

My skin prickles, tension building inside me, then torquing as sensation explodes through my nerves in a blinding surge of ecstasy.

My chest heaves as I try to gather air into my lungs.

I cup her face with both hands when she lifts off me.

I can’t breathe, can barely see, but my gaze focuses on the sexy satisfied smile on her lips, and it’s all I need in this world because hell yeah, I love blow jobs, but I also love that she loves it and that she knows she blew my fucking mind.