Page 18

18

TAYLOR

It doesn’t take much for JP to convince me to spend the night at his place again. We stop by my apartment to grab a few things, then return to his condo. After changing and cleaning up, we leave Byron and JP takes me out for dinner.

We drive to a casual brew pub just off East Broadway. I look around the space as we enter, most tables full, the atmosphere vibrant and buzzing with noise. We’re seated at a wooden table for two near a window. The long bar has a line of beer taps, and there’s a steel tank in one wall with wooden barrels mounted on it.

“I can’t believe you brought me here.”

He freezes. “Why?”

“I told you my favorite drink is Bourbon, not beer.” I’m yanking his chain, but I can see he’s not sure how to react. “Just because you like beer doesn’t mean everyone does.”

Then his lips twitch. “You were chugging down beers fine that night at your place after we helped you move.”

I grin. “Yeah. I’m just messing with you. This place looks amazing.”

“Whew. You had me going for a minute. Thought we were going to have to leave and go to a wine bar.”

“What’s wrong with a wine bar?” Again, I’m kidding, pretending to take offense.

“Absolutely nothing.” He leans forward. “I’d take you to one tomorrow night, but we have a game.”

I lift one shoulder and pick up my beer menu. “Some other time.”

I stare at the menu, afraid to think very far ahead. “What should I have?”

A server stops by our table and lists some specials. Apparently, their menu changes all the time.

“Um . . . what does that mean . . . ‘on nitro’?” I ask, after she names an Irish oatmeal stout “on nitro.”

“Nitro refers to the gas used in carbonation,” she explains. “Nitrogen versus carbon dioxide. It makes a creamier, smoother beer. You’ll notice a difference in the mouthfeel, because it has smaller bubbles.”

Wow. A lesson on beer. “Okay, I’ll try that.”

JP orders the same, saying, “What the heck, I’ll try something new.”

We also order some chicken drumettes to share while we look over the food menu. “This is a cool place,” I say.

“Yeah, I like it. We come here after games sometimes.”

I study the menu and have a hard time deciding between pizza, a burger, or fish tacos. In the end, the pizza—with prosciutto, figs, mascarpone and mozzarella cheeses, and a balsamic reduction—wins out. I have to try that. JP orders a burger with bacon and blue cheese, which also sounds amazing.

“Can I ask you more questions?” he says, picking up his beer.

I grin. “Can I answer them with questions?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Man, you’re good at that. No. Just answer the questions.”

“Okay, ask away.”

“What’s your favorite sex position?”

I choke on my beer. “Um, wow. Why . . . argh.” I shake my head, smiling ruefully. “Sorry. Do I really have to answer that?”

He hoists an eyebrow.

“Oh my God, I can’t stop doing it.”

“Or you’re avoiding the question.”

“Or that.” I exhale. “Pfffft. Okay, fine. Call me boring, but I like missionary. It’s . . . intimate. Face to face.”

He nods.

“But I do like, um, well, I don’t know what you call it. It’s not really doggy style . . . or maybe it is? Because I’m not up on all fours, I’m more flat.”

“Let’s call it downward doggy.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “Oh my God!”

He grins. “Why not?”

“Okay.” I rub my forehead. “Wow.”

“What do you like about that position?” He leans forward, eyes gleaming.

“I like the . . . depth.”

“Ah. Well, I am a hockey player.”

I squint. “What does that mean?”

“I like to go deep.”

“Bahaha!”

“Also, when we play rough, we hit from behind.”

“All righty then. Is it getting hot in here?”

“Just you. You’re definitely hot.”

“You’re definitely dirty.”

“I may have been called that once or twice. How about the position where the guy is doing a headstand and you’re on your knees and?—”

“What? I can’t even picture that!”

“I’ve been working on my headstand,” he says modestly. “Just in case.”

I slide my tongue over my bottom lip and his eyes darken. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“Just getting warmed up for later.”

Now I’m really hot. I tug at the neckline of my sweater and JP laughs softly.

Our server brings our food, thankfully ending the conversation there.

Or not.

“Actually,” JP says, picking up his burger, “I think a lot of those weird sex positions are overrated. I don’t like anything that takes away from the pleasure. If I have to focus on keeping my balance and not falling over, having my dick sucked isn’t going to be as good.”

My face flames, but I can only laugh at his outrageous frankness. “I agree. If it’s something I have to work too hard at, it’s not fun anymore. Not that I’m a pillow queen,” I hasten to add.

“I know that,” he drawls.

My belly flips. “What are your favorite positions?”

“Hmm.” He finishes chewing and swallows. “I agree with you about missionary. I’m fully in favor of doggy or any variation of it. Girl on top is excellent for the view. Also a fan of having my face sat on.”

“Oh.” The air is sucked out of my lungs.

“And . . .” He shifts. “Well, how about I just show you.”

I stare at him, my inner muscles clenching. He’s gorgeous . . . broad shoulders, big hands, sexy mouth . . . I’m melting into a puddle on the wooden chair. “Let’s go, then.”

He chuckles. “Finish your pizza, Sunshine.”

As always, his nickname makes my insides go soft.

“Do you like the beer?” he asks.

Change of subject. Good, good. “I do. It is creamy.”

We keep the conversation innocuous while we finish eating, although the way he looks at me all thirsty—and not for beer—makes me squeeze my inner thighs together.

It seems a shame to rush out of the restaurant instead of lingering and enjoying the atmosphere and maybe another drink, but . . . oh well. We’re on the same page, and JP quickly takes care of the check and then we’re on our way back to his place.

Even his car makes me horny; or maybe it’s him. Watching him drive the sports car is sexy. Oh man. I’m just so erotically charged right now, everything is sexy. I mean, everything about JP.

“Better take Byron out,” I say breathlessly in his condo when my dog comes leaping to greet us.

“I’ll do it. Be back in a few.” He kisses my forehead and grabs Byron’s leash.

After the door closes, I stand with my eyes closed, my heart pumping, my pussy aching.

I tell myself to just enjoy it. Just enjoy it.

I force my brain to stop overthinking things, force my feet to move, and carry my bag into his room. I packed something I think he’ll like, and I want to be wearing it when he comes back.

I quickly change into the rose-gold satin slip edged with delicate lace. I tug down the covers on the bed and debate climbing in to wait for him there. No, I’ll be a little more subtle than that.

I stroll out to the kitchen, and I’m drinking a glass of water from the fridge dispenser when JP and Byron arrive. Byron’s all happy and bouncing around. I set down my glass of water and fondle his head when he bounds up to me. “Hey, buddy.”

JP stands in the opening to the kitchen eyeing me, slack-jawed. “Whoa.”

I glance down at myself, then pirouette. “You like?”

“Fuck yeah.” He advances closer, eyes dark and hot. “I love it.”

He pins me against the counter with his body and fingers the tiny spaghetti strap on my shoulder. “This is sexy as fuck.”

“Thank you.” My belly is a flurry of excitement. I set my hands on his chest, then slide them up over his shoulders. His hips press into me and I can feel his erection. I love that.

His hands grip my waist and he easily lifts me onto the counter. His gaze wanders down my body and lingers on my thighs, the lace hem of the slip barely covering anything. Easing my legs apart, he moves between them and bends his head to kiss me.

My entire body sighs with pleasure at the feel of his mouth on mine. I slip my fingers into his hair and open my mouth to him, inviting his tongue in. Soft noises rise in my throat and I squirm on the counter. Big hands curl around my butt cheeks and slide me forward along the smooth, cool granite until my pussy is pressed against him.

“God damn, ” he mutters, sliding his mouth over my jaw.

I wrap my legs around him, trying to get closer . . . closer. “Need you inside me.” I tilt my head and moan as he licks my throat.

“Yeah.”

Hands beneath my ass, he steps away from the counter and turns. I grasp his shoulders and tighten my thigh muscles on him as he carries me down the hall and into his room. My bones are dissolving, my body pulsing with lust.

I left the bedside lamp on and he deposits me onto the bed, kicks off his shoes, then comes down over me. He finds my mouth again with his and his hands roam my body as we make out in endless, deep, seeking kisses, over and over. He rolls onto his back, bringing me on top of him, hands sliding under my slip to curve over my bare cheeks, squeezing, molding my flesh, then rolls me under him again, pinning me beneath his heavy weight, and I love it.

I love it.

“I have to set an alarm, unfortunately,” JP says later as he fiddles with his phone, then plugs it in and sets it on the nightstand.

“How early do you have to be at the arena?”

“Oh, not till later. Uncle Mark did away with game-day skates this year. But I have to be in Lakewood by eleven o’clock.”

“Lakewood?” I roll over and eye him curiously. “Wait—I guess it’s none of my business.”

He shakes his head and slides into bed next to me. He pushes his hands into my hair and holds my head, peering down at me. “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“I never . . . Okay, I’m lying—the thought did cross my mind.” I bite my lip. Do I want us to be exclusive? I sure as hell am not looking for marriage or long-term commitment; I’ve already decided that. But the idea of him being with someone else bugs me, and I certainly don’t have any interest in seeing any other guy. At all.

His eyes search mine. “Do you want to see other guys?”

“No!”

“Okay, good. Can we agree that as long as we’re seeing each other, we’re only seeing each other?”

I nod slowly. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kisses me softly. “Come with me tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?”

“There’s a learn-to-play program the team runs. Every Sunday, at a few different rinks in the area. Tomorrow is my turn to go to Lakewood.”

“Oh.” I purse my lips. “Okay. I guess I could come.”

“It’s not exciting. Some of the kids can barely skate.”

“So no fights?”

He laughs. “No fights.”

“Damn. But okay, I’ll come.”

“Bloodthirsty,” he murmurs.

“Not really. I’m joking. I actually hate fights. I worry someone’s going to get hurt.”

“It’s part of the game.”

“I know. Some people get so excited, guys jumping up and banging on the glass and cheering, but not me.”

“Better not come to my games, then.” He nestles me in against him, his mouth against my hair.

“Why did you fight against Bertelski last year?” I ask sleepily.

He tenses. “Why are you asking that?”

“You’re answering my question with a question. But I’m asking because I’m curious. What makes guys fight?”

“I don’t know about all guys. I fought him because he was an asshole.”

“Mmm. That’s all it takes?”

I feel him smile. “He had the puck behind his own neck and accidentally gave it away to Abs. Abs scored immediately, but when he skated away, Bertelski followed him and crushed him into the boards. There was no play going on and Abs didn’t even see him coming. Separated his shoulder and he was out for months.”

I let that sink in. “Okay, yeah, he was an asshole.”

“I just couldn’t let that go,” JP admits.

I don’t like fighting, but . . . somehow this makes me like JP even more.

“What about when you got benched when you played in San Diego?”

“How do you even know about that?”

“I don’t know. I think Théo mentioned it.” Or maybe I googled it.

He sighs and strokes my arm. “Okay, the truth is, I was on my way to practice. I was leaving my apartment. A bunch of the guys lived in that complex. It was pouring rain and cold that morning, and I spotted this girl walking. It was the coach’s daughter. She was drenched and hungover and wearing high heels. She’d spent the night with Tank, one of my teammates.”

“Hmmm.”

“I offered her a ride home. Of course she begged me not to tell her dad about it.”

“So when you got there late, you had no good reason.”

“Nope.”

“You could’ve made something up.”

“I couldn’t lie,” he says quietly.

“You never told the truth?”

“Not till now.”

Wow. That is some code of honor he has going for himself there. As I lie wrapped in his arms, cocooned in soft sheets, I feel like I’m falling through the mattress, through the floor, down twenty-five stories of his building. I’m falling . . . hard.