Page 9

Jordan

“ I don’t like your bed,” Sutton says early the next morning.

“Yeah? Why is that?” I ask, fighting a smile as I shove the rest of my shit into my bag and zip it up, juggling the phone between my shoulder and ear to keep my hands free. The rest of the team has already cleared out of the locker room, but I got a late start this morning.

Mostly because there’s a goddess in my bed. It took every ounce of willpower I had to leave at all. I wanted to stay right there, wrapped up in her.

Instead, I ate her until she came all over my tongue, fucked her again, and then dragged my ass away to avoid missing our flight.

“Because you aren’t in it.” The pout in her voice is fucking adorable. It also has my cock stiffening in my pants. “I miss you.”

“You could have come with me,” I remind her quietly. I tried to talk her into flying out for the game last night, but she refused. That’s probably for the best. Facing Jamison is a shitshow any day of the week. Doing it with his baby sister on my arm is bound to complicate things.

Right now, we don’t need complications. We need time to just fucking be.

To find our way back to one another again.

This time, I’m not letting her go. I know part of her is worried that this is some big, twisted game I’m trying to play with her brother, but fuck that.

I don’t want her as a way to punish him.

I want her, period. Permanently. That’s never changed, not once in six fucking years.

At this point, I’m convinced it never will. Maybe I met her too soon. Maybe I fucked it all up because I couldn’t get out of my own way and claim her the way I should have. I don’t know anymore. It’s all jumbled in my head.

But I’m not fucking it up this time. I don’t care what I lose, it won’t be her. Been there, done that. Damn near didn’t survive it. I’m not putting us through that shit again. Jamison doesn’t have to like it when he finds out. He can get fucked with a Zamboni. Sideways.

But his baby sister is mine now, the way she should have been back then. I’m not letting her go. Not for any reason.

“Bad idea,” she groans. “I need you to not get kicked out of the league and sent to prison for killing my brother, please.”

“Don’t plan on killing him.” Unless he gets between me and her, anyway. We’re going to have a big motherfucking problem if he tries to come between us. But that’s a problem for another day. “Behave while I’m gone. No touching my pussy.”

“Your pussy? Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s attached to my body, Jordan. That makes it mine.”

“Are you mine?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Then that pretty little cunt is mine, too. Don’t touch it while I’m gone.”

She moans softly…which doesn’t help the situation in my pants. Dammit. I should have fucked her one more time before I left this morning. It’s going to be a long two days in the Sahara without her wrapped around me, gripping me just right.

I’m already addicted. It’d be laughable if it weren’t so painful. The man who went without suddenly can’t handle the thought of two days.

Diego would laugh his ass off if he knew.

Archer ducks into the locker room, his eyes coming to me. As soon as I see the look on his face, I tense, my hand tightening around the phone.

“I gotta go,” I murmur to Sutton. “I’ll call you when we land.”

“Okay. I…” She hesitates, and my heart pulses. But she doesn’t finish whatever she was going to say. “Have a safe flight,” she whispers instead before quickly ending the call.

I reluctantly slip the phone into my pocket before facing Archer. I already know what he wants to talk about. Same shit he always wants to talk about before we face the Bucks.

“What’s up?” I ask anyway, hooking my bag over my shoulder.

“Just checking in.” He leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “I know his sister came to see you. You good, man?”

How the fuck does he know everything? It’s a maddening goddamn habit.

An irritating one, too. I don’t like anyone in my business, but Archer doesn’t give a fuck what any of us like.

He stomps all over our boundaries, trying to keep our heads on straight.

Part of me appreciates the hell out of him for it.

He’s a damn good captain, the kind every team deserves.

But I hate being the focus of his prying.

I hate that he knows my business. And I especially hate that he wants to talk about it.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Do I sound unsure?” I growl, glaring at him.

“You tell me, man.” He cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing me. “I know this shit isn’t easy for you on a good day. I’m guessing today is not one of those.”

“Yeah, well, you guessed wrong.”

He cracks a smile, and I realize I played right into his hands, confirmed his guess without saying a word. Son of a bitch. He’s good.

“Mind your business, Graves,” I mutter without heat.

“You’re one of us. You are my business, motherfucker.” He chuckles quietly. “You’re welcome for giving a shit, by the way.”

I growl a soft curse, trying like hell to rein in the voice of doubt screaming at me.

The same one that started talking after Jamison and the Bucks turned on me.

I’ve been trying to silence that shit for years and remember that not everyone will plant a knife in my back at the first available opportunity.

Some people, like Archer, actually give a shit.

But goddamn is it hard to believe that when history says otherwise.

“Thanks,” I say, heaving a sigh. “I know I’m an asshole. I appreciate that you give a shit about us. Not every team has that.”

“You mean the Bucks,” he says bluntly.

I jerk my chin in a nod. “I’m still digging the remnants of that knife out of my back. Makes trust hard to come by.”

“Give us time, we’ll get you there.” Archer grins at me like he has no doubts about that and then turns toward the door.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

I hesitate for a long moment, trying to get my thoughts in order. “You know what he did.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re in love with Micah’s sister.”

Surprise flares in his eyes, like he still can’t believe anyone knows his shit the way he knows ours.

But it’s not like it’s a secret at this point.

I mean, the whole goddamn team sees the way Micah glares daggers at him.

They’re barely speaking right now. I may not be all up in their business, but I’m not clueless.

“Don’t give a shit about your business, Graves,” I mutter. “I’m just making a point.”

“Which is?”

“If it’d been you, you’d have done the same thing I did to protect her.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But I know Micah. He may be a pain in the ass, but he isn’t capable of some shit like that.”

“Yeah.” I shove a hand through my hair. “I know. I guess I’m asking…if it came right down to it and you were in my shoes, could you forgive everything for her sake?”

“If I were in your shoes?”

I jerk my chin in a nod.

He thinks about the question for a minute and then sighs. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for her sake, brother. But that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Is it? Hell, I don’t know.

“She wants me to talk to him while we’re there.”

“And you don’t want to do it.”

“I’d rather plant my fucking fist in his face again,” I answer frankly, which makes Archer chuckle. “But I’m trying not to do that. For her sake.”

He considers the issue for a moment. “What he did is unforgivable as far as I’m concerned, so you don’t owe him that.

But if I were in your shoes, and he wanted to talk?

Yeah, I’d hear him out, not because he deserves it but because she deserves the assurance that I won’t be the thing making whatever relationship the two of you have even more complicated. ”

I’m not really sure that answer helps any at all, but I nod anyway. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime. See you on the bus.” He ducks out, leaving me standing in the locker room, alone with my thoughts. And those aren’t getting me a motherfucking place but more conflicted by the minute. So I mutter a curse and follow him out.

By the time the game rolls around, I’ve had well over twenty-four hours to think, and I still haven’t made up my mind. The simple fact is, I don’t want to talk to the prick. There’s nothing he can say that’ll ever change anything. But for Sutton’s sake, maybe I need to let him say it.

At least, that’s my plan when we hit the ice. My resolve wavers when I see him across the ice, with his team around him. He’s all smiles, no hint that his life is as fucked up as Sutton says it is. Then again, he was always a good actor, wasn’t he? He certainly had me fooled.

He glances in my direction during the National Anthem, locking eyes with me. My teeth clamp together, and I want to hit him all over again. Five fucking years, he lied to her. He let her suffer.

Maybe I do have some shit to say to him, after all.

I shove the thought from my mind when the puck drops and try like hell to focus on the game. But the goddamn Bucks are on me just like always. As soon as the puck is in my possession, Grayson comes barreling toward me, checking me into the boards hard enough to rattle my brain inside my skull.

“Fucking snitch,” he says in my ear before shoving himself off me.

I clench my hands around my stick, inhaling a deep breath. Apparently, this is going to be an even bigger shitshow than I thought…and I didn’t expect much to begin with.

“Fucking sheep,” I mutter at his back.

His laughter floats back to me.

I take hit after hit and insult after insult throughout the first period, trying like hell to keep it together.

I feel Coach’s eyes on me the entire time, like he’s just waiting for me to snap and start throwing elbows.

I want to do it. My fucking blood boils with the desire to rip my gloves off and slam it into someone’s face.

“You good?” Nash asks, helping me back to my feet after Jonny Limburg knocks me on my ass.

“Fuck no,” I snarl. “If we lose this game, I’m going to be pissed.”