Page 27 of Secret Triplets, Second Chances
LARA
T wo days after I got stuck at clinicals, I’m just about to get off my shift when I get a text from my mom.
Mom: Hey, honey, the kiddos are already asleep here. Why don’t you head on home and we can bring them over in the morning?
I chew on my bottom lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I should tell her no, that it’s my responsibility to take them, and seeing them after a long day always cheers me up. But there is also something appealing about the idea of going home and throwing my feet up.
No bath time, no fights over popsicle colors. One night of rest.
All I have in the freezer for tonight is dino nuggets and French fries, but I’m tired enough that I could skip dinner altogether and just eat in the morning.
Finally, after too much deliberating, I respond.
Lara: Okay, thank you. I owe you one.
Mom: You know we love having them. Get some rest, love 3
The drive home is quick, and when I pull into my spot on the street, a cat walks up to me right away, meowing loudly. I turn to put some food in her bowl but stop when I see it’s already filled.
“Odd,” I murmur, but my tired brain is too numb to work it out. Maybe Mom filled it extra full before leaving the café today.
It’s not until I get to the landing and hear someone inside my apartment that I start to put the pieces together — did Zachery come back? Did he get my texts?
But when I open the door, it’s not Zachery.
It’s Jake, standing in the kitchen, wearing my apron, something delicious-smelling on a cast iron pan he’s sliding into the oven. When he straightens up and sees me, he gives me a smile.
“Oh, hey,” he says, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead and grabbing a glass of wine from the counter. “Here, take this.”
“Jake,” I manage, blinking at him like he might disappear. “What are you doing? I thought you were working on the house tonight?”
He shakes his head, and I follow him through the living room and to the little hallway, where he disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the rush of running water.
“Nah,” he says, reappearing. “I had something way more fun to do. Come here.”
When I step into the bathroom, I’m hit by the scent of lavender and see the bathtub steaming, a few candles flickering romantically from the vanity.
“ Jake ,” I breathe, turning to him, and he accepts a kiss from me before tugging on the bottom of my scrub top.
“Come on,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’d better get in the bath before it’s cold.”
I laugh and he disappears, closing the door so I can undress and slip into the water, which is the perfect warmth. Lavender oil floats on the surface, and a moment later, he appears with two bath bombs for me to choose from.
I pick purple, and it fizzes merrily, only strengthening the sleepy lavender smell. Jake reappears to refill my glass, then again to gently tell me dinner is ready, and I can come out if I want to.
We sit across from each other at the little dining table in the nook, with a candle flickering between us, eating rosemary garlic steak and talking about our days. I tell him about every horrible thing that happened to me at work, and by the end of it, I actually feel better. Lighter.
“Why are you doing all this?” I ask later when I’m seated on the couch and he’s rubbing my feet, massaging in scented lotion.
He turns and looks at me, and I see him at once at both eighteen and twenty-three. We’re still so young, but I have the feeling that I would know him at any age. That we could slot right together at thirty-eight or eighty-three.
He shrugs. “Someone said the other day that you could use a spa day. And I agreed with them.”
“Someone?”
“Yeah, the librarian.” He chuckles, shaking his head and going back to the massage. It feels good enough that I have to bite my tongue to keep from making noises I’ll regret. “In fact, I ran into a lot of people the other day. An old babysitter. Coach Ferguson.”
“Wait—” I sit up, and my foot slips from his grip. “Isn’t that the coach you hated?”
When he realizes I’m not giving him my foot back, he rubs his palms down his thighs and looks into the distance, considering the question.
“Yes and no. He was great at strategy, but he had such a temper. Terrible sportsmanship. Just not good at managing kids. But I do have him to thank for my skills, and partly for getting into Michigan.”
“No.” I shake my head, poking at his forehead with my pointer finger, reminding myself of when I did it all those years ago. “You got into Michigan because of that big brain of yours.”
I’ll never get tired of the pink that rises to his cheeks when he gets a compliment, and I watch it with pleasure as he shakes his head and clears his throat, giving me a look.
“Actually, he told me that he’s retiring, and the school is having a hard time finding someone to fill the position.”
My heart starts to beat double-time, which is stupid. Jake isn’t going to take a high school coaching position. He’s going back to the NHL, to live his dream, to go back to making the kind of money he deserves after all the hard work he’s put in to get to where he’s at.
But I can’t stop the tiniest nugget of hope from lodging in my sternum and staying there, stubbornly, as Jake tells me about his plan to talk to some of the high school players, show them that with hard work, they can get out of Wildfern Ridge, get a scholarship anywhere they want.
I sit at the counter and talk to him while he cleans up supper, and I watch as he sweeps the floor and wipes the bottom of the microwave, all things I hardly ever have time to do myself.
Then, when I can’t take it anymore, I walk across the floor, set my wine glass down on the counter, and step into him, pressing my chest to his, and wrapping an arm around his neck.
“Lara,” he says, his voice deepening instantly, his hands going to my hips. “I’m doing this to give you a night off. You don’t owe me anything. I want this to be relaxing for you?—”
I raise up onto my tiptoes and press my lips against his, loving the taste of him, the sound he makes in the back of his throat, the way he grips me and moves me, pressing me to the fridge and rocking our hips together.
When he pulls away, I say, gasping a little, “I know exactly how I want you to relax me, Jake.”
He picks me up like I weigh nothing and carries me to the bedroom, setting me down on the bed gently, his mouth already moving over my skin, a shower of kisses, his hands restless and tugging, my clothes slipping off like water.
I get his off, too, drinking in the body that hockey has built for him.
Last week, I saw his bare chest while we were swimming in the lake, but this is different.
Now, I have him all to myself, and when I press a kiss to each of his pecs, he smiles and rolls me onto my back, kissing me deeply and notching his leg between mine, applying pressure that has the heat between my legs turning to a throb.
I’m still loose and limber from the bath, smiling from the meal, unable to stop myself from kissing each of his dimples and pushing on his shoulder until he rolls back over and I can straddle his hips.
We’re completely naked now, and he looks up at me like he’s never seen something like this before. I rise up and sink down onto him, taking his length as far as I can, my eyes fluttering shut at the sensation, shivers traveling the length of my spine at the feeling of him deep inside me.
His hands are loose on my hips as he watches me, head craned, pupils blown out and wild, his breathing shallow and quick, eyes focused on the spot where he disappears inside me.
“Lara,” he rasps when I’m fully seated on him, and at the first roll of my hips, he lets his head fall back into the pillow.
I love being on top of him, controlling the pace, teasing him with my movements and watching how his throat tightens in response to my body.
Then, I love when he rolls us over again, and I’m on my stomach, him pulling me roughly up to him, his hand reaching around and finding my clit as he slides in from behind, the fullness and pressure of it staggering, breath-taking.
With each thrust, he murmurs something under his breath, sweetheart, baby, mine , then reaches forward and pulls me up until he’s holding me to him with one hand on my breast, the other on my hip.
He rolls one of my nipples between his thumb and finger, then slides his hand between my legs again, teasing me and then circling my clit until I come apart from it all.
I fall forward, gasping and whimpering through my orgasm. Jake doesn’t stop, his fingers on my clit, his cock buried inside me, until I come again around him and he finally releases too, gripping me like I’m his life raft in the middle of the ocean, my moans and cries muffled into the pillow.
When we’re done, he returns with a warm cloth and cleans me up, kissing my shoulders and stomach, then nestles himself behind me so our bodies are touching at every point from chest to ankle.
He continues murmuring between each kiss, gorgeous, perfect, beautiful.
Then, just before I fall asleep, I swear I hear him whisper I love you .