Page 29

TWENTY-TWO

Jolie

“ B efore you say anything, I could really use a drink.”

Out of all the things I could have voiced to Beck when he opened his front door, those were the words that came out.

Part of that had to do with anxiety, which, at this point, was on the verge of sending me straight into a panic attack.

And part of that was because I really did need a drink or I was going to have that panic attack.

“A drink?” He gripped the side of the heavy glass door, his presence taking up the entire entryway, his hazel gaze zooming right in on me. “How about the truth? Why don’t you start there instead?”

“You’re going to get that.” I clutched the strap of my crossbody.

“But I’m a bundle of nerves, and we don’t have any alcohol in our apartment since we just moved in.

I could have stopped at the store, but I left work late, and I didn’t want to arrive here a minute after seven and …

” My voice trailed off as he turned around and left the doorway, walking past his foyer, deeper into his home, like he was completely done listening to me.

“Okay …” I shut the door behind me and followed him into the living room.

He grabbed a glass and bottle from the bar and set them on the coffee table. “Now talk.”

With shaky hands, I unscrewed the top of the whiskey and poured some into the glass. I didn’t ask for sour mix. I wanted nothing to come between me and this alcohol. Halfway to my lips, I asked, “Aren’t you going to have one?”

“No.”

I took a drink and then another, waiting for the burn to fade before I swallowed a little more. “Why not?”

“Because every time there’s liquor involved, I can’t seem to keep my fucking hands off you.”

He was sitting in one of the chairs that was across from the couch, so I tucked myself in the corner of the large sectional, gripping a pillow with one hand and my drink with the other.

He brushed a hand over his soft hair, locks that weren’t gelled or styled. “You’re up. Let’s hear it.” And when that hand fell, he leaned back, his bare foot bouncing on the floor.

There was a coldness coming from him.

Not from his outfit—those gray sweats and T-shirt created a scorching look—but from his tone and posture.

I understood. Things were … beyond disastrous.

Even though, over the last few days, I’d played this out many times in my head, I couldn’t find a place to start. Starting should have been easy—it wasn’t.

I traced my thumb around the rim of the glass and took in a giant breath.

“I found out my dad was interested in buying the Whales three weeks before you guys played in Boston last season. When he called me in for that meeting, he’d already spoken to his attorney, and the deal was in motion.

” I tucked my legs off to the side. “When he dropped that news on me, that’s also when he told me that if the deal went through, I’d be the one heading up the team’s marketing and that would require me to relocate to LA. ”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’re telling me … you’ve known about this for that long?”

“Yes.”

“And you said nothing to me?”

“Said nothing to you? I’ve signed so many NDAs over the course of working for my father, the sheets of paper with my signature on it would equal a four-hundred-page book.

” I huffed. “Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t until the announcement was made or my father shared the news—whichever came first, but you weren’t going to hear that news from me. ”

“Bullshit.” He nodded at me. “You could have fucking told me.”

I stared at him, almost dumbfounded. “Let’s say I could … why would I?”

“Because you owed me that.”

I released the pillow, the anxiety finally leaving my body, and in its place was a whole new feeling.

A feeling that sent me to the edge of my seat after I untucked my legs.

“I owed you nothing. Do you remember the whole Africa thing? Where it appeared that you didn’t invite me?

That I went this whole time thinking you’d ghosted me after my last message to you?

” I flicked my hair off my shoulder. “Because of that, I wasn’t exactly super excited to reach out even though I knew you were coming to town.

” I paused. “And even though I was going to be at that game.”

He folded his hands together, looking at me through his lashes. “You were at that game …”

“I was.” There was no reason to sugarcoat this. I wasn’t going to say anything he didn’t already know. “You played like shit that night … no offense. You seemed distracted, like your head wasn’t in it at all.”

His fingers were wiggling, his forearms bouncing between his open legs. His movements halted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Words that should have sounded dreamy.

But not when they came through a set of grinding teeth.

“Another reason I didn’t reach out was that it was going to be very hard to look you in the eyes, knowing there was a good chance my father was going to own your team.

Since I can’t keep my hands off you, with or without alcohol”—I let out a small laugh—“with the impending sale, I was too fearful that it would happen that night and I didn’t get in touch.

” I was suddenly reminded of the other part of this.

“Besides, it’s you who should have been contacting me.

Once you realized your text hadn’t gone through, my phone should have been blowing up. ”

His head shook. “I already told you, I fucked up.”

I wiped my sweaty hand over my skirt. “I’m just making a point.” I took another sip. “Regardless of how we spin this, Beck, or who tries to blame who, if being together was the ultimate goal, then we’re both in the wrong.”

A conversation we’d never had.

Dating and a relationship—words we’d never used.

But I felt it.

His eyes told me he did too.

“Next on the agenda is Musik.”

I found it interesting how he was the one who had told me to talk, but when I had brought up one of the elephants in the room—one that should affect him the most—he had absolutely nothing to say.

I filled my lungs. Slowly. “Not a decision I’m most proud of.”

“Jesus Christ.” He got up, and when I thought he was going to pour himself a drink, he turned and paced back to his chair, but he didn’t sit. He stood behind it and gripped the top with both hands. “Why did you come back here with me?”

“The truth? You do something to me, and I can’t resist you.

And I know that’s awful. I know I fucked up and shouldn’t have done it.

I was trying to fight the temptation, but even Ginger was encouraging me and telling me to deal with the consequences later, reminding me how long it had been since I’d slept with anyone.

” My head dropped, the guilt gnawing at the base of my throat.

“That last guy … just happened to be me.”

I glanced up, quietly replying, “Yes.”

He extended his arms out wide while still holding the chair. “You’re telling me you agreed to come here because you needed to be fucked?”

No, it had gone far deeper than that.

But that wasn’t a part I was willing to admit—not now, and because of the circumstances, not ever.

My heart hadn’t been still, but it also hadn’t been beating like this. “Yes and no.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” His brows rose.

“I didn’t need to be fucked, Beck.” I paused. “I needed to be fucked by you .”

“And you told me not to wear a condom.” The chair lifted off the floor, and he gradually set it back down.

“But it didn’t end there. I was on my fucking hands and knees, licking your pussy in the shower.

You sucked my dick when we finally got into bed.

I fingered your ass before I came inside you again.

And you didn’t think, at any of those points, you should stop things from going further? ”

I shook my head. “I … couldn’t.”

“You make no sense.”

I drained the rest of my glass and poured a tiny bit more. “Listen, when shit got real, when the guilt caused my eyes to open before the sun even rose, I left. I came back to reality and faced it head-on.”

He chuckled. “You faced nothing. You avoided me like the goddamn plague. And then you walked into the locker room today and dropped a bomb on me. That was a cowardly fucking move.”

“I—”

“I don’t give a fuck if you signed a million NDAs. Today was wrong, Jolie, and deep down inside, you know it.”

“Jolene.”

His face reared back as if I’d slapped him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I can’t have the entire team knowing you call me by my nickname.

All that will do is raise suspicion, and the last thing I need is for them to find out I’ve had sex with their captain.

I can’t even imagine what my dad would say about that.

” I held my temple, the headache of that drama causing my brain to pound.

“Trust me, Dad would have a whole lot to say on that topic, and none of those words would be pretty.” My hand dropped, and I tried to regroup.

“I need the team to respect me, Beck. I need them to work with me. What I don’t need is them thinking I’m some puck slut who spread my legs the second I met you at a bar in Boston—even though that’s exactly what happened. ”

He looked down at the chair, and I could tell the eye contact was hard for him to break. I could also tell he had this burning desire to throw the chair through the glass wall next to us.

That was confirmed when he glanced up, his eyes fierce, his mouth like a rabid animal.

“What are you saying to me, Jolene? What does all this really mean?”

I finished the rest of my drink and was tempted to pour more, but I had to drive, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I would be getting in my car.

But this was the part that hurt the most.

The part where the game ended in a loss.

There was no overtime.

No shoot-out.

“What happened between us”—I attempted to take a breath and couldn’t—“can never happen again.”

“You’re saying, even if you want it to …”