Overtime(47)

“We still good for Sunday?”

Jordie nodded. “Yup.”

“Good, Shelli is begging to see you.”

“Can’t wait,” he said with a grin.

“Okay, you’re up. See ya tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cap,” Jordie called as he went in. Kacey’s back was to him as she washed her hands. She was wearing some wind pants and a tight black tank, her hair in a mini little ponytail. He liked that she had grown her hair out—she looked gorgeous no matter what—but he liked to have something to pull when he was pounding into her. He always lost his grip with how short her hair was before.

“Lie down, I’ll be with yo—” She stopped when she turned, seeing who was awkwardly standing in her doorway, and her eyes narrowed.

Jordie quickly held his hands up, showing the Snickers. “I come bearing gifts, and plus, I really need my leg rubbed down. And who better than the girl who helped rehab it a bit.”

She wanted to say no, he could see it in her eyes, but then her eyes fell to his leg and the Snickers and he knew he was in. There was a commercial for the chocolaty goodness that said, “You’re not yourself when you’re hungry,” and that was Kacey. He always said she got “hangry” all the time. You had to feed the beast or she would eat you. Plus, she couldn’t say no to food.

Shaking her head, she said, “Fine, lie down and don’t talk. Put the Snickers on my desk.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, doing as she said before removing his shorts. Lying bellydown on the table, he watched as she continued to wash her hands, working her lips. He hated how worried she looked, almost as if it were taking everything out of her to be there with him at that moment. He loved how easy it was before. They’d only had to look each other and they’d know. But back then, it was too much for him to handle. It was scary how easy it was to be with her.

He hadn’t been ready.

But he was now.

He went to say something but then remembered she didn’t want him to talk. Biting his lip, he watched as she grabbed a pair of gloves, which confused him.

“What’s up with the gloves?” he asked and she sent him a look.

“I refuse to get slut on my hands,” she snapped back. “And didn’t I tell you not to talk to me? Because I don’t have to do this.”

“You don’t have to be so bitchy about it,” he grumbled and her head fell to the side.

“Oh, I don’t? Maybe you should have thought about that before you took my heart, threw it on the ice, and then slap shot it against the boards. Blood, guts, and pride flying through the air.”

Yup, she might as well have hit him. Her eyes said so much. Held so much pain. Nodding, he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Great hockey analogy.”

“I thought so,” she agreed, coming to the table and then pressing her hands to his thigh. He was expecting her touch to bring back the greatest memories of his life. Instead, the gloves basically ripped out the hairs on his thigh as she started to move her talented fingers along his tired muscles. “Now, shut up.”

“Before I shut up, can you lose the gloves? They are ripping the hair out of my legs.” He grimaced, twitching side to side, trying to get away from her hands.

“Oh, does it hurt?” she asked condescendingly, twisting his leg hairs under her fingers.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Lose them and the attitude. You’re acting like a scorned teenager.”

Her hands stopped and then he was hollering out in pain. “Dammit, Kacey!” he cried out, covering the spot where she’d just ripped out a chunk of his hair with her hand.

She looked at him innocently before dropping the chunk of hair. “Oh, my bad.”

He only glared as she pulled the gloves off before throwing them in the trash. “You better hope I don’t get slut on me.”

“You won’t,” he promised as her fingers dug into his skin, and a certain kind of peace fell over him as a sigh left his lips.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she reminded him, and he looked over his shoulder at her.

“I promise you won’t get slut on you,” he said sternly and she rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Stop talking to me, please,” she said with a sigh before getting to work on his leg.

Watching as she moved her hands along his thigh, down by his knee and then his hamstring, he admired her beauty and the little wrinkle her nose was in. She was frustrated with him, a normal occurrence. Her shoulders were taut, the veins in her skin visible as she moved her hands along his leg. She was so strong, so gorgeous and…not his.

“So tell me about your boyfriend,” he said, using the word loosely. He could tell she was trying way too hard with the douche. He knew what she looked like when she was in love. He’d stared into those love-filled eyes for months, trying to ignore them, and then ultimately pushing them away.

She glanced up at him and glared. “No.”

“What? Scared I’ll get my feelings hurt?”

“You don’t have feelings, Jordie. You’re allergic to them,” she said simply, her hand digging deeper into his skin.

He smiled, covering the grimace that was surfacing. She did her job great, but she had always been a little rough. “That’s not true. I have feelings for you.”