Triple Power Play (Obsessed Players Club #1)

2. Jackson

TWO

JACKSON

“This…is not a restaurant.” Not budging from the curb, Aurora eyes the high-rise building with suspicion.

“I didn’t say I was taking you to a restaurant. I said I’d feed you.”

Her head whips around, panic written all over her face.

“Take out your phone. Send Emily your location. She knows my teammates, and they know where I live. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Just kidnap you. Kidding. Maybe.

She places her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side. “You said a fantastic place to eat.”

“I have food on the way. My place is quiet and comfortable, preferable to eating out.”

“What if I hate the food? I’m a picky eater.”

“You won’t. If you do, I’ll cook for you.”

She shivers, her arms prickling with goosebumps. It’s an August night in California, so it’s not cold, but she’s not wearing much.

“Please don’t make me beg. I’ll get on my knees right here on the sidewalk.”

I’ll do it, too.

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

I grin at her adorable attempt at being assertive. “I don’t wanna sleep with you. You’re hideous.”

It’s a blatant lie, and she knows it.

She presses her lips together to suppress her smile. “I’m serious.”

I put my hands up in a placating gesture. “I won’t try anything. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She releases a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

I swipe my keycard, and we step into the private elevator.

“Are you this way with every guy you date?”

“Is that what we’re doing? Well, I haven’t dated…much.”

“Why not? Because you’re hideous?”

That makes her giggle, and her smiles are pure oxygen in my lungs, breathing new life into me. “Because I’m nineteen.”

Nineteen? Nineteen? Maybe that’s why she skipped the champagne, not because she didn’t trust Rookie. Oops.

“Shit, really?”

“For three more days, and I’m far too busy to date.”

“Why? Are you in college?”

She drops her gaze and fiddles with a thread on her skirt. “No. I work a lot.”

“Well, I’m twenty-three, didn’t go to college, and also work a lot.”

She shoots me a shy smile.

The elevator stops, and my stomach flip-flops. It’s not that I’m messy. I’m not, and I have a cleaner. But I’ve never had a woman in my space, nor have I dated a woman even remotely similar to her.

Timid. Witty. Down-to-earth.

I worry my lifestyle will scare her off.

Being a pro hockey player with a political father, I’ve been around attractive women. Most have this air of entitlement I recognize immediately and despise. Not Aurora.

She clutches her small purse in front of her and follows me into the open living area.

“Wow.” Wearing a dreamy expression, she gazes out the two-story corner wall of windows, where a vibrant pink sky outshines the downtown lights. “You can see the coast from here.”

I bought this place primarily for the view. It offers an escape from the city when it all becomes too much.

But the skyline pales in comparison to those wide, innocent eyes.

I’m infatuated and try my hardest not to stare. She’s quiet and gentle, and in my chaotic world, that’s a blessing.

“Thank you. Have a seat.” I nod to the white sectional. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Call me psychic, because I know exactly what she’ll say.

Gingerly, she perches on the edge of the cushion, crossing her long legs. “Water is fine, thank you.”

Knew it.

Going to the fridge, I scan the alcohol selection before I catch myself. I can’t remember the last time I was so hyped about something that I wanted to stay sober—not since my rookie year.

“Sparkling or mineral?”

“Ooh, sparkling.”

I’ve never seen a woman excited over water. She wasn’t this excited over my eight-million-dollar penthouse. I’m not sure if that makes impressing her easier or harder.

I open the glass bottle and hand it to her.

“Do you live here alone?” she asks.

“Yep. Grant stays here often though.”

Alone is my preference. Me and alone are best friends. Even Grant gets on my nerves half the time. He’s always fucking happy.

Sitting on the large ottoman in front of her, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and reach for her ankle. That same bubblegum-pink polish is on her toes.

She shifts her feet away from me. “What are you doing?”

“Taking your heels off. They can’t be comfortable. Relax, babe. I won’t hurt you.”

I unbuckle the strap, slowly pulling off her shoe to savor her soft skin against mine. I’m tempted to glide my hand up her leg, but I’m certain she’d kick me in the balls.

I set her shoes aside, contemplating hiding them. “I’m going to get changed. You want something to change into?”

Her brows furrow in confusion, and she scans me from head to toe. “I don’t think I’ll fit into your clothes.”

Laughter erupts from my chest at her genuinely puzzled expression. So fucking cute. “I’ll bring you a T-shirt and boxers. You can roll them.”

Her face falls, and her cheeks blush. “Wow. You’re used to this.”

Her dismissive tone kills my amusement. “I had a girlfriend in high school. Did you not have a boyfriend who gave you his clothes to wear?”

Something passes through her eyes. Sadness or regret? “No.” She sets the water bottle on the end table. “Sorry, I should go.”

She moves to grab her shoes, but I snatch them and hold them out of reach.

“Why? You haven’t eaten yet.”

“I… This… No.” She draws a shaky inhale. “You’re too intimidating. Emily was right. I’m not your type. You won’t like me, and I’m not going to sleep with you. There’s no point.”

Wow, that’s a lot of word garbage. For someone so attractive, she’s incredibly anxious. Not mere shyness—no, there’s an aura of hopelessness surrounding her, something I’m all too familiar with.

“Why won’t I like you? I liked you the moment I saw you.”

Her eyes flicker to the door. “I’m… No. This is too much, and I work early in the morning.”

She reaches for her shoes, and I hide them behind my back.

“Where do you work?”

Her tiny fists clench her skirt, and she lifts her chin. “Nowhere. Now give me my shoes.”

Oh boy, even her temper is adorable.

“You work with Emily, right? That’s why you were with the rookie?”

And why she became uncomfortable when I asked how long they’d been together.

“Yes,” she urges, as if that’ll push me away.

If it was anyone else, she’d be out the door, but the skittish girl in front of me isn’t a professional escort. She’s too nervous and inexperienced. Any other escort or puck bunny would be thrilled to land a professional athlete. They’d be moved in and planning our wedding already.

Yet Aurora watches the door as if gauging whether she can outrun me.

She can’t. I’m the fastest player in the league. She won’t make it two steps before I tackle her to the floor.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

“How long have you been escorting?”

“A month.”

“How many dates have you been on?”

“Six.”

My jaw drops. “In a month?”

“One guy booked me three times.”

“I’m sure he did. Did you go home with him?”

She scowls. “No.”

“To a hotel? Anywhere?”

“If you’re asking if I sleep with my clients, the answer is no. My contract is strictly dating. I giggle and flirt.” She shrugs, half-assed. “It’s been easy…until tonight.”

Giggle and flirt and then play hard to get. The innocent act—at least, that’s what these guys are thinking.

But it’s not an act. She’s pure temptation, and I need to move fast before some guy gets any fucking ideas.

She’s only allowed to have one stalker. Me.

“When was your last relationship?”

She hesitates, her eyes searching mine. “In high school. Two years ago.”

“See, we’re not that different. I haven’t had a relationship since high school either.”

Not that it was much of a relationship, and certainly nothing serious. There are only two things to do at boarding school: sports and girls.

“Yeah, okay,” she mutters.

She doesn’t believe me—likely assumes I sleep with a lot of women. You need trust to jump in bed with people. I do, anyhow.

I smirk. “Are you stereotyping me again?”

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Can I have my shoes?”

“No. I’m not done getting to know you, and you haven’t eaten.”

My tone is nonnegotiable, and to my surprise, it works. Granted, she appears to be sulking, but at least she has relaxed into the couch cushion and isn’t racing for the door.

“Fine. I live with my grandparents, raised by my grandparents. My grandmother is a seamstress, and my grandfather works in construction. I help my grandmother, work with Emily, and waitress. I have a shift in the morning. I don’t date because I don’t have time.”

I know what she’s doing, but there’s nothing she can say to turn me away.

“Why do you work so much?”

“Always have. I’m sorry I wasted your time. I thought we’d go to dinner, and I’d go home. I didn’t know you’d bring me here.” After taking a breath, she adds, “And thank you for sticking up for me.” Polite, even when annoyed.

With my fingers steepled against my lips, I sit on the ottoman and contemplate the beautiful girl staring back at me. She was okay having dinner with me and was fine when we first got here, but now, she’s freaking out because I offered her a change of clothes.

Is she worried I’ll pressure her into sex? She said she was intimidated by me, not my place or my lifestyle. Me. I laughed at her innocence, and I’ll never do that again.

“I could stare at you all night, and it wouldn’t be a waste of my time. You don’t have to change. It was only a suggestion. I won’t pressure you, but make no mistake, I want you. And if I have to, I’ll get your agency information and book you.” Fuck, that’s it. The solution to keeping her is right in front of me. “You know what? That’s what I’ll do. That way, you’ll know I’m serious about you. What’s the agency?”

Her face scrunches up in horror. “Why me?”

I bite my lips to stop from laughing. “Why not you? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, inside and out. Am I that terrible? Are you not attracted to guys? What is it?”

Not my most convincing speech, but no one ever said I was great with words. Aside from hockey, I have little going for me.

Other than being damn good-looking, of course.

“I’m attracted to guys…in certain places.”

Certain places? What the hell does that mean?

“Where?”

“Books.”

Did she say books? Yes. Yes, she did.

This time, I can’t stop myself from bursting out laughing.

She glares at me, all pouty-lipped.

“Sorry, you’re just too fucking cute.”

No worry about this one cheating or being with me for money or popularity. No, she’ll be home, reading and comparing me to fictional men. I can handle that.

“Well, you’re in luck. I have everything you book girls go feral over. I’m six-three, play a professional sport, have tattoos and a motorcycle, and I’m cocky. So let’s make a fairy tale, princess.”

She shakes her head in amusement, her lips pressed into a tight smile.

“Give me the agency information. I won’t stop until you tell me.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Elite Escorting. I’m a GFE.”

I give her a blank stare.

“Girlfriend Experience.”

Ah, that makes more sense.

The doorbell rings, and she jolts.

“That’s the food.” I stand and offer her my phone. “Here. Find the agency or whatever for me.”

She peers up at me, unsure, and tentatively takes the phone.

“You won’t find anything in my phone, trust me. Only close friends have this number, and my agent runs my social media.”

I open the door for the concierge, grabbing all four bags before he enters the penthouse and further intimidates Aurora. While in the entryway, I turn on the AC, because this girl makes me sweat. Every time she glances at me, I feel hot all over.

I lay the containers on the coffee table, pointing to each one. “Chinese, Mediterranean, Greek, Thai, burgers and fries, Italian, or I can order pizza.”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open.

“Go ahead. Pick.”

She returns my phone. “You need an account. It’ll be pending until your background check clears.”

I plop on the couch, pulling at the collar of my shirt, which is still sticky from the bartender incident, and create an account with Elite Escorting, something I never saw myself doing. Ever.

Aurora opens each container, growing happier and happier. She loves food, books, and sparkling water. Can this get any easier?

I upload a picture of my license and a selfie and pay extra for expedited processing, which allows me to schedule her. I book her for three months, pending her approval, hoping to have her moved in by the end.

“You take care of your grandparents?” I ask.

She holds a hand over her mouth, finishing her food. “I pay my share of rent, utilities, food, and all that, yes.”

I read the fine print, where it provides for a tip or allowance. It says the money goes directly to Aurora, with no commission taken. I compute everything in my head. She doesn’t have to be with me twenty-four hours a day. Technically, she could still work. That’s disappointing. I wish she was required to stay right here in my penthouse.

My goal is to give her enough money to quit her other jobs but not enough to ghost me afterward. I want her dependent on me. Is that wrong? Perhaps. Does the end justify the means? Absolutely.

I go with a hundred grand. That seems low, but I’ll give her more if needed.

I carefully read a lengthy list of rules. Unless she explicitly agrees otherwise, only light touches are allowed. Any violence, assault, harassment, or roughness immediately ends the contract, and no money is returned.

And that’s it. She’s mine. No one else can book her—if she agrees, which she will. I’ll make sure of it.