Chapter 17
seventeen
. . .
Jason
She doesn’t know what to make of me. I bet she never thought I’d actually offer. Fuck, I certainly never thought I’d say the words.
But Amelia Owen makes me do all sorts of things I never imagined doing.
From across the bar, I watch while she chats with Robby, Patrice, and Patrice’s sister, and as the night draws to an end, I notice when she hefts her purse over her shoulder, like she’s about to flee.
Striding through the dwindling crowd, I reach the exit right when she does.
“Heading home?” I ask, my phone in my hand to call a car.
“Yes.” She glares at me. “Got something to say about it?”
“Wanna share a car? Mine is three minutes out.”
Amelia rolls her eyes. “How convenient.”
“It is, actually.” As if it wasn’t my plan all along. “We’re going to the same place. I’m hardly forcing you to ride with me.”
It’s bitterly cold out, and as a burst of wind sweeps through the street, Amelia shivers in her coat.
“Fine,” she bites out.
“You know, we never talked about it,” I say casually.
“About being neighbors?”
“No. That day in the—”
“Shut up,” she hisses, looking behind her, like one of our coworkers will magically appear there. “We aren’t talking about that.”
Stepping closer, I set my finger beneath her chin, tilting her head until she meets my gaze.
“Are we okay?”
She hesitates.
“Everything we did… We’re okay? You don’t regret it?”
“Not exactly.” Her face flushes. “I just… we can’t.”
“Hey, I hear you, loud and clear. No more fooling around at work.”
“Fuck,” she whispers, her face flaming. “You can’t just—”
“What about fooling around outside of work?”
She opens her mouth, and then closes it again. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Because we work together? Or because you don’t want me?”
Amelia swallows. “The first one.”
“Then, why do you show off for me?”
“You’re the one who doesn’t close the blinds,” she says, her eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t—”
“That first night, you knew I was there. Did you know who I was?”
She shakes her head. “I never saw anyone over there. Robby said you just moved in?”
I nod. “The day before.”
She shivers, and I tug her into the circle of my arms, sharing my body heat. I’m on fire, and it’s all because of her.
“Is it really that bad of an idea?” I ask.
“I like my job. I want to keep it.” When I open my mouth, she adds in, “I won’t jeopardize my future for a fling. And that’s all it would be.”
“Why? Is it really that difficult to want to be with me?”
I can’t help the bitterness coloring my tone. Harper thought I was too much of a hassle to deal with. Inconvenient.
But Amelia and I work together. She knows the score. She sees the insanity of my schedule firsthand.
“You just got divorced,” she points out. “You can’t seriously want to start something again.”
Forcing a shrug, I say, “With you, I do.”
Because it may have started out as only physical, but the truth is, I like Amelia. I want to spend time with her, even with our clothes on, have drinks with Andrews and the group, and share brunch with her brothers, and any other cutesy date-night thing couples do.
Was I expecting this to happen? No. The sight of her talking with that douchebag made me see red. It took everything in me not to kick his ass for looking at her like a piece of meat.
Am I ready for something serious? Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t know unless I try.
Even when she’s torturing me in PT, I enjoy my time with her… so much that I haven’t gone into the medical suite without getting hard. I’ve relied on Zac and Graham to work on all my aches and pains. They don’t boil my blood the way she does.
A sleek black car pulls up to the curb. “Jason?” the driver asks.
I nod, reaching for the door.
Amelia’s hand lands on my arm. “Don’t make this weird,” she says quietly.
Searching her eyes, I find my nerves mirrored in them.
“I won’t, if you won’t,” I tell her.
She nods, ducking into the car and scooting to the far side. I slide in beside her, the gap of the empty middle seat a six-inch barrier that feels enormous.
We’re both silent on the ten-minute ride back to our neighborhood.
The driver has the local sports radio talk-show on in the background, running commentary on tonight’s basketball game.
The team loses more than they win; as a fellow Boston sports player, I understand how hard it is, but as a Boston sports fan, their downward spiral this season is hard to watch.
Before long, the car pulls up to our block, and after I get out, I hold the door open for Amelia.
“Is this where we say goodnight?” I ask. “I’m fine if—”
“Shut up,” she snaps, brushing her hair into a ponytail, which she secures with the scrunchie around her wrist. “Take me upstairs, fuck me stupid, and let’s never talk about it again.”
My mouth snaps shut. “Okay.”
A satisfied smirk settles on her face. I’d like to satisfy her in a thousand other ways.
Tim, the doorman, opens the door as we approach.
“Good evening, Mr. McKittrick,” he says, with a nod. “Miss.”
“Have a good night, Tim,” I say, patting his shoulder as we pass.
The guard behind the desk, Paul, opens the residents’ only door for us. I nod at him when we pass through, and then wave my fob at the elevator bay.
“You have a lot of security,” Amelia comments.
“It’s one reason so many of the players live here. We don’t have to worry.” As the elevator doors open and I punch the button for the nineteenth floor, I add, “Don’t you have just as much security?”
“Yeah, but I’m nobody. It’s all for Brandon.”
I shrug. “Sure, but you get the benefits.”
She turns to me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you really want to talk about my brother right now?”
The elevator doors open on my floor. “Not really.”
My apartment is at the end of the hall. Opening the door, I usher her inside.
She unbuttons her coat, looking around the place curiously. I take it in with fresh eyes, the leather sofa and bare, off-white walls.
“What do you think?”
Across the way, her apartment is dark. There’s no sign of her brothers.
“Looks different from this angle.” She tosses her coat against the armchair. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Yeah, anything.” Fuck, did my voice come out as breathless as it felt? What is she doing to me?
Amelia grins. “Close the blinds.”
Crossing the room, I do as she requested.
She stalks across the room, her steps sure as she approaches me. I turn around right when she reaches me, and before I know it, her mouth is on mine.
She tastes like lemonade and sunshine, her lips yielding under mine. Electricity simmers beneath my skin, ready to overtake me.
I don’t have any answers. I don’t know what this is, or what it could be. Whether either of us are ready for it. All I know is, she’s the only thing on my mind, and not a day goes by that I don’t want more. Crave more. Need more.
One time with Amelia wasn’t enough. A second hit won’t quell the fire burning inside me. I’ll need her all the time, and I don’t ever want to stop.
She tugs at the hem of my T-shirt, and I break the kiss to pull it off, tossing the cotton behind me. When I go to kiss her again, she pulls back, her hand landing on my chest.
“I didn’t get to look before,” she says, her palm skating over my pec. My skin erupts with goosebumps, the feeling of her skin on mine sending dangerous thoughts through my head.
Want. Need. Claim.
Her fingertips trail down my abs, brushing over the bruise on my obliques, and she drags her nails through the coarse hair covering my belly. Does she like it? I overheard her and Andrews talking about body hair, but not enough to know her preference. Should I have shaved it off? Waxed?
Whatever she wants, I’ll do it. All she has to do is look at me with those big, brown doe eyes, and I’m putty for her.
Amelia reaches for my belt, making quick work of the leather, and pulling it free. She wraps the strap around her fist, and my cock jerks so fast, it makes me dizzy.
I’ve always been the assertive one. I’ve always been in charge. In hockey, in relationships, I’ve always had control because there’s never been anyone I trusted enough to let go with.
But when she hooks a finger in the waistband of my jeans and tugs me forward, I’m powerless for the first time, and I fucking love it. She walks backwards until the back of her legs hit the couch, and then she twists and pushes me down.
I reach for her, with intent to pulling her onto my lap, but she has other ideas.
“No touching,” she says, her eyes bright.
“Or what?” My voice is rough as sandpaper, and I rub my sweaty palms on my thighs.
“Or this stops.”
Amelia backs up a few steps, her movements graceful, and she picks up her phone. In short order, she connects to the speaker, a soft jazz tune playing throughout the room.
Her fingers trail down her torso, drawing my gaze to her delicious curves. She’s wearing a simple v-neck sweater and dark jeans, the denim clinging to her hips and ass. Her body sways to the music as she lifts the hem of her sweater a few inches.
“Yes. Take it off.”
Dark eyes flashing, she does as I ask, the dark blue fabric landing in a heap behind her. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple tank top, the soft pink straps of her bra visible beneath. I wonder if it’s the same lacy pink one I saw in her hotel room.
My cock twitches at the memory of waking up beside her, her warm body cocooning mine.
I felt safe in a way I never experienced before.
Despite being disoriented and hungover, I never once worried about someone finding out or, worse, doing something I can’t take back with the wrong person. Because with her, I’m safe.
Her tank top goes next, landing on the floor beside her sweater. The lacy, light pink bra does a miraculous job showcasing her full breasts. Her fingertips trace along the cup of the bra, drawing my eyes, and as all remaining blood in my brain rushes south, she pulls her hand away.
Amelia pops the buttons on her jeans, slowly peeling them off her hips. My hands curl into fists on my thighs, desperately wanting to touch. Her. Myself. Both. I don’t know.
Stepping out of her jeans, she twists, and I catch a glimpse of her ass, encased in black cotton panties. With her back to me, her arms stretch above her head, highlighting the length of her spine.
A groan escapes my lips. I’m sweating, my heart pounding. This is simultaneously the best and worst night of my life. Best, because it’s with her. Worst, because I can’t fucking touch her.
Her hands move to the clasp of her bra, letting it fall to the floor, and then she steps out of her panties. The curve of her bare ass is right fucking there, and I can’t do anything about it.
Turning to face me again, I get my first glance of Amelia up close and personal. My mouth goes dry, and I’m fairly certain my eyes bug out.
“You like what you see?” she asks, playing with her hair.
“I’m not sure.”
Her confident smile fades.
“Come here. I need a closer look.”
She steps toward me, her hand landing on my bare shoulder, and she climbs onto my lap.
“Mm. Much better,” I say, before threading my hand through her ponytail. Gripping the strands, I pull her closer, and as our mouths collide again, all is right with the world.