5. Jinx
CHAPTER FIVE
Jinx
I sit in my car, parked a few houses down from the address Bruno texted me, my fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel.
The house looms a few blocks ahead, its silhouette black against the deepening twilight.
I gnaw at the inside of my cheek, wrestling with the question of whether I should be here at all. I could just turn the key, drive back to my apartment.
I could blame it on a last-minute project at work or invent some urgent errands that suddenly demanded my attention. Maybe I should just admit that I can’t afford to keep lending my expertise for free.
After all, I’ve been toying with the idea of moving somewhere new, contemplating a return to school, and trying to figure out what I truly want from my life. Getting ensnared in this situation? Probably not the wisest choice.
But the guys are solid. And I’ve grown to really admire this team.
A long sigh escapes my lips as I shake my head, sending my thoughts scattering.
Rowan’s injury has hit him hard, and I know firsthand how athletes can be when they’re sidelined—stubborn, defensive, and absolutely convinced they don’t need anyone’s help.
If I don’t step in and ensure he begins his recovery on the right foot, he might try to rush back into training and end up doing more damage.
Okay. Just one private session.
Enough to set him on the right path.
Having made up my mind, I shift the car into drive and roll up to the house, parking in the spacious driveway. The house is massive and pristine, which makes sense with three guys sharing the rent and what I assume to be landscaping costs.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, step out into the brisk evening air, and stride to the front door.
I knock twice on the heavy wooden door, my breath visible in small clouds against the biting chill. Within seconds, the door swings open to reveal Thomas, who leans casually against the frame, his breath forming its own mist in the cold air.
His grin is wide and teasing. “Well, well. Look who actually showed up.”
I roll my eyes at his playful jab, a smile cracking across my face despite myself. “Don’t act surprised. I’m here on a professional basis,” I counter, trying to keep my tone light but firm.
“Uh-huh,” he responds with a smile, stepping aside to let me in. “Come on in.”
As I step inside, the warmth of the house wraps around me like a comforting blanket. The air is thick with the scent of old, polished wood mingling with the unmistakable aroma of a greasy dinner—pizza, if I had to guess.
The living room is a mess, yet it has a certain charm, with game controllers scattered across the coffee table, joined by half-empty water bottles and discarded protein bar wrappers.
Rowan is sprawled across the couch, his large frame almost consuming it entirely. His eyes are glued to the television screen, where a football game blares, the commentators’ voices a constant drone. He doesn’t so much as flinch when I enter.
Amazing. Nearly dies, asks me out, and now…
“Hey,” I call out, placing my bag on the floor with a gentle thud.
He responds with a noncommittal grunt, barely acknowledging my presence.
I glance at Thomas, who merely raises his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “He’s been like this all day,” he explains, a hint of concern in his voice.
I exhale a long, resigned sigh and approach the couch, positioning myself at its edge. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go over your discharge instructions.”
“Pass,” Rowan mutters, his gaze never leaving the screen, the glow of the game reflected in his weary eyes.
I cross my arms over my chest, mustering my best authoritative stance. “That wasn’t a request.”
Finally, he turns his head to look at me, and his face is a picture of exhaustion and frustration. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and a scowl deepens the lines around his mouth. “Jinx, I’m fine,” he insists, but the exhaustion in his voice betrays him.
Oh, this is going to be fun , I think, preparing myself for the challenge ahead.
I crouch beside him, pulling a small, sleek flashlight from my bag. “Let me check your pupils.”
Rowan waves a hand in a dismissive arc, the gesture almost languid. “I just had a doctor do that. I’m good.”
Ignoring his protest, I turn the flashlight on with a small click. “Humor me,” I insist, peering into his face.
He exhales a heavy sigh, finally turning his head toward me, though his eyes are narrowed and his jaw set in stubborn resistance. I shine the beam of light into one eye, then the other, watching intently for any sign of dilation.
He winces, the muscles in his cheeks twitching slightly, but remains silent—a small victory on my part.
“So, the hospital gave you a list of restrictions, right?” I say, flicking off the flashlight and tucking it back into my bag.
“I glanced at it,” he mutters under his breath.
“Yeah? And?” I press, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
He shrugs, a careless lift of his shoulders. “I’m thinking about ignoring most of it.”
From behind us, Thomas groans, the sound echoing with exasperation. “Jesus, man.”
Rowan leans back into the couch, rubbing his face with both hands. “I don’t see the point. Maybe I should just go back to Montana,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur.
That makes me freeze, my mind racing. “Wait, what?” I ask, searching his expression for any hint of seriousness.
He avoids my gaze, eyes focused somewhere on the wall. “My parents always wanted me to come back. Take over the ranch. Maybe that’s what I should do.”
I scoff in disbelief. “You shouldn’t be going to the kitchen alone, let alone Montana.”
He rolls his eyes in response, coupled with a sound filled with defiance. “Oh, come on?—”
And then he stands up too quickly, his movements abrupt and unsteady. He sways on his feet, arms flailing for balance, and nearly collapses in the middle of the living room.
I lunge forward instinctively, my fingers wrapping around his arm just in time to stop his fall. His arm tenses beneath my grip, the muscles in his bicep twitching like a startled deer.
“Whoa there, cowboy,” I say, tightening my hold and steadying him. “Still feeling like heading off to the wild, wild west?” I quirk an eyebrow, trying to make light of his unsteady stance.
Rowan mutters a curse under his breath, planting his feet firmly on the ground as he regains his balance. “I just got up too fast,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck with frustration.
“Uh-huh.” I roll my eyes, catching Thomas’s eye as he stands nearby, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Care to chime in?”
He grins, folding his arms across his chest. “Nah, this is too entertaining.”
Rowan shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, then exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping. “Fine. Maybe I shouldn’t go back just yet,” he admits begrudgingly.
“Oh, you think?” I press a hand firmly against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my palm as I guide him back down onto the couch.
He sinks into the cushions with a resigned sigh, and I make a mental note of his unexpected compliance. Maybe he’s finally realizing the seriousness of his condition.
I sit back on my heels, tilting my head as I study him. “Listen, I know this sucks. I know you want to be back on the ice, feeling the rush of the cold air and the thrill of the game. But if you don’t take this recovery seriously, you won’t be. And then what?”
He clenches his jaw, his eyes fixed on the floor as if it might hold some answers.
I sigh, dropping my tone. “Look, if you don’t want to hear it from me, fine. But someone needs to make sure you do your rehab. Otherwise, you’re just going to end up back here, frustrated and stuck.”
Thomas nods in agreement, his expression turning earnest. “She’s right, man. No offense, but you’re too damn stubborn to do this alone.”
Rowan rubs the back of his neck again, this time meeting my gaze with a hint of vulnerability. “So, what, are you offering to babysit me?”
I smile, a feeling of mischief across my lips. “Something like that.”
Leaning back against the worn, plaid couch, I cross my arms as my eyes sweep across the cluttered living room.
Rowan sits slouched, arms crossed tighter than mine, his eyes glued to the television screen where a football game blares. He’s in a mood, and I’m not one to let sulking drag down the vibe.
I exchange a knowing glance with Bruno and Thomas, raising a brow with a playful smirk. “Alright, boys. Time to break out the beers and the board games. We need some fun in here,” I announce, injecting enthusiasm into my voice.
Thomas springs up with a grin, his sneakers thudding on the hardwood floor as he makes a beeline for the kitchen. Bruno lets out a low groan before trudging to the fridge.
I steal a look at Rowan, whose gaze remains fixed on the TV as if the game is his lifeline. I shake my head, determination setting in. He won’t stay grumpy for long—not if I have any say in it.
Bruno sets a case of cold beers onto the coffee table with a satisfying thud, while Thomas rifles through a cramped cabinet overflowing with board games. With a triumphant grin, he extracts LIFE from the pile and waves the box above his head.
“Oh, hell yes,” he exclaims, eyes gleaming with excitement.
Rowan finally tears his gaze from the screen, scoffing as he takes in the choice. “I hate that game,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth twitching.
I smile and lean forward. “Sounds like you’ve lost a lot,” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
We clear the coffee table of empty snack bowls and stray coasters, making room for the game. The board unfolds with a satisfying crackle as we set up the tiny plastic cars and pastel-colored pegs representing our fictional families.
True to character, Rowan skips the college path entirely, moving his car piece directly into the workforce with a flick of his wrist. “School is a scam,” he declares with a dramatic flair, prompting a chorus of laughter from the rest of us.
As we dive into the game, the tension in the room gradually dissipates like fog under the sun. Rowan’s grumpy facade begins to crumble, revealing glimpses of the fun, competitive spirit hidden beneath his brooding exterior.
This is exactly what he needed, and seeing him start to enjoy himself brings a warm satisfaction. It’s exactly what I need too.
Rowan leans forward with anticipation as his fingers spin the wheel, watching it click-clack to a stop on a high-paying career. Thomas throws his hands up in exaggerated frustration, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.
“Oh, come on, that’s rigged.”
Rowan chuckles, a mischievous glow in his eye as he slides his card into the slot of his little plastic car. “I don’t make the rules,” he retorts with a smug glance. “I’m just naturally better than you.”
Beside me, Bruno shifts, stretching his long legs across the carpet with a resigned shake of his head.
“This game is stupid,” he mutters, flipping his card over with a sigh. “Oh, great. I have five kids now. Guess I need a second car.” His voice holds that blend of disbelief and amusement only a board game could inspire.
I laugh. “You’d make a great dad, you know.”
Bruno lets out a dismissive scoff, rolling his eyes. “Right. Because I totally have my life together.”
“You do,” I insist, giving him a gentle nudge with my knee. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
Thomas lands on a pay taxes space and groans theatrically, letting his forehead drop onto the table with a loud, exaggerated thud. “This game is juvenile. Why would anyone play this for fun?”
I take my final turn, a grin spreading across my face when I realize I’ve landed on Millionaire Estates, crossing the finish line with a triumphant flourish. I shoot both hands into the air, feeling the rush of victory.
“And the winner is… me.”
The boys let out a collective groan. “You totally cheated,” Rowan accuses, pointing a finger at me with a grin.
I shrug casually, echoing his earlier words. “I don’t make the rules. I’m just naturally better than you.”
Bruno leans back against the couch, a playful smile on his lips. “Alright, champ. What’s next?”
I tap a finger thoughtfully against my chin, considering my options. “Well, since I’m the winner, I get to choose the next game,” I announce, feeling mischievous.
Rowan rolls his eyes. “Of course you do,” he retorts, feigning exasperation.
I brush off his comment with a wave of my hand. “How about… Truth or Dare?” I suggest, the words hanging in the air like an invitation.
Bruno scoffs. “What are we, thirteen?”
But Thomas grins widely, leaning forward with excitement. “Oh, I’m in. This could get interesting,” he declares, rubbing his hands together as if ready for mischief.
Rowan tilts his head, studying me with curiosity and amusement. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No backing out,” he warns, both serious and playful.
I lift three fingers solemnly. “Scout’s honor,” I promise.
We shuffle around, forming a loose circle around the table, the anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. Thomas is the first to take the plunge, turning to Bruno with a daring sparkle across his face.
“Truth or dare?” he asks, the words almost a challenge.
Bruno lets out a resigned sigh. “Dare,” he replies, as if bracing himself for the inevitable.
Thomas’s lips curl into a triumphant, smug grin. “Chug that beer in one go,” he dares, nodding toward the can in front of Bruno.
Bruno rolls his eyes dramatically but complies, tilting his head back and downing the beer in one smooth motion. He slams the empty can on the table with a clatter, a defiant gleam in his eyes.
“Weak,” he comments, and his voice is laced with bravado.
Bruno then turns to Rowan, eyes narrowing with intent. “Truth or dare?”
Rowan doesn’t skip a beat. “Dare,” he replies confidently, keeping his gaze steady.
Bruno’s grin widens, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “I dare you to kiss Jinx,” he declares. His words send a ripple through the room.
The atmosphere shifts abruptly, the playful banter replaced by a charged tension. I glance at Rowan, expecting him to crack a joke or dismiss the dare with a laugh, but he remains silent, his dark eyes fixed on me.
“Well?” Bruno presses.
I swallow hard, feeling my heart flutter in my chest. “Fine,” I force out.
Rowan leans in slowly, as if granting me ample time to retreat if I choose.
My pulse hammers relentlessly in my throat, and suddenly, every detail of the room seems amplified, its warmth, its weight, the palpable sense of anticipation hanging thick in the air.
His lips meet mine, a gentle and warm touch, tentative at first. But then he deepens the kiss, and I feel myself getting wetter by the millisecond.
His hand glides to my jaw with a tender touch, angling my face upward, and instinctively, I part my lips, inviting him in.
The kiss is intoxicating, far more intense than anything I had imagined. I surrender to it, losing myself completely for a moment. My fingers clutch his shirt desperately, and his hand keeps me still, holding me close to him.
When we finally break apart, the silence that follows is overwhelming, almost deafening in its intensity. I blink, dazed and breathless, my breaths coming in uneven gasps.
Rowan licks his lips, his gaze flickering to mine, then quickly darting away.
“Well, damn,” Thomas mutters, breaking the silence with disbelief. “That was not the reaction I was expecting.”
Bruno exhales deeply, shaking his head with a hint of regret. “Yeah. “
I lean back, running a hand through my hair in an attempt to steady myself. My pulse continues its rapid beat, and my lips tingle persistently.
That’s not just a game.
That’s something else entirely—something profound and utterly unexpected.
And I want more of it.