15. Jack
Jack
Ireach into my duffel and pull my hand out, laughing when my glove sparkles. I haven’t seen Izzy in a few days, but everything I own now seems to be covered in glitter.
Being on the road should be easy. Same routine as always: buses, flights, shitty hotel coffee, games that bleed together until I forget what city I’m in. But it’s not easy. Not this week.
I can’t stop thinking about Izzy. I keep finding excuses to text her. Dumb things, anything so I can keep up whatever we stumbled upon at Halloween.
And she answers. Every time. Dry, sharp, usually giving me shit. But she answers. And that’s enough to keep me grinning like an idiot in the middle of the locker room.
“Aww, Murph’s in love.”
I keep my head down. I don’t want to get pulled into anything before the game.
“First comes love, then comes marriage—”
I grab my glove and chuck it at Noah’s head.
The rest of my teammates erupt into laughter.
I lunge for my glove on the floor and keep getting my gear on. “It’s—”
Connor stretches his hamstring beside me on the bench. “I think you broke something when you hit your head.”
“Yeah, one concussion too many, and suddenly the man’s in love.” Bosko finishes wrapping tape around his stick. “They grow up so fast.”
Alex rips his earbuds out and grins. “Murph with a girlfriend? Shit, we might have a chance at the playoffs after all.”
Girlfriend.
Right, fake girlfriend.
“Not with the way you’ve been playing.” I slip into my jersey.
“Hey now.” Bosko whacks me on my shoulder. “Navarro is the best goalie we have. His head’s in the game.” He lifts his chin, his curly blond hair bobbing as he waves to get Alex’s attention.
But it’s too late. His earbuds are in, and he’s back to listening to his pre-game playlist, which I happen to know is entirely Broadway soundtracks. He made me swear I’d never tell anyone. Goalies are weird, man.
“Did you see the pics?” Noah stands and reaches for the ceiling in a tall stretch. “I’d sleep with her too if she looked like that on Halloween.”
I clothesline him. “Fuck all the way off.”
Noah doubles over, sputtering for a minute, before straightening with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Told you! He really does like her.”
Coach bursts into the locker room, striking a rolled-up piece of paper against his palm. “Enough with the shit, boys. Time to get on the ice. And if we lose tonight, I’m going to work you so hard at practice tomorrow, you’ll throw up for the rest of the afternoon.”
After the game, the team insists on taking me out. I try not to make a big deal out of turning thirty today, but they don’t care. In fact, after the game, Bosko had a walker waiting for me with balloons.
The cheeky asshole. I’ll get him back.
“Murph!”
“What?” I glance up from my spot at the corner of our long table of some new nightspot in Denver. I reach for a potato skin and wash it down with a sip of beer.
“You have company.” Fitzy flags over the tall blonde hovering nearby. “He doesn’t bite.”
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter. I’m fairly certain Izzy’s walking around Merritt Point with a small bruise on her hip from my teeth.
Just wanted to make sure she didn’t forget me while I was away.
Alex chuckles beside me, wrestling my fork away to grab a bite. “Let her down easy.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Not doing that.” I elbow him, then snag my fork back. “Get your own plate.”
The woman stands there, oblivious that both Noah and Connor are falling all over themselves to talk to her. “I thought… I heard you were really good with fans. I’d love to have a drink…”
“Not single,” I say, and the word that follows surprises me more than it does her. “Taken.”
“I’ll get a drink with you,” Connor volunteers.
Alex leans closer, and I growl before he can touch my food. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
“No, you just have wicked bad table manners.”
He scrunches his nose. “There it is. You’re drunk!”
I peek up, confused. First, because why hasn’t my phone pinged yet, and second, how could I be drunk when we just got here? “Fuck off. You’re just mad Molly didn’t fly out to see you.”
“She’s busy,” he says, his voice tight.
We’ve been friends long enough for me to know to leave it. “Why am I drunk?”
He pulls the plate of chicken wings away from Bosko and Noah and slides them in front of us, grabs one, then takes a bite. Maybe I am a little drunk.
“Your accent comes out. Drop all your R’s. Use words like wicked.”
I shake him off and eat a few wings, waiting for my phone to ping, until finally, I finish another beer and tell everyone I’m heading to the bathroom. I’m not. I walk to the bar instead, order one last drink, and call Izzy.
“It’s like you can’t stop thinking about me, Murphy,” she says when she answers.
I grin against my phone. “Yeah, almost.”
“What are you doing?”
I’d fly back to Merritt Point right now if it meant I could crawl into bed with her and chat.
“I’m out with the team.”
“Oh?”
I clock her anxiety right away in the way her voice jumps three octaves. “Worried?”
“No, why would I be?” she rushes out.
“Good, because I’m sitting at the bar. Very much alone.” Thinking of you. “How was your day?”
She scoffs. “I’m supposed to believe you just scored the winning shot of the game, and you just want to yap about my day?”
“So you watched?”
“It was on. Not the same thing.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Are you drunk?”
I pick at the bar napkin before I grin at the female bartender and motion for another cherry. “A little.”
“It’s your birthday today.”
The words hang there between us. I should make a joke or something, anything. Instead, I clear my throat and shift on the barstool. “Tell me about your day.”
She does. Her voice fills the space while I settle my tab, wave to Alex and Bosko, and leave early.
I close my eyes and tip my head back against the seat, letting her words wash over me the entire ride, then as I push through my hotel room and collapse onto the bed.
“Going to sleep?” she asks, a yawn nearly taking her out.
“I’m back in my room now. I can FaceTime you.”
“No, I need to head to bed. I’m watching Luca for Peyton tomorrow.”
“Are you going to take out that vibrator again? Pretend it’s me between your legs?”
“Go to bed, Jack,” she says with a small giggle. But I’m not so drunk as to miss the little inhale she made when I asked.
“You’ve done it already, haven’t you?”
“Good night, Murphy.”
“I’m just being an attentive boyfriend.”
“Very generous. You’re cute when you’re drunk. Are you wearing your glasses?”
“If I say yes, will you take out that vibrator and let me listen?”
I miss that breathy sigh of hers.
“We need to keep some mystery to this relationship. Good night. Oh, and—”
“Yeah?”
“Happy Birthday, Jack. I hope it’s a really great year for you.”
The phone disconnects, and I pull it away from my ear, wearing what must be a big, stupid grin.
I strip and head to the shower, where I wrap my hand around my cock and definitely think about what she sounds like when I’m between her thighs.
The hot water beats down on my shoulders as an orgasm races up my spine.
I slam my eyes shut, picturing her hands tracing my hipbone, the feel of her mouth against my skin, the way she sighs my name.
I hate that she’s not here. That I’m alone in my hotel room halfway across the country.
Shit, I’m in so much trouble.
I thought I’d miss her less by Thursday, but she called me last night while she was folding laundry and watching Ten Things I Hate About You. Today, we texted things we hate about one another.
Jack: I hate that you hog all the blankets.
Izzy: That was one time. I hate that you eat the crust first on your pizza like a psychopath.
Jack: I don’t like to wait for the best part.
Izzy: It’s called delayed gratification.
I know all about delayed gratification. This entire scheme of ours is delayed gratification. Watching Izzy fall apart on the bed, fuck…
Jack: I hate that you smell like vanilla. It’s distracting.
Izzy: That sounds like a YOU problem.
Jack: I hate that you’re always right about everything.
Izzy: I hate when you don’t wear your glasses. Hate more when you wear them, because I forget how to speak.
Jack: I hate that you’re smiling at your phone right now, and I’m not there to see it.
Izzy: I hate that you know me this well already.
Jack: I hate that I’ve been gone for five days.
I want to share that I miss her, but I keep that to myself. This… whatever is happening between us is already a lot.
Izzy: Yeah. I hate that too.
Today, I sent her burritos from her favorite place because I know she’ll stay at the store too late for book club and forget to eat. I included a stupid note on the order: Figured you could use a hot meal. Call me later.
No one’s ever remembered little details for her. And for a second, it feels good, knowing I can take care of her from five hundred miles away.
I should be out with the guys after tonight’s game, but I head straight to my room after the presser.
I loosen my tie. My shoulder aches from a blocked shot, and I’m black and blue.
I was too rough out on the ice. My vision blurred twice during the game, and I didn’t tell the trainer.
And I’m sure as shit not going to tell Izzy.
I rummage around my bag for Advil, swallow a few, and gently rub my temple before I pull up FaceTime.
Izzy answers, curled in bed, hair damp, an oversized pink sweatshirt swallowing her up. She looks tired, but she still manages a smile. I want nothing more than to climb through the screen and lie down beside her.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She rubs her hands over her eyes and blows out a big breath. “The week’s catching up with me.”
“Did you watch tonight?”
Her lips twitch. “No.”
I laugh. “Figures. Too busy taking care of everyone else.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I watched a little.”
I feel it—that sharp twist in my chest again. “I need to ask you something.”
“You told me once you move fast when you know a good thing, but I need to stop you right there. We can’t get married yet.”
I chuckle, shrugging out of my jacket and tossing it on the chair. “There’s this charity gala next week in Boston. Black tie. It’ll be a whole thing, and I don’t want to go alone.”
Her brows furrow. “So don’t.”
“Well, big sponsors and donors will be there, and the rest of my team. I’m required to go and make an appearance. Plus, I should really show everyone I’ve seen the error of my ways if I want to move forward with the rink project.” I rake my hand through my hair.
“Well, I’m not sure I can get Zoe to cover for me. I’ll need to check first.”
“You don’t have to answer right now,” I tell her. “But I really want you there. With me.”
That last part comes out raw, more honest than I meant it to be.
Finally, she rolls onto her side and snuggles deeper into her pillow. “You want to take me to a gala for our second date?”
I force a grin. “It’ll be fun.”
“Mmm. We’ll see.” She stifles a yawn. “Night, Jack.”
The call ends. I stay frozen, my phone gripped in my hand, my heart pounding. I’m supposed to be the guy who doesn’t give a shit. The one who doesn’t get attached. The one who would have left with any of the women who found me this week while I was out with the team.
My phone pings.
It’s a picture of Izzy’s bedside table. The drawer is open, and her vibrator’s missing.
Izzy: Are you going to wear a tux for this gala? Because that’s all I’m thinking about right now.
Jack: Are you sexting me?
Izzy: Shh, don’t interrupt my orgasm, Murphy.
Jack: Better practice, because when I get home, we’re going for five.