Chapter 16 Jordan
jordan
“End this?” My voice cracks. “For sure. Let’s figure that out.” The words taste more sour than eating a mustard packet to help my leg cramps during a game. How am I this close to the woman of my dreams, in a hotel room, talking about ending our relationship?
My chest caves in like I took a penalty shot to win the game, and I hit the fucking post. What if…
what if I don’t want to put an expiration date on this?
I don’t want this to start like a container of yogurt—more like yogurt-covered raisins where the expiration date is more of a suggestion than a warning.
Well, now I just want to eat my feelings.
I take in a deep breath and let it out again.
I can’t tell her I don’t want to end this.
She’ll think I’m a stage five clinger. But I can’t walk away from this either.
This is my chance to finally show her how different I am.
To show her I’m more than just a spoiled rich asshole.
To show her I’m actual boyfriend material.
My mind races with how much time I would need to prove this to her while balancing my crazy ass hockey schedule.
“How about…” Fuck, Jordan, use your brain. Think! “after the playoffs?” I spit out. “That would help me a lot with Coach and not stress about a breakup, a PR breakup, until afterward. Would that be okay?”
She twists her lips. “When do the playoffs end?”
“June, if we make it to The Cup finals. One more win and we’ll clinch the division, so we’re in a great position to make a long run. I have to plan like we’re going to go all the way this year.”
Her gaze lifts to the ceiling as my pulse quickens, silence filling the space.
Her eyes drop back to mine, a slight crinkle in her brows.
My heart furiously pumps blood throughout my body, straight to where I don’t need it to go right now.
This woman is sexy when she’s angry, happy, sad, and deep in thought. Dammit, why did I wear sweatpants?
“A few months works for me. That’ll give me time to figure out what to do about Chaddwick Ainsworth, the most arrogant man in the world.”
I smirk. “I thought I was the most arrogant man in the world.”
“You fell one place in the rankings. Don’t get too excited.”
I can’t help but let out a laugh. I’ll take one spot down. I will actually take any spot she gives me. But hopefully I’m off the list by June, the Cup in my hands and her on my arm.
Kennedy groans, dropping her head into her hands. “I guess there’s just one last thing we need to discuss.”
I tilt my head, narrowing my brows. “And what’s that?”
“PDA.”
I freeze harder than Paulette in Legally Blonde when the UPS guy walks in. My breath leaves my lungs and doesn’t come back. How do you find air when you’re drowning in a sea of Kennedy Kramer? I swallow hard.
“PDA. Right.” I clear my throat, fighting to keep my voice even. “How do you want to handle that?”
“Obviously, they’ll want us to hold hands. They already saw that in the photo, so we’re stuck with that.” The hint of irritation in her voice doesn’t slip past me. What does she think I am? A lizard? My hands may be a little rough, but dammit, I moisturize.
Still…she’s agreed to hold mine.
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back my excitement and desperate to keep a straight face. Honestly, she could maul me like a bear at this point, and I’d be fine with it.
“Right. Holding hands is fine with me, too.”
She peeks through her fingers, still hiding her face. “Then there’s PDA beyond that.”
“I’m fine with whatever you’re comfortable with. You just tell me what’s allowed and I’ll respect it.”
Kennedy slumps, picking at her nails once more. “I figured you’d want to have your tongue down my throat the second you entered my room.”
Fucking hell, this woman. I mean, she’s not wrong, but she has got to stop talking about tongues because my dick is swollen more than a can of soda someone put in the freezer too long.
Unless I decide to set up a permanent residence here, I will eventually need to leave this table.
It would be weird to sleep sitting like this.
“Let’s stick to hand holding and hugs,” she suggests, bossy as hell, and I am fucking here for it.
As if I’d ever say no to anything with her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She winces. Shit. “Oh God, please don’t call me ma’am. That makes me feel old.”
“How old are you?” My eyes go wide. “Wait…shit…you’re not supposed to ask a woman that. Dammit. I’m sorry.”
She leans forward, propping her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm.
“It’s fine. We need to know these details if this is going to work. I’m thirty-four. You?”
Fuck. I don’t even want to tell her. I don’t want her to think I’m as immature as my image and my age make me seem. But I have to…
“I just turned twenty-three earlier this month—March 1st. When’s your birthday?”
“September 5th,” she says with a defeated sigh.
She’s trying to keep it together, but I know she’s freaking out.
Growing up with sisters, I learned that composed on the outside usually means turmoil inside.
I catch the subtle way she bites down on her nail.
The slight waiver flips my nerves on their head.
My muscles go tight, barely stopping me from reaching across the table to pull her into my arms until she feels safe.
But…we aren’t even past holding hands. I can do this.
I’ll just do what I always do and break the tension with my wit and personality.
“I was thinking, since you don’t want any sort of contract, we could shake on it.
If you want, we can even have our own secret handshake that only we know what it means,” I say with a wink as she lets out a laugh and rolls her eyes.
My lips curl up at the sound, my chest filling with pride.
Even with the eyeroll, I still made her laugh.
“I think a normal one is fine. So…we have a deal?” she says, extending her hand.
I delicately grab her hand in mine, giving it a firm shake, my eyes never leaving hers. “Fake dating it is.”
For now.