Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ethan
The wedding is tomorrow, and anxiety is beginning to fester in the pit of my stomach. It also doesn’t help that I’m finding it increasingly difficult to stop myself from pretty much throwing myself at Jacob.
Every time I catch him checking me out, I want to just say fuck it and take his mouth with mine because surely an off-season hook-up wouldn’t hurt, right?
Or it could be catastrophic.
Well. Yeah. That too.
And while I don’t think Jacob has a bad bone in his body, it’s that damn fear that I can’t quite break past.
Heartbreak can do weird things to you in the long run.
After that interesting conversation in the backyard, where I may have said too much—or maybe not enough—my mom came over for dinner.
She made us a roast dinner and the three of us lost track of time talking about ourselves and our lives back in Chicago.
My mom had a lot of questions for Jacob about himself, the bakery, and Alex, and he answered all of them without hesitation.
It’s clear to see that he loves his job and that he fits right in.
In this house.
With my mom.
With me?
I can’t be thinking like that.
She raised her brows at me a few times when she caught me staring at him, and all I could do was shrug.
Because what the fuck am I doing?
Taking a sip of the coffee I made for the drive, I wait at the bottom of the stairs for Jacob. We’re heading into London for the day to hit up a few of the tourist hot spots and one of the bookstores Jacob wants to visit.
Except our agreed departure time is long gone.
I glance at my watch, then back up the stairs. “J? You gonna be much longer?”
“Two minutes!” he replies.
Sighing, I take another sip and wait, and just as I’m about to call up again to see if he’s okay or needs help, he appears wearing ripped jeans and a worn Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, his sunglasses perched on his head. When he reaches the bottom step, he grins and looks at me expectantly.
“Ready?”
“I’ve been ready for the last twenty minutes,” I grumble, but he ignores me and takes the coffee from my hand.
I should turn away and head to the door so we can get on the road, but I don’t.
I decide torture is the better option. I stare as his lips purse around the lid of the travel cup, where my own mouth was only seconds ago.
His lips are glossy, almost fuller, like he’s wearing some kind of balm, accentuating his bow-shaped lips, all pouty and pillowy.
And that deviant part of my mind wonders how good they would look wrapped around my cock.
Fuck. Said cock twitches in my jeans at the idea. It likes that thought a lot.
I internally groan, willing my half-hard dick to go down.
“Let’s go,” I say through gritted teeth.
Five minutes later, we’re driving toward Central London.
Jacob fiddles with the radio, humming along to whatever song is playing.
He’s been taking photos out of the window and tapping away on his phone.
He’s practically bouncing with energy, and it’s the only excuse I can think of for why I keep sneaking glances at him.
“I’ve been thinking,” he announces.
I cast a quick glance and arch a brow at him. “Sounds dangerous.”
He rolls his eyes and snorts, lightly slapping my bicep with his fingers. “So, for your family to believe we’re a real couple, we need to be convincing, right?”
“Right,” I say, focusing back on the road.
“I think we need to use our chemistry to our advantage. I mean, I already think there’s something simmering between us, so what if we just…” He pauses, pulling his top lip between his teeth, before continuing. “I think we should treat today like we’re going on a date.”
I almost slam on the brakes. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I clear my throat, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Uh, sure. We can do that.”
“I’ll be quite a touchy boyfriend, holding hands, touching your arm or chest, that kinda thing, so you can’t be stiff or look uncomfortable around me.”
Small chance of that happening, considering there’s part of me that’s often stiff around Jacob, and it’s definitely not because I’m uncomfortable.
I hate being a tourist.
It’s not that I don’t like London; I do.
It’s a great city. I just don’t like people, and there are hundreds of them outside Buckingham Palace.
Tourists don’t seem to understand the concept of personal space, and I’m about two seconds away from telling the next person who pushes into me to fuck off.
Jacob, though?
Jacob is on cloud fucking nine.
He’s taken what must be nearly a million photos of the palace, the fountains, the horse guards—even one of a pigeon.
“London pigeons are different from Chicago pigeons, and I think Elliot will appreciate it,” was his reasoning.
Our goalie does get amused by the weirdest shit, so I can’t fault him for his thought process.
“Isn’t this fun?” Jacob gleams.
“Yes, I’m having a great time,” I deadpan.
“Aw, come on!” He stands on his tiptoes and wraps his arms around my neck. “Look at all this history around you. It’s kinda magical.”
I place my hands on his hips, pulling him closer to me and out of the way as a group of people walk by .
“If you say so.”
Jacob ignores my quip and gets out his phone again. “Let’s get a photo with the Palace in the background.”
That’s another thing.
He’s taken his decision to treat today like a date very seriously, and I’ve had to pose for more photos in the last twenty minutes than I did for my job last season.
Seeing how good we look together should alarm me, but I guess it’ll make it all the more believable.
He holds the phone up, leaning into my side, and I wrap an arm around his shoulders, but he doesn’t take the photo.
“You could at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
I groan and give a tight-lipped smile. He takes the photo and inspects it.
“We need to work on your grumpiness, because this,” he says, holding up the phone with the photo displayed on the screen, “does not say we are in a very steamy and loving relationship, Mr. Parkes.
“Just put an emoji over my face or something, or we’ll take another one when there aren't seventy thousand people around.”
He rolls his eyes.
I sigh, placing a hand on his neck and angling his head to face me. “It’s not that I’m not enjoying my time with you, J; I just hate all of this.” I motion toward the crowd with my other hand.
His eyes softens slightly.
“Come on, let’s take a walk through the park. Maybe it’ll be quieter there,” Jacob suggests, slipping his hand into mine and lacing our fingers together. He leads us through the throngs of people and toward St. James Park.
“Oh, what is this?” he asks, then gasps excitedly. “An ice cream truck! We’ve got to get an ice cream.”
I watch as his eyes roam the menu printed on the van window, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
He orders a soft serve ice cream in a waffle cone, topped off with a flaky chocolate stick poking out of the side.
I politely decline ordering anything, but when Jacob goes to pay, I quickly tap my phone against the card reader.
“Ethan,” he protests.
I raise a brow. “Jacob.”
“I could’ve paid.”
“Yes, you could have, but I wanted to get it.” I lean in and whisper in his ear, “Boyfriend privileges.”
He tries his best to look annoyed, but the smile playing on his lips makes me the winner.
Guiding him away from the truck with my hand on the base of his spine, we find an empty wooden bench facing the lake and sit down.
My eyes zero in on Jacob’s tongue curling around the ice cream, his own eyes closing as he swallows and lets out an indecent moan.
“Omigod,” he whimpers before taking another seductive lick. He takes a bite out of the crumbly chocolate stick, and another sultry moan rumbles in his throat. “This is so good.”
With every sensual sound that he makes and each tantalizing sweep of his tongue, my dick thickens behind my zipper. I clench my teeth and ball my hands into fists in my lap as I try to control myself .
Is he trying to kill me? I can’t act on this in the middle of a busy park.
“Wanna try some, E?” He holds the cone out to me, his tongue peeking out to lick over his swollen lips.
Or can I act on it? Because if he wants to play a teasing game, then I’ll up the stakes.
Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I grab his wrist and bring his hand to my mouth. Taking a long, slow lick of the smooth ice cream, I imagine I’m running my tongue up his hard length.
His breath hitches. Twin pink circles color the apples of his cheeks, and his eyes dart between my mouth and where my hand is wrapped around his wrist, his cornflower-blue orbs darkening with each second that passes.
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, slowly sweeping my tongue over my bottom lip. “Delicious.”
I let go of his wrist, but it remains poised mid-air. It’s only when a bit of ice cream drips down the side of the cone onto his fingers that he moves.
He’s flustered, and I can’t help but grin. He eats his ice cream with small, tentative licks now, his eyes fixed on mine.
I lower my voice. “What have I said about teasing me, Jacob?”
He swallows, wide eyes blinking up at me.
I lean over, taking another bite of the soft serve as I ghost my lips over his. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You’re too good for me. Don’t waste your wishes on someone who isn’t worthy of you.”
“Don’t you think that’s up to me to decide?”
His voice is strong for someone who was just blushing hard.
His hair falls forward in the light breeze, and I reach up, pushing it off his face.
I allow my fingers to linger, taking in the softness of it and the way the gesture makes his breath hitch.
There’s something in those kind eyes that I can’t decipher.
I’m not able to answer him. Of course it’s up to him to decide who is worthy of him, but it isn’t me. He deserves things I’m not able to give him.