Chapter 27 – Jordan
TWENTY-SEVEN
JORDAN
If there’s one thing I’m good at besides hockey, it’s pool. Billiards, as our grandma would call it. It took a lot of convincing that Mom’s mom wasn’t in a biker club before meeting my grandpa and settling down.
Rocked a leather jacket. Three faded, and hidden tattoos. Till she passed, rode a motorcycle weekly. Wait till you feel the breeze in your hair, she used to tell Molly and me. And the best billiards player not on the world circuit.
I was jumping balls before I could land my first axel or scored my first goal.
Still, I let Wilder instruct me on the rules of the game. Adjust my stance because his way is better. And suggest which stripe I go after next, and if I can’t get it, at least it’ll be a better shot for him.
My brother is holding it together pretty well. Sutton’s only kicked him under the table once to stop laughing. Might ask her to kick him again for me because this blind date was his idea.
Then I’ll kick her butt because someone told him that I’m cranky and need to get laid. Apparently, girl code is no longer a thing.
Ever since my interrupted moment with Jaxon, I’ve been wound up.
Fingers slipped beneath my sleep shorts, nor my tried-and-true toys are cutting it.
The closest I got was when I pretended it was him, but even then, my body was too smart, too desperate for him.
It’s a terrible realization that has me oscillating on insanity.
I left that piece of information out the other night. The girls took me to dinner to celebrate making the team. Clinking our third glasses of the night, my lips loose, I confessed I hadn’t come in weeks, had sex in even longer.
Days later, Cooper is calling to inform me that he set me up with someone. He rattled off miscellaneous information about Wilder, and to shut him up I agreed to go.
Wilder is a great guy, I don’t doubt that, but I’ve tried all night to engage with him, to not be so closed off as Luka claims I am, and stop wishing he were someone else.
Specifically, the someone who slinked off five minutes ago and hasn’t returned.
“GJ is texting you,” Sutton informs. “Want your phone?”
It’s our opponent’s turn, then Wilder’s.
I step away, taking my phone from Sutton’s freckled hand.
With one swipe, I open Jaxon’s text. I changed his name when we started training together and inevitably started texting more.
It’s slightly one-sided, but still, I didn’t need someone (Cooper) seeing that Jaxon Greene of all people is texting me.
GJ
hi
we need to talk
Me
i’m on a date
GJ
Don’t be
meet me in the bathroom
please
one minute, blue
Jaxon sends one more please, and as I stare at the text, there’s no contemplating. I already know what my decision is. I turn to an intense Wilder, mouthing to himself and pointing at the green felt. I doubt he’d even notice if I slipped away.
“Gotta use the bathroom. Play for me?” Wilder doesn’t even respond, picks up the cue, and immediately lines up for a shot.
In the dark hallway, I stop in front of the bathroom Jaxon’s in. I knock twice before the door flies open, pulling me inside.
“You have a minute,” I pant, suddenly out of breath. The tension between us is a budding fire, absorbing the entirety of the oxygen in the room.
“You’re on a date.” He takes a step away from the sink, his attention on me daunting, and throws me off balance. The boots I’m in skid backward till I hit the wood-paneled wall. “Why?”
“Why does it matter?”
“And you’re wearing fuck me boots.”
“Fuck me boots?” Confusion enunciates the question. My gaze flicks to the knee-high leather boots I’m wearing.
Frustration, and what I think is jealousy, wafts off him. “The boots girls wear when they want to get laid.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. These have been in the back of my closet since freshman year Halloween.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Xanie and I went as—why are my boots aggravating you?”
“Because Elliot said—”
“You shouldn’t believe everything she says,” I bite out, folding my arms over my chest and scripting what I’m going to say to Elliot.
“So it’s not true then…you don’t want to get laid?” Jaxon hesitates on the last part.
I throw my hands up in the air. “Does no one keep girl code anymore?”
“Is she right?”
“No…yes…no…I don’t know, maybe.”
“You could’ve asked me.” Jaxon takes another step toward me, close enough that our next inhales have our chests brushing. “I’d say yes.”
“Now who sounds like they need to get laid.”
“Need. Want.” He leans forward, mouth hovering next to my ear. “They can be the same thing. Again, you could’ve asked me.”
“I’m not asking my brother’s best friend to have sex with me.”
“It’s a good thing I’m offering then.” A hand smacks the wall above my head, the other teasingly skims the hem of my black long sleeve before stopping. A pointer finger hooks into a belt loop of my denim skirt, thumb working at the center button.
I bite my cheek, hold my tongue. Jaxon thumbs open my skirt.
“Come on, Little Carmichael. Be a good girl and ask.” My cheeks heat, probably as red as the lipstick I put on earlier. “Knew it.” Jaxon’s chuckle is heated, warm against my flushed skin.
“Knew what?” The words are choked out.
“You need to be praised, like to be told you’re doing well. Saw it when we were on the ice and in the weight room.”
I ignore his correct observation, tilt my head away from him. “Plethora of sorority girls out there. You have your pick of the litter, bet any one of them would beg to hook up with you.”
“Too bad the person I want begging is right here.” Jaxon’s dexterity shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. Using one hand, he maneuvers the zipper while pressing a knuckle against my throbbing core. “I’ve already had a taste of it the other day. Ask me.”
His touch increases, and the tightrope of insanity I’ve been carefully balancing on snaps. “If you want it so badly, you should be begging me.”
“Does on my knees work?” I roll my eyes and he chuckles. It’s warm against my skin. “Use me, Jordan. Use me, not the curly fry hater out there.”
“He doesn’t like curly fri—” I can barely get the thought out, words choked up as Jaxon presses a featherlight kiss to the inside of my thigh.
I make quick work, bunching the denim up around my waist. Jaxon curses under his breath, catching sight of my lilac lace thong. Through the mirror, I can see the wet spot at the center. There’s a chance he won’t even need to use his mouth if he keeps staring at me like he is.
“Ask me, Greene. Beg for what you want.”
“Want. Need.” His chuckle tickles my sensitive skin, pulling my thong taut, earning a breathy moan from me. “They’re synonyms at this point, baby.”
He tugs on it again, letting the strap snap against my skin. It stings but the pain is quickly relieved by his mouth.
“Greene, now,” I beg.
Jaxon tugs tightly on my underwear once more before ripping the lace in two. Fixated on him, I watch as he stuffs the material into his back pocket, licking his lips at having me bare in front of him.
I don’t find the need to tell him that I’ve never gotten off from a guy going down on me—if they even cared to try. Luka was never interested, even when I asked.
His hand circles my right ankle, dragging and placing the foot on his shoulder. There’s a press of his lips against mine before two fingers are pushed inside of me. Jaxon pulls them out, and I groan at the loss.
“You’re already so wet. This isn’t because of Mr. Curly Fry, is it?” Jaxon paints his lips with my arousal. “And you’re so tight. He’ll never know what he’s missing out on. Could’ve bent you over the pool table instead of mansplaining.”
“Greene. Seriously, you need to learn to shut up.”
His chuckle coasts up my body, and I slip my hands into his hair. Tugging till his mouth is where I want it. Jaxon returns his fingers, curling them inside of me, but this time, there’s the addition of his mouth. Tongue lapping, biting, and sucking at my clit.
I’m quickly quivering, unable to stop myself from rocking against his face. Taking—no using him exactly as he offered. A symphony of yes, yes, yes, and right there, trickles from my lips. Pleasure builds at the base of my spine and before I know it, caught off guard, I come.
Jaxon doesn’t stop. Removing his fingers, he holds me open while his tongue continues, helping me ride out every last wave of pleasure.
I should be satisfied, but I’m not. I need more, want more of him.
I tug at his shoulders, fingers trying to grip whatever part of his shirt or body they can manage. He stands, and I kiss him, tasting myself, which sends me into a lust-induced frenzy. I fumble his belt, steadying large hands enclosing mine.
“Not here,” Jaxon says as if it’s a promise.
“Xanie is staying at Nico’s.”