8. Whoops #2
“I don’t need a hug!” She jabs my chest. “Stop looking at me!” She springs to her feet, slapping at her soaked cheeks. “I hate you!” she shouts, then dashes to the bathroom. It’s all hobbly because of her bum ankle, and I fold my lips into my mouth so my laughter doesn’t chase her.
When she returns, I’ve got Sportsnet on, ready for the game, and I’ve cleaned the dishes.
Jennie sticks her hand in the bowl of Sour Cherry Blasters I’ve just poured. “I’m sorry I said I hated you. It was in the heat of the moment.”
“It’s okay. Scar’s an asshole.”
“Scum of the Disney world.”
I chuckle as I grab another beer from the fridge. “You want another?”
“I didn’t have a first, but no, thank you. I don’t drink.”
“Oh.”
Jennie reaches for her collarbone, like she’s about to fiddle with a necklace. Instead, her fingers flutter over bare skin. I catch the sharp rise of her chest, and she quickly looks away.
Returning the beer, I grab a Gatorade instead.
Jennie frowns. “You can still drink, Garrett. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just my personal choice.”
And it’s a choice I’ll support when we’re together. If a drunk driver had taken someone from me, I don’t know that I’d ever be able to even look at alcohol again.
Sometimes I don’t know why I ever touched it myself.
A childhood spent watching alcohol own my dad isn’t one I’d wish on anyone.
Truth be told, it wasn’t much of a childhood at all.
In the end, I guess I decided I wasn’t going to let him take something else from me, that I would have the control he didn’t and make better choices.
I head to the couch with my Gatorade and a fresh bag of ice, and at Jennie’s perplexed expression, I explain, “For your ankle.”
“Oh.” She hesitantly places her foot on the pillow I set on the coffee table and sighs when I cover her ankle with ice. “Thank you.”
I keep my eyes on the TV as the game starts. “What happened there anyway?” I don’t need to know Jennie well to know the answer she gave me in the elevator two days ago was bullshit.
“Twisted it during dance practice.”
From my peripheral, I catch her nibbling her thumbnail. “Thought you tripped over your bag?”
Her head whips my way. “Why are you asking if I already gave you an answer?”
“Why are you lying?”
“You’re so annoying.” She shoves her hand in the popcorn bowl. “I tripped over my dance partner. There, are you happy?”
“Steve?”
She snicker-snorts. “Simon. Carter only calls him Steve to piss him off.”
“Carter hates him.” He’s always grumbling about Jennie dropping pairs and going solo. “Says he wants in your pants.”
Jennie hums dismissively, then leaps to her feet. “ Offside ! That was so offside! You’re never gonna get those orange armbands missing calls like that, bud!”
With the way she keeps shouting at the officials, it takes me one minute to let go of the fact that she doesn’t want to talk to me about her dance partner, and another four to realize she might be my favorite person ever to watch hockey with.
I even forget about the major case of FOMO I had about missing the trip.
When the third period rolls around, Jennie’s hoarse from yelling, and my stomach aches from laughing.
“If all you wanted to do was watch the game, you shoulda bought tickets like everyone else. You suck, ref.” She tosses a piece of popcorn at the referee on TV, then a whole handful at me. “Stop laughing at me.”
“I can’t. Watching with you is fun. My sisters hate hockey, or they’re too cool to watch. They only make it to one or two games a year, and they spend most of it buried in their tablets or making googly eyes at the guys.”
Jennie snickers. “How many sisters do you have?”
“Three.”
“How old?”
Skimming my jaw, I line up dates in my head. “Uh, twelve, ten, and nine.”
Jennie twists my way, feet on the cushion between us. Her toes are painted pale pink, a stark contrast to her black fingernails. “Oh wow. That’s a big age gap.”
“My parents separated for a couple years, then got busy when they got back together. I heard more than I’d care to admit when I was thirteen and they got remarried. Nine months later Alexa came along. I learned quickly to get out of the house when they were giving each other the eyes.”
Jennie snickers, stretching her legs out, toes pressing into my thigh. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “That’s nice they worked things out. You must’ve been happy.”
“Definitely.” Mostly happy that my dad was sober for the first time I could ever remember. “What kinda dance do you do?”
“Contemporary, mostly. It’s my favorite. I grew up doing ballet but fell in love when I discovered contemporary.”
“Why’s that?”
Her nose wrinkles. “There are too many rules in ballet.”
“And you don’t like following them?”
She grins. “Not really. It killed my feet too.” She shrugs. “Contemporary felt more me. I don’t think about anything, just listen to the music and move my body. It’s freeing in a way that ballet wasn’t. For me, at least. I felt too restricted, and all I wanted to do was stand out.”
“That’s pretty cool. It must feel nice to find your niche.”
Jennie gets this super-psyched look on her face, like my youngest sister Gabby when I answer her FaceTime request. She grips my forearm. “My Christmas recital is coming up. You could come see it with Carter and Olivia. Emmett and Cara are coming too.”
Her smile dissolves at my hesitation and blank expression. She releases my arm, averts her gaze, and shifts away. I watch the way her personality slips away as she shuts back down, creeping back behind whatever wall she’s built to keep people at bay.
But this version of her here tonight, talking easily and laughing with me, I want to hang on to that.
“I’m heading home for a couple days over Christmas, but if the dates line up, I’ll definitely come watch you kick ass on stage.”
She regards me warily for a moment before her shoulders unfurl and her legs flop back down between us. “I don’t wanna brag, but I’m the best one up there.”
I flick her foot. “There’s that trademark Beckett arrogance.” She giggles, kicking my fingers away. When her feet land in my lap, my hand covers her ankles.
“Sure, but I worked my ass off to be sure of myself and my talent, so I’ll own that title.”
“I like that. You should be confident and proud of yourself.”
Our eyes lock as we smile at each other. I take in her deep-set dimples, her heart-shaped lips, the way they curve in the righthand corner, like she’s got a secret.
I’ve got an urge to make a big fucking oopsie, which should tell me it’s time to pack up and get outta here, especially since in the time we’ve been chatting, the game has ended. Instead, my mouth opens, and I don’t know what’s going to come out until it comes.
“Wanna finish watching the movie?”
Fuck . What a fucking mistake.
Because twenty minutes later, Jennie’s half-buried in some sort of blanket burrito, clutching a pillow to her chest, shaking violently as she sobs, “Can You Feel The Love Tonight” playing through the TV, and I’m just howling uncontrollably.
“Shut up!” She smashes the pillow to my face.
“It’s not even a sad part!”
“It’s emotional! They’ve found each other after all this time apart, and they were best friends, and it’s-it’s-it’s…shut up! Stop laughing at me!”
I don’t, but I do dodge the second pillow she chucks. Dublin’s passed out by the fireplace, completely unfazed, even though this girl beside me has been anything but quiet all night.
“You give off this real badass vibe, but I’ve seen you cry three times this week, and two of them were tonight during a Disney movie.”
She’s not even throwing the pillow anymore, just holding it to my face, trying to smother me, her body squirming against mine. My laughter only seems to spur her on.
Jennie sends me toppling sideways, and I flop to my back as she falls between my legs.
“Shut…up…Gare…Bear!”
“I have three little sisters. You’re not gonna win, sunshine.”
“I grew up with Carter,” she grunts, hands clasping mine as she tries to pin me to the couch. “He pissed me off daily.”
“Sure.” I wind one arm around her waist and flip her over, pinning her below the weight of my body, my fingers overlapping her wrists. “But I’m not your brother.”
And thank fuck for that.
Jennie peers at me from beneath dark lashes, cheeks rosy, lips parted with her staggered breaths. Our chests rise and fall together, quick and heavy, like the thudding in my ears. I’m painfully aware of the warm spot between her thighs where I’ve settled, and my chest roars with need.
There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me to disengage, to head home before I make any mistakes I can’t take back.
Because this right here? Me and her, my best friend and captain’s little sister, tangled together? A mistake you don’t walk away from.
But then Jennie’s hazy blue eyes drop to my lips, and her hips move just slightly, an invitation, one I don’t think I can turn down.
“I win,” I whisper, and I drop my face at the same time she tips her chin.
My mouth covers hers without hesitation, tasting, taking.
Fuck, do I ever wanna take. She’s soft and sweet, eager and hesitant at the same time, and my pulse hammers the longer I explore her.
I run my tongue over the seam of her lips, asking for permission.
I want in, and I don’t know if I’ll want to leave.
She opens for me, legs winding around my waist, letting me closer than I ever thought I’d be. My tongue meets hers with a slow sweep, and when her hips lift, grinding against me, a jagged whimper leaves her mouth.
And then a gasp.
Jennie stiffens below me, and I know. I’m done. I’ve fucked up.
I shuffle backward the second she wriggles free of my grasp. She starts doing the crab walk, right until she tumbles over the edge of the couch with a squeal, ass in the air in her teensy, tiny shorts.
“I’m sorry.” I climb to my feet and reach for her, trying to help her up, but she keeps on keepin’ on with the crab walk, all the way out of the living room and down the hall, eyes wide as she gawks at me. “I’m sorry, Jennie. I didn’t mean…I don’t…I don’t know what came over me.”
She bumps into the wall and clutches the back of her head. “Ow!”
“For fuck’s sake, let me help you up.” I hoist her to her feet before she can slap my hands away, and she promptly darts up the stairs, hobbly ankle and all. “Jennie—”
“I’m tired! So tired! Bedtime!” She waves a flappy hand at the door. “You can just…let yourself out. Lock up when you leave! Good night, Garrett Andersen!”
She trips, falling to her hands and knees at the top of the staircase while rambling about how she just called me by my full name. Then she disappears, followed by the sound of a door slamming.
Fuck. I’m so fucking fucked. What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t, that’s the problem. Not with the head on my neck, that’s for sure.
I look down at my dick. I’m thoroughly disappointed in him, and I’m about to tell him so.
“Can’t fuckin’ keep it in your pants for one fuckin’ night, Lieutenant Johnson? C’mon, dude. Carter’s goddamn little sister,” I mutter, scrubbing my face as I wander back down the hall.
Dublin yawns and stretches before trotting over and licking my hand. He curls up on a cushion in the kitchen while I clean the mess we made before promptly escorting myself out the front door. I need to dip my blue balls in some snow.
“Fuck,” I repeat for at least the fifteenth time in the last five minutes, softly banging my head against the door. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I can’t leave like this. I need to apologize, and we need to talk about where to go from here. I think we should never, ever tell Carter, but if she wants to, I will. He’ll cut off at least one integral body part, but I’ll do it if she asks me to.
Quietly, I step back inside, toeing off my shoes as my neck grows clammy. I really liked hanging out with her, but I’m 99.999 percent sure I’ve ruined any chance of us ever being able to be in the same room again.
“Jennie?” I call tentatively, climbing the staircase. I find the only bedroom door that’s closed and grip the door frame. “I wanted to apologize. Can we talk?”
Half of me hopes she’s already asleep.
“Jennie, I—” I shake my head. I suck at this. “Look,” I try softly, “can I come in?”
With no response, I hang my head and sigh, turning toward the stairs.
But then I hear her, softly calling my name, and I jerk my elbow into my side triumphantly.
“Yes,” I mutter before opening the door and waltzing right through it. “Listen, I was—”
My words dissolve on my tongue, jaw dangling as my eyes fall on the most glorious sight they’ve ever witnessed.
A gentle vibration buzzes in the air, and it seems to be coming from the pink object that Jennie holds between her long, bronzed legs from her spot on the bed.
And Jennie? Pantless. And pant y- less. Head thrown back too.
My hand falls to my dick when my name tumbles from her mouth once more, just like the words I can’t stop tumble from mine.
“Holy shit.”
Jennie’s head rolls forward, eyes dazed as they float over the room before eventually landing on me, standing in the doorway, hand on my cock, which is, by the way, super fucking hard right now.
Her lips part, and I must be the densest dick on the planet to think she might say my name once more, or better yet, invite me in.
Instead, she shrieks.
Holy fucking shit, does she shriek . Bloodcurdling, ear piercing, and yet Lieutenant Johnson doesn’t give two shits.
No, he stands on guard in all his glory, begging me to let him give her the ol’ one-eyed salute, to ask her if she wants to play.
And Jesus fucking fuck, do I ever wanna play.