Chapter 24
Twenty Four
Kaeli
After playing two days in a row this weekend, the two days off were a slight respite for everyone because we were bone tired.
Especially the players. You could see the haggard looks and their trudging feet when the game of the second day was finally won and over.
It was a miracle that the guys could get to the locker room to change and head to the giveaway for some lucky fans; the team organized, instead of just collapsing right there on the ice.
Still, the weary smiles didn’t deter the fans from being thrilled by the opportunity to meet them, snap some photos with them, which they’ll probably show their grandkids, and take home some signed merch.
The tough practice and back-to-back matches wore everybody down, so I didn’t expect a text from Ezra the next day, asking me to meet, mentioning that he had something he’d like to show me. I was surprised would be an understatement.
Normally, I’d deny him and wouldn’t even have to make any excuses for it–normally, he wouldn’t even ask me something like this, because this isn’t us, we don’t share texts like this–but today, as I wake up well into the morning, checking my phone with squinted eyes with my limbs still entangled in my duvet, I try and spectacularly fail to resist the urge to agree.
I’m curious to find what Ezra is up to, and the only way I can do that is to entertain his text.
You do remember that curiosity killed the cat, despite its nine lives, right?
My brain does its job to unhelpfully remind me of what a terrifically bad idea this is. But do I do what I know I should and listen to the warning my brain issues?
Absolutely.
Not.
Nipping on my lower lip, I let my fingers dance over the digital keyboard. “Fuck it, what could go wrong?” I mumble to myself. Only, I don’t realize everything that could.
Ezra: Can we meet? I’d like to show you something.
Me: You sure you texted the right person?
I didn’t think he’d come online right away, but when I see the three dots blinking on the screen of my phone, my heart threatens to jump out of my chest, smashing my ribs in the process as my breath hitches.
Then my phone chimes, and I greedily drink in his words.
Ezra: *eye roll gif*
Ezra: I’m sure, Kaeli.
I could see him doing just that while emphasizing my name to make me understand that he means it. I scoff in the silence of my room.
Me: *hands raised in surrender gif*
Me: Don’t get your panties in a twist. Just checking. You do realize we don’t do this, right?
Satisfied with the text, I press send. The banter and quips at each other are who we are. I hold my breath, awaiting his response to the last sentence. But I had to point it out, make sure that he knows what he’s doing.
Ezra: Don’t worry. I’m not taking you out on a date. It’s for your social media content. I think this could do some value addition.
His reply makes sense and is perfectly logical. It should make me feel relieved, ease my worries about this being something it shouldn’t be.
Yet, his words wash over me like a tidal wave, causing a sinking feeling to grow in the pit of my stomach. Because, of course, he’s texting me for something work-related. Why else would he?
Just because he made me come with his fingers, because we shared a few stolen kisses, doesn’t make us friends. It doesn’t make us anything. He’s still the man I hate. And I’m still the woman he can’t stand. If anything, I’m just another notch on his bedpost.
So, I do what I do best when it comes to Ezra Moore: I ignore that troublesome feeling and focus on the matter at hand.
Me: You wish!
Before giving him a chance to say something that would intensify the feeling I’m hell-bent on not acknowledging, I send another text.
Me: Fine. Just tell me when and where? And what can I wear?
Ezra: Personally, I’d prefer you wear nothing. But I highly doubt you’re into exhibitionism or public indecency, so wear something comfortable.
I exhale a relieved breath. Yes. This is safe territory, the one where we pick on each other. I don’t respond to his message, and soon he lets me know that he’ll come to pick me up in a couple of hours and asks for my address.
Letting my phone drop on the bed, I stare at the ceiling. Even though I know this is nothing more than work, my pulse still thrums at the prospect of seeing him, being alone with him.
God, I’ve no idea what to expect from today. All I know is that this pent-up and bubbling energy from skirting around the idea of finally having sex with him inside of me is desperate for an outlet.
* * *
“Where are we going?” I ask the instant I open my front door for Ezra, stepping outside and ready to head out.
He cocks an amused eyebrow at me. “Well, hello to you, too,” he retorts as sarcasm drips from his words.
I roll my eyes at him. “Hello. Now, where are we going?” I repeat, pivoting to shut the door behind me as I try my hardest to calm down my palpitating heart and labored breathing. We haven’t taken a step out, and he has already taken my breath away.
He does that sometimes. And I don’t think he even registers the devastating and walking life hazard he is to women and men around him.
I throw curses at him too slowly for him to hear as I violently fight to lock the door with my key.
How dare he?
He has no goddamn right to look this fucking mouth-watering in merely a black tee and gray shorts. Isn’t he aware that gray sweatpants are basically kryptonite for the other half of the population?
And what is he even doing wearing something like this in this cold and windy season? Doesn’t he feel the chill run over him? I do, even though I’m wrapped in a hoodie and a pair of leggings.
Then suddenly, I feel his hot breath fanning the back of my neck, his mouth grazing my ponytail as he speaks over my shoulder. “Everything all right over there?”
Have I finally lost it and am imagining the huskiness of his voice, or is it really present? Nonetheless, a shiver rolls down my back, and I know he feels it too, standing so close to me.
As he makes no move to take a step back, his warmth encapsulating me, I remember he asked me a question. I clear my throat and offer a weak nod. “Mhmm. Super!” And it’s as if the lock and key understand my predicament; the resounding click of the door locking rings ever so silently.
Not calculating the distance between our bodies, I naively swivel around to face him, finding my face thrust into his. I stumble back on the door, rising on my toes. “Oh…you’re close,” I note in a whisper as if it isn’t already obvious.
He stares at me with his hands in his pockets as the seams of his sleeves hang on to his biceps for dear life.
God, his muscles are great.
Realizing he hasn’t spoken, my eyes flit over to him and find a knowing smirk plastered on his face. My eyes narrow at him even though my face turns the shade of beets.
Then, surprising me with a wink, he turns on his heels and swaggers down a couple of steps as a cocky laugh falls from his lips.
“God, you’re infuriating!” I yell at his back as I stomp down behind him, dropping the keys in my bag and hiking it on my shoulders.
And when he continues to laugh, standing with the passenger door of his black SUV open for me, I punch his arm, though I doubt he even feels it, but with the wince I let take over my face, I’m sure that he sees that I feel it.
Still laughing at my failed attempt to knock him out, he grabs my hand and caresses my knuckles with the rough pad of his thumb. And just when I think he’ll drop it, he raises it to press the softest kiss known to humankind, causing my breath to hitch. Again.
Mirth dances in his eyes as his lips linger on my knuckles, and his blue eyes linger on my face.
I narrow my eyes at him, not letting him see the effect he has on me, or at least hoping he doesn’t. When he drops my hand, I instantly pull it to my chest and slide inside the car with a huff, even though my lips tilt upwards inside the safety of it.
Shaking his head at me with a smug grin, he rounds the car with a swagger only he possesses and knows it, and swiftly settles in the driver’s seat.
God, why is he hell-bent on killing me so young?