Chapter 50
JORDAN
A few evenings later, a text pops up on my phone.
It’s a picture of my panties, dangling from Tate’s big hand and strong fingers. These are navy blue with white lace flowers—and I know exactly who brought them to him.
I whirl around, where the evil cat lounges on my bed like it’s hers, wheezing. “Demon!”
Her tail flicks, the perfect I don’t give a fuck bartender stare on her smushed face. I should take notes.
I lean back to peer out the windows, up at Tate’s bedroom, and a laugh slips out of me.
There’s a flickering light in his bedroom. He so has a TV.
In our text chat, a typing bubble pops up and then disappears. Is he watching a game? I check the time—it has to be New Jersey and Calgary. Most of the other games are over by this time of night.
My phone buzzes with another text. You won’t believe what Meyers just did.
A player for Calgary. Something flutters in my chest. He’s baiting me and maybe flirting with me and my heart is racing and I have the worst, most inappropriate urge to—
I slip my shoes on and because I’ve completely lost control of my impulses, I’m striding to his house.
All I’m going to do is prove he has a TV so I can yell HA, BUSTED! and feel smug about it, and then I’m going to leave. Go back to my guesthouse, I mean. His guesthouse. Whatever.
And I should probably retrieve my panties, too.
His bedroom door is open, and I can definitely hear the sound of a game. I was right, I was so right, and that propels me forward, not the idea of seeing him—
He’s lying on one side of his bed, against the headboard, strewn out, all long, strong limbs.
His left arm tucked behind his head, biceps toned.
Is that the navy of my underwear clenched in his fist still?
That soft dark gray t-shirt fits him perfectly across his flat stomach, a sliver of skin visible between the hem and his worn brown leather belt.
Bare feet. His other hand clutches his phone at his side, his eyes on the TV but a little smirk on his mouth.
The images sear into my mind, sizzling through me. He’s so hot like this, all relaxed and comfy and at ease. He’s hot all the time, but especially like this.
His eyes cut to mine and my heart stops at the surprise in his eyes. He drops my underwear on the bed like they’re on fire. My brain halts. Oh god. This was a colossal mistake and I’ve misjudged the situation entirely. Why did I come here?
For a moment, I think he’s going to yell something like Ew, get out of here, and shoo me out like a rodent Phoebe brought into the house but he—
Smiles. No, grins. Like this was his plan all along, to get me to his bedroom doorway.
“Busted,” I whisper, pointing at the TV. “Fucking busted.”
“You got me.” He’s still smiling, a little wider now before he winces. “Do you think I’m terrible?”
A laugh slips out of me. “Tate, no. Oh my god. I think you’re normal and if you can believe it, this actually makes you even more likable.”
“Really.” His eyes settle on me, warm and soft.
“Yes. It’s annoying, how likable you are.”
“Huh.” He smiles. “Tell me more about how likable I am.”
I roll my eyes, but again, I’m smiling so stupidly. “And the demon cat has struck again.” I retrieve the panties off the bed. They’re still warm from his hand.
Tate’s eyes follow before he seems to pull his gaze away. “I don’t know how she keeps getting in and out of the house. We keep the doors closed.”
“I don’t know how she keeps getting my underwear out of my drawers. Maybe I should just throw them away and go without.”
His expression blanches. “No.”
Something rises in me—the urge to mess with him. Ruffle him up. “No?”
“I mean, do whatever you like. I don’t care.”
My mouth is curling into a wicked smile. “That probably wouldn’t be appropriate office attire, though, would it? Going commando.”
His cheekbones are going pink. “Jordan.”
I roll my eyes. “Relax, Coach. I’ll keep my panties on.”
“Good. I mean—” He shakes his head. “You’re diabolical. Pretty on the outside, rotten to the core.”
Warm delight fizzes through me. God, I’m so easy. Tate Ward calls me pretty and I melt like candle wax.
I should leave. I got what I came for and now there’s no reason for me to be here.
“You going to stay and watch the game?” The corner of his mouth tips up and he nudges his head at the spot on the bed beside him. “I mean, if you want to.”
The bed. Where he sleeps. Naked? Maybe. And jerks off, probably. Definitely.
“You should,” he adds, and I want to. “You might see someone you like.”
My lips part. I do see someone I like.
“We still need a third-line center,” he adds, and I nearly choke with humiliation.
In the game, he meant. I might see someone I like in the game. Something dissolves inside me.
Jordan, you dumbass.
“Yeah.” This is a work thing. It’s not sexual. He’s not flirting with me. He didn’t lure me here. Tate Ward doesn’t lure anyone anywhere.
And he said it was never going to happen. He told me he didn’t want to be attracted to me.
I slide onto the bed beside him to watch the game.