Chapter 16 Joelle
JOELLE
Iturn and look down at where his strong fingers are wrapped tightly around my wrist.
"Why not?" My question is barely a whisper escaping my lips.
"Because ..." He trails off as he looks at where he's touching me. Then his thumb slides over my pulse, ever so softly. I can hear it beating steadily in my ears. Tingles slide across my skin. "Stay."
"Not sure if that is a good idea." I hate the way my body is reacting to him. My skin feels like it's on fire, and I want to claw out of it or I want him to put the fire out.
"Why?" His voice is soft and yet still deep and domineering.
"You're confusing me."
Those thick brows pull together. "How?"
I lick my lips, they feel parched. "You're hot one second and cold the next. But then ..." I stop, shaking my head.
"Then what?" he asks as he subtly pulls me closer to him.
I'm unable to deny the movement and go willingly.
He's so tall. I have to strain to look up at him, but I do.
I take in the crinkles around his eyes. His tanned skin.
His thick lips. Ones that I remember make me lose my mind.
Those green eyes that burn me from the inside out.
The short, scruffy beard that he won't shave all season because of some superstition.
His dark hair has dried under the cool air-conditioning of his apartment and starts to flop.
"Never mind." Knowing we are moving into dangerous territory.
"Trouble ..." There he goes with that damn nickname again.
"Forget it," I say angrily.
"Joelle."
"I said forget it."
He steps closer, too close, and reaches out with his other hand and cups my face. I still under his touch. Oh no.
"You think I can forget what happened between us?" he confesses darkly, his voice dropping low.
"You have to."
"I'm trying. But it's so damn hard."
"Try harder." My heart beats uncontrollably in my chest.
"Believe me, I am." His eyes drop to my mouth, then move back up. "But you're wearing my name on your back, and it's fucking with my head."
Oh. Right. That. "I can take it off." My own voice sounds more seductive than I ever thought possible.
Those green eyes darken. "I like seeing you in it."
I swallow hard as I stare up at him, my legs turning jelly-like. "We shouldn't be this close."
"I know." His thumb slides across my cheek, then over my lips, pulling a gasp from me.
"Fuck. You are so much trouble." He's trouble.
I'm mesmerized by him. "These lips," he runs his thumb over them again, "haunt me every single night.
" My tongue comes out and runs along said lips, which pulls a groan from him. "Fucking trouble." He chuckles darkly.
He steps back, breaking whatever spell we were both under.
Thank goodness he had the sense to pull away first. Because in that moment, I would have let him do whatever he wanted to me.
"You should call your brothers, they might have a spare key."
The sudden change of conversation gives me whiplash.
I shake my head. "You think they are going to like seeing me in your hoodie? They will lose their minds." I shake my head again. "No, I can't call them. They will kill you."
Emmett stares at me. "No, they won't, not if we tell them the truth."
"Which truth?"
"The one about you getting locked out."
"I don't know their numbers," I tell him.
"I have them." He walks over to his phone.
"It will be your funeral. I mean it. They will lose their minds and will always have their backs up around you.
They are protective of us girls. Overly protective.
Especially around their teammates. I know Pierre will overthink and come up with scenarios in his mind, and I can't do that to the team.
I can't do that to you. I love my brothers, but .
.. there's a reason why I never worked in hockey and why I took a job in London. "
"They always seem like reasonable guys," Emmett adds.
"They are. Until you mess with their sisters.
When Pierre moved to New York, I started dating one of his friends.
He came home in the summer and messed his buddy up.
Warned all the guys in our town that he would do the same and send Felix to finish it.
I went into my senior year of high school a fricken pariah. No boy dared look at me."
"I did the same thing to my sister."
"You have a sister? Is that who is in the photo?"
He nods. "We're twins. She's married now." He scrunches up his face.
"Looks like you don't like him?"
"I don't. But she's happy. I don't trust the guy, though."
"Then you understand how unhinged my brothers would be if they saw this situation."
"Unhinged is a little much." He smirks.
"How would you react if the roles were reversed and it was your sister with one of your teammates?"
Those green eyes darken. "Fair point. No calling your brothers. Do you know your sister's number then?"
I shake my head. "Who remembers phone numbers anymore?"
He nods. "Guess you're stuck hanging out with me then."
"Guess so."
"Have you had any lunch? I'm starved after my workout, and I can whip us up something."
"I just woke up. I haven't even had breakfast."
"Okay then. Let's have our own brunch. I can do eggs, bacon, pancakes and stuff."
"You cook?"
"Um, yeah. Who else is going to do it?"
"You don't have a chef? My brothers do."
"No. But one summer, my cousin made me take cooking lessons with him in Europe."
"You spent the summer cooking in Europe?"
"Not all the summer." He starts moving around his kitchen. I take a seat at the counter and watch him work. "He wanted to learn how to cook his own nutritious food for himself. He's an athlete too."
Wow. Never would have suspected him of this. It's also kind of hot. "What did you learn how to make?" I ask him.
"Stuff. Like pastries in France. Pasta in Italy. Tapas in Spain. Seafood in Greece."
I just stare at this enigma of a man. "I'm impressed."
"Didn't say I was good." He chuckles as he hands me another bottle of water.
"Do you need me to do anything?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. I've got this. It's nice to cook for someone other than myself."
"You don't cook for the boys?"
He scrunches up his face. "Hell no. They don't deserve it. Plus, they are animals and wouldn't savor it."
This makes me laugh. "So, were you visiting your cousin in London when we met?"
He nods. "Yeah. Most summers we spend together. He is the bane of my existence, but he understands this life."
"Oh, he's a hockey player too?"
"No. Soccer player. He's quite big in Europe. That's why he likes coming to the States on his holidays. No one knows who he is."
"Europe loves soccer." Then I still. "Wait. It was your cousin who hooked up with my friend?"
Emmett nods. We fall into comfortable silence as he cooks. I watch him move around the kitchen with ease. Cracking eggs. Flipping bacon. The smell fills the apartment and makes my stomach growl.
He hears it. "Hungry, Trouble?"
I roll my eyes because the more I push back about the nickname, the more he is going to use it to annoy me. He plates the food and sets it in front of me. Eggs, bacon, and pancakes. It looks incredible.
"This smells amazing."
"It's nothing special."
"If I didn't cook it, then it's special."
He chuckles. "I'm going to eat in the living room if you want to join me, there are some highlights I want to watch."
"Sure." I follow him into the living room, we both take a seat on the sofa, and I dig into my breakfast. "This is really good."
He smiles as he searches for the channel he's looking for, until the hockey highlights flash on screen.
"That's their captain," he says, pointing. "He's fast. Smart. Anticipates plays really well."
"How do you beat him?" I ask.
"Disrupt his rhythm. Get in his head. Make him second-guess." He continues to eat.
"And you're good at that?"
He turns and looks at me. "I'm the best."
I laugh. "Modest."
"It's not bragging if it's true. We have a chance of winning the cup this year. Especially with your brothers on the team."
"They're that good, are they?" I mean, I know they are good because of all the awards, sponsorships, and endorsements. But from another hockey player's point of view.
"It kills me to say it, but yeah. They have been a great addition to the team."
"Did you not want them?" I ask, reading between the lines.
"They came with drama."
I nod. "They're not normally that dramatic."
"I know that now. But at the time, I didn't want distractions for my team. We lost out in the playoffs, and this year we are determined to lift that cup. I didn't want anything to derail that."
"But now you think you're going to go all the way?"
He nods while eating and watching the TV. "Yeah."
We watch more highlights, he points out players and explains their weaknesses and strengths. I'm impressed. He knows the game inside and out.
"What about your team? What am I walking into tomorrow?"
He turns and looks at me. "Are you nervous?"
"A little."
"Don't be. They're good guys."
"My brothers said the same thing. But I want to hear it from you."
"Okay." He shifts and turns toward me slightly. "Fish is solid. Funny. Keeps morale up. But his shoulder's been bothering him, although he won’t admit it."
I nod. "Thanks. I'll keep an eye on it."
"Bouch is French-Canadian. Quiet. Professional. Tweaked his ankle last week but should be fine."
"Got it."
"Nelly's Swedish. Our goalie. Flexible as hell, but his hip gets tight. Needs regular stretching or he'll seize up mid-game."
"Noted."
"Sully. He's my childhood best friend. Tough. Plays through everything. You'll have to force him to rest."
"Sounds familiar."
His eyebrow raises. "Meaning?"
"My brothers do the same. But seems like I might have hit a nerve there."
"I lead by example. My team looks up to me. I can't be seen moaning about a little ache here and there."
"By playing injured?"
"By showing up. Every day. No matter what."
"That's how you get seriously hurt, and career-ending injuries can happen," I warn him.
"No. That's how you win championships."
Urgh. Athletes. And hockey players are the worst. All macho and thinking they are invincible.
"I'm going to have trouble with you. You're stubborn."
"I'm in peak physical condition."
I roll my eyes. "You're going to be a pain in my ass."
"Probably." He smirks.
We continue watching the highlights and chatting.
After a while, he leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers drumming against the leather, close to my shoulder but not touching.
I'm hyperaware of the space between us, or the lack of it.
We keep watching. But the air has shifted.
Charged. I finish eating, and as I set my plate on the coffee table, my leg brushes his.
We both freeze. The contact sends electricity shooting through me.
His thigh is solid, warm, and now pressed against mine.
Neither of us moves. My heart is hammering. I can hear it in my ears.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"Don't be." His voice is rough.
I should pull away, create distance. This isn't right, we work together, and he's my brothers’ teammate. I don't. We sit like that, legs touching, the game playing on screen, neither of us watching anymore.
"This is a bad idea," I say quietly.
"What is?"
"This. Us. Sitting this close."
"Probably." He shrugs.
"So, we should move."
"We should."
But we don't.
His hand on the back of the couch shifts, his fingers graze my shoulder, just barely, a whisper of contact. My breath catches.
"Emmett ..."
"I know."
"We can't ..."
"I know."
Silence falls between us as the room feels charged with electricity.
"I can't seem to help myself," he confesses.
Neither can I. But I don't voice that aloud.
I slowly turn my head, which brings my face closer to him.
Whatever this is between us continues to burn hotter.
I don't know if it's because we want to have round two, something we never had time to complete, or because we now can't have round two, so it makes us want it more.
Maybe we just need to get it out of our system before tomorrow.
A kiss, just to relieve the tension that is simmering between us.
"We can't ..." I say it again.
Emmett nods, but his eyes land on my lips.
"But ..."
Then his eyes shoot up and look at me directly.
"Fuck it," I say as I launch myself at him.