Chapter 24 Joelle
JOELLE
The team plane is loud with the usual chaos.
Music blaring from someone's speakers, cards slapping against tray tables.
The endless chirping that seems to be a requirement of professional hockey players.
I'm tucked into a window seat near the back with Sarah, reviewing injury reports on my tablet.
Then I feel it, a prickle at the back of my neck.
I don't have to look up to know he's watching me. So, I keep my eyes on my tablet.
"Are you okay?" Sarah asks. Not looking up from her own notes. "You've been staring at the same page for five minutes."
Shit. "I'm just tired," I lie.
"These away games will do that."
I risk a glance down the aisle. Emmett is three rows up.
Aisle seat. Long legs stretched out. He's not looking at me anymore.
He's laughing at something Sully said. That deep rumble I can hear even over the noise of the plane.
God, that laugh. That deep rumble that he does.
I remember what it sounded like against my throat.
Against my .... Stop it. I force my attention back to the tablet, but the words blur together.
This is ridiculous. I've worked with athletes my entire career.
I don't get flustered by broad shoulders and sharp jawlines and hands that know exactly how to . ..
"Jo."
I jolt. "What?"
"I asked if you wanted anything from the drinks cart," Sarah asks.
Oh. "Water. Thanks."
She flags down the flight attendant, and I use the moment to compose myself. Three more hours until we land in Boston, then we can check into the hotel, have a team dinner, and an early night before tomorrow's game. I can avoid Emmett Black for three hours. Probably.
The hotel lobby is controlled chaos. Players mill around with their bags while our travel coordinator sorts out room assignments. I hang back with Sarah and Mike, waiting for our keys.
"St. Pierre, you're with me," Collette announces, appearing at my elbow with two key cards. She's grinning like this is Christmas morning. "Corner suite," she whispers.
"You work in social media. How do you get suite privileges?" Not that I am complaining.
"I'm charming." She links her arm through mine. "Also, I may have promised the travel coordinator exclusive behind-the-scenes content for his dating profile."
"That's ... actually impressive."
"I know." She steers me toward the elevator bank. "Come on. I need to shower off the plane before dinner."
We're almost to the elevators when I hear my name. "Joelle." That voice. Low and commanding. The same tone he uses on the ice when he's calling plays. I turn. Emmett is standing a few feet away, duffel slung over his shoulder, expression unreadable.
"Captain," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "Something I can help you with?"
His jaw ticks. I know it makes his dick hard when I call him that.
"My shoulder's been tight since the flight. Thought I should mention it. Don't want to get benched again."
My eyes narrow on him. What the hell is he playing at? "Have Mike look at it before dinner."
"I asked him, and he told me to come to you." His eyes hold mine. "He figured the physio who's been handling my rehab might want to make sure I'm game-ready."
Collette squeezes my arm. "I can wait upstairs if you need to ..."
"It can wait until tomorrow," I cut in. "Ice it tonight, Captain. I'll check it at morning skate."
Something flickers in his expression. Frustration? Disappointment? He nods once. Sharp. "Tomorrow then." He walks past us toward the elevators, close enough that I catch his scent, Cedar and something darker. Something that makes my stomach clench with memory.
Collette waits until he's out of earshot. "What was that about?"
"I have no idea." I jab the elevator button. "I think I've made him paranoid about his shoulder."
"Uh-huh." She's studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing.
The elevator dings, and I step inside, grateful for the escape.
Collette follows, still watching me. "You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever's going on ..."
"Nothing's going on. Not since ..."
The doors close on her skeptical expression. "Since I cockblocked you both." She smirks.
"Exactly."
"His request kind of sounded like it was a code word for something."
"Code word for what?"
"Dick," she says, bursting out laughing.
"Lettie, what the hell?" We step out of the elevator onto our floor. "No, seriously, did it sound bad?" I’m suddenly panicked.
"No. I'm just teasing because I know things I shouldn't." She smiles as she sashays down the hall to our suite.
"And I should never have told you." I pout, dragging my suitcase down the long corridor.
Dinner is at some upscale steakhouse the team has rented for the night, long tables and too much food.
The kind of rowdy energy that comes from twenty-something hockey players together.
I'm seated between Sarah and one of the assistant coaches, which should be safe.
Should be. But Emmett is directly across from me.
He's deep in conversation with Pierre about defensive strategies, gesturing with his fork, completely ignoring me.
Which is fine, great, actually. Except every few minutes, his knee brushes mine under the table. When did his legs grow so fricken long?
The first time, I tell myself it's an accident.
He's tall, the table is narrow, these things happen.
The second time, I shift my legs away. The third time, his knee follows.
I look up sharply, he's still talking to Pierre, face perfectly neutral, but there's the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
He's doing this on purpose. Fucker. Two can play this game.
I lean forward to reach for the breadbasket, letting my foot slide against his calf as I stretch.
His words falter for just a second before he chokes on air.
"Are you okay, Em?" Sully asks from his other side. "You look like you swallowed something wrong."
"Fine," Emmett says, his voice slightly rough.
I slowly pick off bits of my bread roll and pop them in my mouth, my foot finds its intended target. His dick. His knee shoots up and kicks the table, making it rattle. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling and tear off a piece of bread like it's the most interesting thing in the room.
"Are you sure you're okay? Your face is all red." Sully keeps questioning his friend.
Under the table, Emmett's hand lands on my foot and holds it against his dick.
His now hardening dick. Shit. I freeze. Goosebumps start to prickle up my skin, from my ankle all the way to my knee.
I try to pull my foot away, but he has it caught, his palm warm against my skin.
His grip is firm but not tight. A warning, maybe, or a promise.
The tables have turned now, and his dick is getting harder and thicker as he presses my foot against it.
I take a sip of my water and pretend my heart isn't trying to escape my chest. His thumb strokes once against the inside of my knee. Now it's my turn to choke.
"Jo?" Sarah peers at me.
"Wrong pipe," I manage, reaching for my napkin.
Emmett then pushes my foot away from him and continues talking strategy with my brother. Is it hot in here? My skin feels flushed. Bastard.
I escape dinner early, complaining about a headache, it's not entirely a lie.
My head is pounding, but it has nothing to do with dehydration and everything to do with the six-foot-two problem currently driving me insane.
Who seemed to have disappeared, too. The hotel hallway is quiet as I make my way to my room.
Most of the team is still at dinner, probably moving on to drinks at the bar after.
I round the corner and stop dead. Emmett is leaning against the wall outside my room. What the hell?
"How do you know which room is mine?"
"I have my ways." He pushes off the wall. Closing the distance between us. "You left early."
"As it seems you have, too. I have a headache."
"Liar." He's close now. Too close. I can see the gold flecks in his green eyes, the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw.
"What do you want, Emmett?"
"You know what I want."
I stare at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"My shoulder."
Oh. I thought ... never mind. "I said I would deal with it in the morning."
"And I'm telling you it's sore now. For someone who has been so worried about my shoulder, you now ..."
"Fine. Let me get my things. What room number are you in?"
"1017."
"You're next door?"
He smirks. "Convenient, isn't it?"
I roll my eyes, this man is frustrating as hell. "Can you fill up the ice bucket with ice for me?"
"Sure."
I swipe my door, open it, and slam it shut behind me.
I fall against the door, sucking in a couple of deep breaths.
My heart is beating uncontrollably out of my chest. You have a job to do, keep it professional.
I can do this. I have been doing this. Tonight is no different to all the other moments I have had my hands on him over the past couple of weeks.
I'm going to get changed into my uniform because this is work. Nothing else. And if someone sees me, they won't think anything untoward is happening.
I knock on room 1017 with my medical bag slung over my shoulder, wearing my Mavericks polo and black pants.
The door swings open, and Emmett stands there in nothing but gray sweatpants, low-slung gray sweatpants, his chest is bare, all hard muscle and golden skin, a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband.
"You're not wearing a shirt," I say like an idiot.
"You need to work on my shoulder." He steps back to let me in. "Figured I'd make it easier for you."
Right. Of course. This is totally normal. I walk past him into the room, catching his scent again, and set my bag down on the desk.
"Sit on the edge of the bed," I instruct, keeping my voice steady.
He does as asked, and I try not to think about all the other things that could happen on that bed.
I pull out my supplies, resistance bands, massage oil, ice pack, and move to stand behind him on an angle. "Show me where it's tight."
His hand comes up to touch his right shoulder, fingers brushing over the muscle. "Here. And down through here." His hand trails down toward his shoulder blade.
I press my fingers into the muscle and feel him tense beneath my touch. "Relax."
"Easy for you to say," he mutters.
I work in silence for a few minutes. Kneading the knots I find.
Feeling the tension slowly release under my hands.
His skin is warm. Smooth over hard muscle.
I hate how much I want to keep touching him.
"You're tight all through here," I say. Working my thumbs along his trapezius. "Have you been sleeping, okay?"
"No."
"Stress?"
"Something like that," he grumbles.
I move to his rotator cuff, pressing deeper, and he hisses. "Sorry."
"Don't be." His voice is rougher now. "Feels good."
I should not find that hot, the way he moans and groans as I work him over.
I work in silence, moving through the routine I've done dozens of times, but it's never felt like this before.
Every brush of my fingers against his skin feels charged.
Electric. I'm hyperaware of his breathing, the way his muscles shift beneath my hands, the small sounds he makes when I hit a particularly tight spot.
"Turn around," I say. "I need to check the front. "
He turns on the bed to face me, now I'm standing between his spread knees, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes are dark as they look up at me.
I press my fingers into the front of his shoulder, checking the joint mobility. "Does this hurt?"
"No."
I rotate his arm slowly. "This?"
"No."
"What about ..."
"Joelle." His hand comes up to wrap around my wrist, stilling my movements. "It's fine."
"I'm not finished."
"Yeah, you are."
We stare at each other, his thumb stroking against my pulse point. I know he can feel how fast my heart is racing. "I should go," I whisper.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
Then I step back, breaking the contact, and start packing up my bag. "Ice it for twenty minutes before bed. And try to sleep on your back tonight. Not your side."
"Yes, ma'am."
I move toward the door, bag over my shoulder, my hand reaching for the handle.
Suddenly, a hand slams against the door, blocking my escape.
I spin around as my back hits the wood. Emmett is right there, caging me in.
One hand on the door, the other braced against the wall beside my head.
His chest is inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my face.
"You shouldn't have teased me at dinner." His voice is low. Dangerous.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. "You had your foot on my cock, Joelle. Under the table, with your brothers sitting right there."
I shiver. "You started it."
"And you escalated it." His nose traces down my neck. Not quite touching, just breathing me in. "You shouldn't start something you can't finish."
"Who says I can't finish it?" The words are out before I can stop them.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his green eyes blazing. "Is that a challenge?"
My heart slams against my ribs, every nerve in my body is screaming at me to close the distance, to grab him, to finish what we started in his apartment. This isn't a fantasy. This is real life. And everything is complicated.
"It's a statement of fact," I manage. "I could finish it. I'm choosing not to."
"Why?"
"You know why."
For a long moment, he doesn't move, just stares at me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. Then he steps back, giving me space.
"Goodnight, Joelle."
I fumble for the door handle and yank it open. "Night. Ice. Twenty minutes."
"I heard you the first time."
I slip out into the hallway and pull the door shut behind me, then lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
My phone buzzes.
Emmett: Next time you put your foot on my dick, you’d better be prepared to deal with the consequences.
I stare at the screen.
Joelle: There won't be a next time.
Emmett: Liar.
I shove my phone in my pocket and walk next door to my room on shaky legs. He's right. I am a liar.