Chapter 10
Rowyn
I glance at Jaxon as he drives me home, one hand tight on the wheel, the other gripping his thigh, like he has something very important on his mind. I get it. My brain is doing Olympic-level cartwheels.
My God. Did I really ask him to give me sex lessons?
Yes. Yes, I did.
And he said yes.
Holy heck.
How did we go from a fake relationship to sex lessons in one weekend? I honestly have no idea. There should be a warning label on hockey players: may cause spontaneous poor decisions… that feel really, really good.
But weirdly, I’m kind of…happy about it.
There’s something freeing about admitting my flaws—my lack of experience, my constant overthinking—and knowing that with him, I don’t have to perform.
I don’t have to impress. If I fumble, ask for directions, or accidentally confuse a moan with a sneeze, it’s fine.
He’ll be the teacher. I’ll be the student. Easy peasy.
“So,” I start, trying to sound casual and not like a woman who’s about to get naked with her childhood friend. “How did you learn to bake?”
His brows pinch like I just asked him to solve quantum physics. “Bake?”
Clearly words aren’t registering. “Yeah. You know. The delicious muffins we had for breakfast.”
He blinks, then drags a hand over his jaw. “Uh… You’re really thinking about muffins right now?”
“Distraction technique,” I admit. “Trying to focus on anything other than the fact that I just propositioned my friend.”
A deep chuckle rolls out of him. “If you figure it out, let me know.”
He turns his focus back to the road, but now his expression is unreadable. Is he thinking about the playoffs? Or the fact that in a few hours we’ll be doing the naked mambo together? My stomach tightens at the thought.
I touch his arm, nerves kicking in. “Jax. I don’t want this to mess with your playoffs. We can… postpone if it’s a distraction.”
“No.” He says it too fast, too certain. “I don’t think sex is going to mess with my game. Some of the guys swear it helps. Eases tension, and I’ll need that because we’ll be going flat out with the finals.”
“But this isn’t just sex. You’ll be teaching me. That sounds stressful. Like if I’m, I don’t know, down on my knees, mouth open, trying to follow instructions and accidentally—”
A deep, tortured sound rumbles out of his throat.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“Row,” he growls, “My dick is hard, and right now, with me driving, I’m not sure that’s okay.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Because of, uh… what I said?”
“Yes. Exactly. That mental picture is now permanently installed, and I’m going to be useless for the rest of the day.”
“I’m sorry.” I cover my face with my hands. “See? This is what I mean. It’s going to mess with your game.”
“Finals start in three days, and what’s going to mess with my game,” he says roughly, “is not following through with this. Because, babe, I really, really want to put my cock in your mouth.”
My whole body goes still. Then warm. Then melty.
The sheer confidence in his tone makes something flutter deep inside me. For once, I don’t feel awkward or inexperienced—I feel wanted. Desired.
Touch-worthy.
“You’re not just saying that?” I ask quietly, my old insecurities creeping out before I can shove them back down.
He grabs my hand and presses it over the front of his jeans. “Does this feel like I’m just saying it?”
“Oh.” My voice comes out soft. “That’s… convincing evidence.”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “I’m being one hundred percent honest with you, Row.”
I swallow. “So, you like blow jobs, huh?”
He makes a strangled sound, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Oh my fucking God.”
I bite back a laugh, the giddy kind that comes when you realize you have power—tiny, brand-new, terrifying power. I don’t think I’ve ever made a man react like this before.
“For someone who claims to be inexperienced,” he mutters. “You have a real talent for saying things that get me hard.”
“Guess I’m a natural,” I tease, proud and a little breathless.
His eyes darken, voice dropping lower. “Here’s the thing, Row. I get to do things to you too. That’s part of the deal.”
My pulse skips. “What kind of things?”
He shoots me a wicked grin. “The kind where my mouth ends up between your legs. If we’re doing this, it’s not just about you learning how to please some coffee shop guy.
It’s about you. Your desire. Your pleasure.
I want to touch you, taste you, learn what makes you come apart.
And you’re going to tell me what you like. ”
“What…why?” My entire body heats. The car suddenly feels about a thousand degrees warmer. I shift in my seat, clenching my thighs together in a desperate attempt to calm the ache that blooms there. He notices. Of course he does.
“Because I said so.”
“O…kay.”
“You like me a little bossy, huh?” he murmurs, smug and amused.
“Don’t hate it,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. But if this is going to work, then we both need to be honest with what we like and don’t like and up until a second ago I didn’t know I liked bossy.
His grin turns downright sinful. “Good.”
I point as we near the corner. “Turn left.”
“Yeah, I know.” He slows the car and flicks on his signal.
“Just making sure you weren’t on autopilot and accidentally heading to the arena.”
Autopilot. I’ve made my peace with it. Hell, I might even owe it a thank-you card. After all, it’s the reason I ended up in Jaxon’s bed, and somehow, we landed in this…crazy, thrilling sex-lesson arrangement.
I glance at him, my fingers tapping nervously on my leg. “Now…tell me about baking.”
He chuckles softly, the sound warm and low. “I grew up in an inn. There were always guests, always people, and I had to help out where I was needed, and I was mostly needed in the kitchen.”
“Did you enjoy it?” I ask, leaning a little closer, trying to distract myself from the fact that in a few hours he’s going to be touching me all over.
“I did. I still enjoy being in the kitchen,” he says casually, but there’s a softness to it, like he’s remembering something he doesn’t usually share.
“It’s good to do things you enjoy.” A beat and then. “If hockey doesn’t work out for you,” I tease. He grins, and I continue with, “You have to have skilled hands to be a baker.”
Skilled hands.
What am I even saying and why does it sound so sexual?
“I mean, I know you can handle a stick.”
A stick.
Did I just say he could handle a stick?
What the heck would Freud say right now?
A deep chuckle rolls out of him, rich and low. “You doing okay, Rowyn?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I respond.
He gives me a playful wink. “You will soon enough.”
I try to get my brain to work. “Okay, so yeah, baking…”
“What about it?”
“Oh. I was just thinking…after the playoffs, if Gina can’t find someone to help in the kitchen, maybe you could.
That muffin you made…” I moan softly, making it sound like a tragedy and a revelation all at once.
“So moist, so delicious. The best I’ve ever had.
I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted a moister muffin. How do you get them so moist?”
He groans—loud, distracted, maybe just barely holding himself together. “Jesus…”
“What?”
“Stop talking about muffins,” he mutters, and the hungry growl in his voice makes my stomach flutter.
“Ohhh,” I say slowly, letting the realization hang in the air. “Muffin. Is that…a sexual thing?”
His eyes narrow, dark and calculating, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m being innocent or deliberately mischievous.
“Jesus, Rowyn.”
“Okay, sorry. No more moist muffin talk,” I murmur, a tiny smirk playing on my lips.
He shifts in his seat, one hand tightening around the wheel, and I can’t help but notice the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his throat swallows. He’s trying to be casual, but the heat radiating off him says otherwise.
“You’re trouble, Rowyn,” he finally says with a growl.
“Maybe,” I shrug innocently, leaning back just enough to brush my shoulder against his. “Or maybe I’m just…curious. Curious about muffins. And other things.”
He lets out a low laugh, the kind that makes the car feel suddenly too small and my pulse suddenly too loud. After a few more turns, he pulls into my driveway behind my small car.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for the handle, ready to escape before my brain melts entirely.
He places his hand over mine, stopping me. “I’ll be finished practice around four. I’ll pick you up, and we’ll have dinner.”
“I can cook. I owe you a dinner anyway.”
“Not tonight. I’m cooking for you,” he says, voice firm, and somehow that firmness does things—dangerous, distracting things—to the needy juncture between my legs. And yes…yes, I’m fairly certain he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“But—”
My brains shuts down when he leans closer, his hand sliding around my neck, pulling me in.
His lips brush mine, soft, teasing, testing the waters, and then, when a low moan I can’t control escapes from my throat, he deepens the kiss.
His tongue slides into my mouth, tangling with mine, and in that moment, I forget everything: the driveway, the car, even the fact that he’s my friend.
All I know is this exquisite, dizzying heat.
He pulls back just enough for me to catch my breath, though my chest still pounds, and I sit there, eyes closed, floating in the afterglow.
“See you soon,” he says, his voice low, and there’s a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips that makes my stomach do flips.
I swallow and work to pull myself together. Although my complete lack of composure seems to please him. “Right. See you soon.”
I reach for the door handle, trying to act normal. “Can I bring anything?”
“Just your appetite,” he says, but the words aren’t what make my pulse spike—it’s the wolfish smile that accompanies them. That smile promises tonight isn’t going to be just lessons. The hunter in him isn’t going down without a fight…or rather, a bite.
Going down…
Oh my God.
I hurry up the walkway on wobbly legs and that’s when I realize he’s right behind me. “Forget something?” I ask, as I fish my key out.
“What, no man has ever walked you to your door before?”
Independent woman that I am, I square my shoulders. “I can find my own way to my door.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should always be walked to your door.”
“It’s broad daylight.”
“Not everything is about safety, Row.” He leans close and I damn near sink to my knees.
Honestly, he’s right. Not everything is about safety, and I’m so used to doing things on my own, I’m not sure how to take his overprotectiveness.
One thing I do know, however, is how much I like it.
Moving even closer, his lips near mine, he whispers, “See you tonight.”
I slide the key into my lock and struggle to get it open. Not just because my fingers are shaky but because I’ve been having trouble with the door.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, no. I mean, I think the trim is damaged from rain, both the front and back door, and it gets worse when it’s damp out. It’s been like this since I bought it. Sometimes I have a hard time getting it to open or close. I haven’t had a chance to get it fixed yet.”
“Let me help.”
Before he can, I push against the door, whacking my shoulder and it finally opens with a thud. “Got it. See you tonight,” I say when he opens his mouth, but I’m not going to allow him to fix my door. He’s doing enough for me already, and tonight....
I step inside and lean against my door, my heart racing, brain half-melting, knowing that tonight, the pretend, playful agreement between us is about to get very real.
And I can’t wait.
But first…work. I hurry to my room, shower quickly and dress in my professional clothes.
I have some interviews lined up and don’t want to be late.
Thirty minutes later, I’m out the door, and in my car.
I back out of my driveway, working diligently to keep my mind on the story I’m after and not on all the things Jaxon is going to teach me tonight.
I head down the street, and as if on autopilot, I find myself driving toward Golden Grinds, my favorite coffee shop—to where I’m likely to run into Matt.
My heart lurches in my chest as my brain reminds me what tonight is about.
Lessons—so I’m not a fumbling idiot if and when I find myself between the sheets with Matt.
I park in my usual spot, and grab my purse. There’s a measure of apprehension as the bell above the door jingles when I step inside. I hurry to the counter and put in my coffee order. I turn, already feeling Matt’s eyes on me. Did he see the pictures? Am I now more appealing to him?
I move to the pick-up counter and as I wait for my coffee, Matt stands. As he comes my way, my gaze takes in his tall body and broad shoulders. He’s good looking and rock solid, yet I suddenly can’t help but think…he’s no Jaxon.
“Rowyn,” he begins quickly. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“You are?”
“I wanted to explain about the other night. I didn’t mean to stand you up. There was a family emergency. I would have called but we didn’t exchange numbers.”
“Right, we didn’t,” I say. “I’m sorry to hear about your family emergency.”
“Thanks. Everything is okay now.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Why does this suddenly feel so awkward?
Oh, maybe because you’ve got Jaxon on the brain.
He grins, and leans against the counter. “I uh, didn’t know you were a Bucks fan.”
I throw my hands up, trying to look casual, but I don’t think I’m pulling it off. “Can’t live in Boston and not be a Bucks fan.”
“You and Jaxon?” he asks tentatively and there it is. He saw us together… Was there really a family emergency or am I suddenly more appealing because a hot NHL player is interested in me? Why does that thought sit so heavy in my stomach?
Uh, isn’t that what this whole charade with Jaxon is about?
“Yeah, we go way back.” I laugh. “Actually, when you didn’t show up at Kilting Around, he joined me for dinner. Then…well…” I shut up, because what am I supposed to say…oh, we concocted a ridiculous plan.
He shifts a bit closer. “My loss.” He cocks his head. “Because I’m guessing you two are kind of a thing now?”
“We are.”
“That was fast.”
“Like I said, we go way back. We didn’t know we had feelings until the other night.”
He nods and doesn’t move back. “If it doesn’t work out…”
If it doesn’t work out…
Of course it’s not going to work out, it’s not supposed to. The whole farce is to get this man to notice me, which he has and I should damn well be thrilled about that.
So why aren’t I?