36. Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
“Mr. Archer, sir,” Kennedy calls out to me before I scoot past en route to the elevators.
I look up from my phone where I had been perusing my schedule for the evening at the club.
He steps out from behind the desk with a Nordstrom bag containing a neatly wrapped box. This was delivered, not shipped. I look at him, as if he would have an answer. He shrugs. I haven’t ordered anything. I’m expecting packages from New York, but again, those are being shipped and nothing from Nordstrom.
When I get into my apartment, I pull the wrapped package out of the bag with a mix of excitement and trepidation. I love gifts as much as anyone and surprises can be fun. But through the years I have had the occasional client cross the line with presents seeking more of a relationship away from the club than I am ever willing to give. And for a client to have something sent to my home instead of the club…
“Not sure what color the other one was…but this one made me think of your eyes.”
I tear open the box with all the grace of a five-year-old and toss everything to the floor as I lift the dark green cashmere hoodie out of the box.
Made me think of your eyes.
TJ Marshall has thought about my eyes. He knows what color they are. Of course he does, but…. he has thought about my eyes…he thought enough to pay attention to the shirt I mentioned was ruined by Nandy’s blood.
I’m not sure anyone has bought me anything so appropriate…so perfect…paid so close attention.
Thank you.
I text him.
His response is immediate.
I want a picture.
I spread the sweater out across the back of the couch and snap a photo for him.
Nice, but not exactly what I was hoping for.
Hmmm…and what were you hoping for?
I know damn well what he’s saying…but I want to hear him say it, anyway. Just in case I have it wrong…but…
Proof I got the right size. Winking emoji.
Nicely played Mr. Marshall.
I send the selfie and wait.
Nothing.
I wait some more. His initial responses were so instant…my phone buzzes in my hand and the fluttering of my heart comes to a dead stop.
In a meeting
The generic response cuts. Do hockey players have meetings? I try to picture a group of burly men sitting around a boardroom table discussing…what? They don’t really do that. My mind quickly goes to the vision of them warming up on the ice. They have the most unflattering uniforms of any sport, but the way they warm up…oh my gosh. My pulse pounds just imagining that rhythmic pounding into the ice. My cock is enjoying these thoughts, too. I press my palm to my growing erection. A shower may be in order.
TJ sent me the most gorgeous cashmere sweater ever, so whatever this meeting is, I can still enjoy the gift. And I can still enjoy thoughts of him. Memories of my hand wrapped around his cock. My hand making him come. My hand covered with his come. I wanted to wrap my lips around him so badly. Wanted to kiss him…wanted to make him feel everything.
Nandy stopping me didn’t surprise me. I was surprised by how it made me feel. How much I didn’t want to leave the room. How unsatisfying having Derek get me off was. I couldn’t see TJ when I closed my eyes, because I knew where TJ was, who he was with. And I saw them leave the club together. Nandy took him home.
Nandy doesn’t take anyone home. Not even me.
It’s a few more hours before my phone buzzes again and this time, not with a text.
“Hi, sorry about that,” TJ’s deep voice rumbles through the phone.
“It’s okay.”
“We get in serious trouble for messing with our phones during team meetings unless it is a family emergency or something.”
“What do hockey players do in meetings?”
TJ laughs. “Lots of things, actually. This time of year, we are discussing the playoffs, watching game films of our next opponent. That can be us playing them earlier in the year, but also recent games of them playing anyone. Especially if we played them months ago. Lines change, come together. A team we played in October can look entirely different in April.”
He stops to take a breath. “Sorry, you don’t care about any of this, I’m sure.”
“I do,” and I mean it, because it matters to him. I’m finding that anything that matters to him matters to me. “It’s just all very new to me.”
“You should come to a game. When Nandy feels up to it, you guys need to come. It’s playoff time and playoff hockey is amazing.”
“I’d love that.” I hate that the mention of Nandy sends a wave of jealousy and disappointment through my veins. I know he wants Nandy. I’m just…. the sidekick. The sidekick he buys $1000 cashmere sweaters. Sweaters that make him think of my eyes.
“How is he? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him and when I do, I don’t know. Is he okay? I don’t want to push.”
The truth. I wonder how much to reveal. Nandy has been a bit off. Closed off. He is so good at that. So good at not making it seem like that is what he is doing, until, well, until he has slammed the fucking door closed in your face.
“He says rehab is going well, slow, but good,” I say, hoping TJ can’t hear the hesitation in my voice.
“But?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “He’s never been through anything like this before, so I’m not sure what to expect. And neither is he.”
TJ sighs and I can imagine that hand raking through his hair.
“I’ll keep you posted, TJ, I promise.”
“Please do. I can’t be of much use right now…the playoffs are looming…”
“I know, it’s okay.”
“Maybe you could at least get him to answer my calls, so you don’t have to be in the middle.”
Oh, I’m happy to be in the middle, I think.