Chapter 17
JO
A blaring horn outside my window startles me awake, and I roll over, right into a half-naked man, fast asleep on his stomach, arms wrapped around a pillow, and drooling.
And it might be my new favorite sight.
When Nico showed up at my door last night, something came over me. A sense of familiarity. Almost like déjà vu.
Like maybe I’d experienced this—him—in another lifetime, and we were finally together again in this one.
I’m not sure how else to explain it.
To understand how he makes me feel safe and seen and like I’ve found something I didn’t know I was supposed to be looking for.
Serendipity.
Which, of course, is ridiculous.
I’ve been starved for love and attention for so long that I’ve fallen head over heels for a man who doesn’t know how to love. Not really, I don’t think. Or maybe he loves everyone and everything.
It’s impossible to know what’s actually real with him when he’s so charming all the time. When he’s nothing but smiles and jokes and has a history with women hanging off his arm at every new opportunity.
Then again, it’s impossible for me not to fall for him when he sends me flowers and breakfast every morning.
When he texts me simply to check in. When he stares down at me as if he loves looking at me, kisses me with soft sighs like he really does enjoy it, when he pleads with me while he orgasms as if he’s that gone for me.
Me.
Bucky Beaver.
Josephine Atkins.
Once we untangled ourselves from our overzealous greeting last night, he stripped down to his underwear and used my face wash and toothbrush before slipping back into my bed, waiting patiently for me to do the same.
It was cramped, and he had to be uncomfortable, contorting his big body on the double bed, but he didn’t say anything about it.
Merely wrapped his arm around me and conked out.
Now, I nudge him a few times until he rouses with fluttering eyelids and rolls to his back, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. Then he blinks over at me, his blue eyes as bright as the morning sky outside, and smiles. “Morning.”
Suddenly self-conscious of morning breath and what I look like, I scurry off to the bathroom.
“Ah, come on, Jo. No morning cuddles?” I hear through the door.
“No. I have to get to the rink.”
“For what?”
“I’m taking pictures.”
“Of what?”
“The thing today. Skate Away,” I say after flushing, washing my hands, and opening the door.
“Oh shit.” He hops out of bed and checks the time. “I totally forgot that was today. I’m supposed to be there in forty-five minutes. Fuck.”
While I brush my teeth, he spins in a circle, arms up as if he doesn’t know what to do first, before pivoting to me.
“I wanted to take you out for brunch. Damn it.” He sulks for a few moments then claps his hands.
“No, okay. I’m gonna run out to my car to get my bag so I can change, and then I’ll drive you over there and take you out to eat after. Sound good?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, only shoves his legs into his pants and throws on a shirt he helps himself to from one of my drawers.
It’s a YUNGBLUD tee that fits him like a crop top.
Without a glance back at me, he runs out of the apartment.
I laugh to myself as I watch him out the window, sprinting down the street a few blocks, only to return a minute later with a duffel bag slung across his shoulder.
Somebody catcalls him, and he waves in their direction before disappearing out of sight, into the building. Quick footfalls sound, and then he’s back, breathing heavy. “We’ve got to leave in, like, fifteen, Jojo. Better hurry up.”
“You should’ve gone home last night,” I say after I spit and rinse. By the time I face him, he has clothes from his bag strewn all over my bed, his brows drawn down.
“And make me miss this morning routine with you? Nah.”
“This is not my morning routine.”
He smells one of his T-shirts before deciding it’s okay and takes off mine to put his on. “What is your morning routine?”
“Well, lately it’s been starting with a breakfast delivery.”
He offers me a sly smile. “That’s nice. Then what?”
“I do some morning stretches.”
His brows fly up in surprise, and he pauses mid-removal of his suit pants. “Yeah?” When I nod, he sits on the bed and gestures to the five square feet of space between us. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt.”
I shake my head at him and snatch up the YUNGBLUD shirt he had on a minute ago then pull a bra, underwear, and jeans from my drawers. “You said it yourself, we’ve got to get moving.”
He waves the thought away. “No, this is about your health. You can’t skip your morning stretches.”
I bite back my smile and pivot to the bathroom, but he stops me. “Where are you going?”
“To change.”
“In the bathroom?”
I toss him a confused glance over my shoulder. “Yes…?”
He pointedly drags his gaze over me from head to toe. “Even after last night?”
Last night, he may have had his hands and mouth on me, but we didn’t take our clothes off. Yes, it was a big step for me, a huge leap forward in this fake engagement, but is he really saying he wants me to strip right here? In front of him?
Apparently so.
Because he pulls off his slacks and stands, in only his black boxer briefs and black shirt with the Iron’s logo, a hand gripping a blacksmith’s hammer, then juts his chin out at me as if it’s my turn.
I’m usually not one to take a dare. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever played truth or dare in my life, but I don’t want to back down from him. He’s helped me come this far, be confident in who I am, so why not take another step? It’s not much further.
Swallowing down my nerves, I place my clothes on the chair next to me. Underneath my pajamas, I’m not wearing anything, no bra or underwear, and while I want to be brave, my reflexive modesty has me rotating a quarter, so I’m in profile to him.
Trying to ignore Nico’s hot stare on me, I slip my sleep T-shirt over my head, but I can’t ignore the quiet intake of breath coming from my left. Still, I focus on completing one task at a time, starting with my bra, which takes longer than normal to put on because my fingers are trembling.
I developed early, and by the time I graduated high school, I sported DDD bras.
It’s why I started wearing baggy clothes when I was fourteen.
Because my mother told me I had to cover up.
Even with the dresses she made me wear to church, she would order me to put a sweater on. “What will boys think of you?”
Funny. Because Nico seems to like me whether I’m in my baggy clothes or in an ugly beige bra.
And that thought pushes me to shimmy out of my pajama pants. Another audible intake of breath from Nico, this one louder. When I bend to step into my underwear, he swears quietly. And the idea of him finding my body—the one I’ve been so careful to conceal—attractive makes me bold.
Bolder than I ever believed I could be.
In my bra and underwear, I face him. “Don’t you need to get dressed too?”
His eyes burn with something that looks an awful lot like lust, and he nods dazedly, distractedly palming a growing bulge in his boxers. For me.
I did that to him.
And I fill with pride.
“Nico?”
He snaps out of it and clears his throat. “Yeah, get your ass in gear, Jo. What are you doing, trying to seduce me?”
“You—”
“Please, for the love of god, put your clothes on.” Then he squeezes his eyes shut and plops down on my bed.
Silently laughing to myself, I finish dressing in my shirt and jeans, black of course, then head into the bathroom. At some point in time, he finished getting dressed as well, in sweats and his sneakers, his backward cap on, and he steps up next to me in the cramped bathroom.
He takes out a travel toothbrush and toothpaste from a small kit and brushes while I apply my makeup, but even after he’s done, he sits on the closed toilet and watches me.
I don’t do a whole face, skipping over the heavy eyes and lipstick, and stick with an easy cat-eye liner and sheer lip gloss, before I braid my hair into pigtails.
“Cute,” Nico says with a grin once I’m finished and top it all off with my black beanie.
But he stops me when I move to put on one of my baggy sweatshirts, his hand on my arm. “Do you wear it because you like it or because you’re hiding?”
I blink a few times, struggling to answer. I’m not sure why. It’s so ingrained in me to cover up; I never think to wear anything else. I don’t think I would like anything else.
He steps back, nodding as if in understanding, even though I didn’t answer. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Then without another word, I put on the sweatshirt and grab my bags while he packs up his duffel.
It’s not until we’re in his car that he turns to me seriously and says, “I’m gonna need you to send me photos or video evidence of you doing your usual morning stretch routine, so I can make sure you’re staying on top of it.”
I nod along. “For my health.”
“Exactly.” He winks and turns the engine over. “My top priority.”
We separate at the arena so he can change into his skates in the locker room, and I meet up with Sean, receiving my instructions for the day.
Skate Away is a program the Iron developed to build community and make hockey more inclusive.
The team sponsors children from low-income households who want to learn how to skate.
Hockey is an expensive sport to play, and while I don’t think many of these kids even follow hockey, it at least gives them an opportunity to experience something new or different.