Chapter 9
9
ALEXA
The Hale Olu’olu Resort offers numerous family-friendly activities suitable for...
Delete.
Parents seeking quality entertainment will find...
Delete.
For families looking to create lasting memories...
I stare at my laptop screen, which currently contains more deletions than actual content. Somehow "watching hot hockey dad teach his kids to surf while trying not to imagine him naked" doesn't feel appropriately professional for a my blog.
My phone buzzes with what I assume is Ryan demanding his draft. Instead:
Jace wants to know if princesses eat burgers for dinner
Followed immediately by:
Lukas says only if they're hockey princess burgers
Still not sure what those are
But apparently they're very important
I find myself smiling at my phone like some kind of lovesick teenager instead of the professional journalist I'm supposed to be.
Working on my article
Very professional
Extremely professional
That's why you're googling our season schedule?
Busted.
In my defense, it was purely research-related. I mean, if I'm writing about family-friendly activities, I should probably understand hockey season logistics, right? That's just thorough journalism. The fact that I now know every game date for the next couple months is completely coincidental.
The resort's extensive programming allows families to...
To what ? To break down all your carefully constructed walls? To make you question every rule you've ever made about relationships? To have tiny humans demand "Lexa stories" at bedtime because apparently, I do better voices than their Dad?
Another buzz:
Kids want their bedtime story about the princess who lives in the volcano
Apparently only you tell it right
Something about proper eruption sound effects
I should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember all the reasons this is complicated.
Instead, I find myself packing up my laptop and heading to their suite. Again.
My three-day rule is not only broken, it’s destroyed, possible forever.
"LEXA." Jace launches herself at me the moment I walk in. "Daddy doesn't do the voices right."
"I do okay voices," Jonas protests.
"You do hockey voices," Lukas informs him seriously. "Lexa does magic voices."
When did I become Lexa instead of Miss Minty? When did I start reading bedtime stories and sticky hugs? When did I begin planning my day around swim lessons and naptime schedules?
Could the real Alexa Minty please stand up?
"Tell the one about the brave princess," Jace demands, dragging me toward her bed. "The one who wasn't scared of anything."
"Except commitment," I mutter.
Jonas catches it and laughs.
I shoot him a look, but it's hard to maintain indignation when he's standing there in dad mode, looking unfairly attractive while wearing what appears to be half of Jace's sparkly hair clips and ropes of beads around his neck.
"Very professional," I remind him, nodding at his get-up.
"Always."
An hour later, after three stories, because apparently, my volcano voices are that good, two glasses of water, and one lengthy debate about whether hockey princesses need to brush their teeth, I find myself on the balcony again. With Jonas. Again.
"You're breaking your rules," he observes, one eyebrow raised
I don’t mind being called out. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going down fighting.
"Technically, I'm conducting research." I show him my laptop, still stuck on that first paragraph.
"Is that why you know our playoff schedule?"
"That was..." I search for a good answer. "Statistical analysis."
"Of course." His hand finds mine in the darkness.
My phone buzzes. Ryan this time:
“One sec, Jonas. This is my editor.”
Draft status?
Working on it
That's what you said yesterday
Well I’m still working on it, Ryan
I turn back to Jonas. "I don't do this," I remind myself. Remind him. Remind the universe. Like a freaking broken record
"I know." He squeezes my hand. "You're a professional."
"Exactly."
"Always maintaining distance."
"Precisely."
"That's why you're teaching my children proper sandcastle building?"
"Research requires full immersion."
His laugh vibrates through me where our shoulders touch. "Very thorough."
My phone buzzes again. Mom this time:
“Sorry Jonas. This one’s my mother, who’s in France.”
How's the three-day rule going?
I hate you
That well, huh?
I sign off the call with Mom, the whole time thinking about how I should leave, go back to my room, and try to remember why I made all my rules in the first place.
Instead, I let Jonas pull me closer because it feels so damn good.
"LEXA." Jace's voice carries from inside. "One more story? Please?"
I look at Jonas, who shrugs. "She gets the negotiation skills from her dad."
"Pretty sure she gets the ability to break down my defenses from her dad too."
His smile is worth breaking every rule for.
"Very unprofessional of me," I sigh, but I'm already heading back inside. I'm being outmaneuvered by a pint-sized bedtime strategist who's more relentless than any city-hopping itinerary I think I've ever planned.
"Are you sure about this?" I eye the resort's fanciest restaurant with trepidation. "They have actual tablecloths. White ones."
"The kids can handle fancy." Jonas adjusts Jace's tiara, which she insisted on wearing. "Right, guys?"
"Right." Lukas straightens his collared shirt. "I know all about manners. Elbows off the table and everything."
"And no mess," Jace adds solemnly.
I look at their eager faces, at Jonas in his actual grown-up clothes, which should be illegal, and at my own attempt at resort formal. We almost look like a real family heading to a nice dinner.
Which freaks me the hell out.
The hostess eyes us with poorly concealed concern. "Your table is... ready."
Translation… your table is as far from other diners as we could manage while still technically being in the restaurant.
Strange for a family-friendly resort. This will certainly go in my write-up.
"Thank you," Jonas says smoothly, like he doesn't notice her watching Jace's tiara like it might become a projectile. "Though maybe not the white tablecloth?"
Too late. We're already being led through the dining room, past couples enjoying romantic dinners who definitely didn't sign up for the dinner theater we're about to provide.
"Remember," Jonas whispers to the kids, "inside voices and?—"
"LOOK." Lukas points dramatically. "They have FANCY WATER."
Every head in the restaurant turns. So much for inside voices.
"Very fancy," Jonas agrees, helping them into their seats. "And look, they even have?—"
"PRETTY DRINKS.” Jace reaches for the elaborate mocktail the server just set down. "With UMbrELLAS."
I watch in slow motion as her tiny hand knocks the glass. As rainbow-colored liquid arcs through the air. As it lands... on the back of the woman at the next table.
"Oh my?—"
"I'm so sorry?—"
"It's designer?—"
Madness erupts. The woman stands, twisting to wipe fruit juice off her back, which she can’t quite reach. Her date looks horrified. The server appears with napkins. Jace's lower lip trembles.
"I was just being fancy," she whispers.
"We know, princess." Jonas somehow maintains calm while simultaneously comforting Jace and helping clean up. "Accidents happen."
I'm about to suggest the hamburger joint when Lukas pipes up.
"Dad?" His voice carries that special urgency I suspect all parents recognize. "I need to go potty."
"Now?"
"RIGHT now."
"Can you hold?—"
"EMERGENCY POTTY."
The neighboring tables are definitely not appreciating our family dinner theater.
"I'll take him," I offer. "You handle the... punch situation."
Jonas's grateful smile does dangerous things to me.
"Remember," Lukas announces as we speed-walk to the bathroom, "in emergencies we don't walk, we POWER PLAY."
I'm pretty sure he just made that up, but I pick up the pace anyway.
We make it. Barely. I take him into the ladies’ room because I don’t know what else to do, and wonder when bathroom emergencies became part of my professional duties, when my phone buzzes.
Mom:
How's date night?
Designer dress might be ruined
Yours?
Woman next to us
Ah, the joys of family dining
This is why I don't do families
And yet...
"All done." Lukas emerges from the stall triumphant and heads for the sink, where he gets water all over his shirt. "That was a close one. Like when Dad almost missed the goal?—"
"Inside voice, like your dad says."
"Sorry." He grabs my hand as we head back. "You're getting good at mom voice."
I nearly trip over my heels.
When we return, the punch situation has escalated. The woman is demanding compensation for her dress. The manager has appeared. Jace is full-on crying now. Jonas looks like he's calculating the fastest escape route.
"Time to leave?" I ask.
"Yeah. Now."
"I know a place."
Five minutes later, we're at the beachside burger shack that’s more the speed of our little group. No tablecloths. No designer clothes. No judgmental stares.
"This is WAY better than fancy," Lukas announces with a mouthful of fries.
"The best." Jace agrees, punch incident forgotten as she drowns her plate in ketchup before Jonas wrestles it away from her.
He’s still wearing his dress shirt but with sleeves rolled up now, looking somehow better than he did all polished.
"Sorry about the fancy dinner," he says.
"This is fine. Better for everyone."
And it is. Somehow, sitting at a picnic table eating burgers while the kids turn french fries into hockey sticks is kind of fun.
"Can we get shave ice after?" Jace asks hopefully.
"After that punch performance?" Jonas raises an eyebrow. "More sugar might be dangerous."
"Please?" Both kids deploy maximum pleading power. "We'll be careful."
I watch Jonas, who's watching me back.
"Very careful," he agrees. "Professional level careful."
Later, after shave ice that definitely gets everywhere despite promises of careful consumption, we walk back along the beach. The kids run ahead, searching for shells.
"Wish we'd stuck with fancy?" Jonas asks.
Lukas demonstrates a "hockey shell shot" while Jace tries to add a seashell to her tiara.
"Hell no."
"Your room or mine?" he murmurs against my lips.
"Very unprofessional of you."
"Always. I’ll call the front desk for a babysitter right now."
Back in my room, his lips close warmly over mine. Once, twice, three times, leaving me breathless.
“Jonas–”
His tongue snakes into my mouth as I speak, a dance that leaves me fantasizing about what his tongue feels like in other places. Then his mouth leaves mine.
He feathers kisses down my neck, and a firm hand squeezes my breasts. His warm breath sends a tingle down my spine as his lips wrap around my nipple, pulling and tugging until I gasp.
They continue down my stomach and hips when he hits a particular sensitive spot. I instinctively lift myself, pressing harder into his him.
He smiles, moving to the exact spot on the other side.
He’s hanging off the foot of the bed as he starts to trace his lips up my calf, searching for more sensitive spots. I am soaked between my legs and I can’t wait for him to find out.
My clit throbs. Hell, I might actually climax before he gets there.
He presses my legs apart and then his mouth is on me, his tongue sliding across my slit. He spreads my folds and reaches my throbbing clit.
“Oh God. Please don’t stop,” I cry out, my fingers digging into the sheet beneath me.
“No plans to, baby,” he breathes into me.
His tongue glides through my pussy as he pushes a thick finger inside me. “So damn wet,” he mumbles as he pushes a second finger inside and at the same time sucks my clit.
My back arches and my toes curl. The shaking begins.
“That’s it, baby. Come all over my tongue.” His words send me flying.
My eyes squeeze closed and flashes of light brighten the darkness. He laps up my orgasm, moaning, and stroking me.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, my shaking subsiding. He slides up my body, leaving a damp trail up my stomach, between my breasts, and then crashes his lips to my mouth.
He slowly pushes inside and on one stroke, I come again. My core is so sensitive I scream out his name, my breathing heavy and my body tight.
“Look at me, baby,” he says against my mouth.
I struggle to open my eyes and I see what’s making me so dizzy. His deep blue eyes glow with intensity, his hips thrusting, his cock hitting all the perfect places.
He pulls back to his knees, placing my thighs on his shoulders. In and out, in and out. He pumps, his cock swelling. I palm my breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples, and my eyes flutter closed as another orgasm looms.
He squeezes his eyes shut, almost like he’s in pain, and he explodes in a last, deep thrust. He throws his head back, lips parted, the cords in his neck flexing and releasing.
I catch my breath and realize he’s looking at me as I lie there, and he is still, by some crazy miracle, erect. A new surge of want floods me and I slide out of bed and lower myself to my knees by the edge of the bed. I sink my mouth over his still-erect cock.
“Jesus, Alexa, I love your mouth,” he says between clenched teeth. “Yeah, baby, suck me just like that.”
I stroke my tongue along his rigid underside, along his bulging vein, as my fingers reach his balls. I gently tug, his legs stiffening under my touch. “Easy, baby, or I’m going to come all over that pretty face of yours.”
As my mouth slides back to his purple head, I lick the drop of fluid that rests there before swirling my tongue around the tip. I squeeze his shaft and go deep once again, pulling back, my eyes peeking up at him, watching him, watching me.
He grabs his cock and lays me back again, dragging his tongue, and dipping lower toward my pussy. Once again, he drags a finger through my folds and I stroke my fingers through his unruly hair.
“My God, Jonas?—"
My legs are trembling. My entire body is shaking.
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, baby. Face the wall and bend at the waist,” he tells me, extending a hand to help me off the bed.
I do as he says, placing my palms against the wall and thrust my ass toward him. He comes up behind me and presses his fingers into my hips, positioning himself at my entrance. Then, in one slow thrust, he enters me roughly.
I brace myself against the wall and press back against him. His fingers dig into my flesh as he strokes long and hard.
I press back against him and with a holler, he comes.
Still shaking, Jonas leads us to the bed and lowers us. With my arms wrapped around his neck, I press my head against his chest and marvel over… everything.
"This is... different." Ryan's voice, coming through my phone speaker, sounds surprised. Maybe concerned. Definitely suspicious. "Where's your usual snark?"
I glance at my laptop screen, at the article I finally finished at three a.m. when I couldn’t sleep, after Jonas scooted back to his suite. Ryan wasted no time reviewing it.
"It's still snarky," I defend. "Just... different snarky."
"Alexa, you wrote an entire paragraph about watching a child's first surf lesson."
"That's snarky. You know, the part about how they look like drunk seals flopping around."
"Lovingly. You mentioned it lovingly."
I wince. He's not wrong. Somewhere between "professional distance" and "totally compromised," my writing voice copped... feelings.
I’m in so much trouble. I can’t even write the way I usually do.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
"It's just a different angle," I try. "Speaking of angles..."
"Oh no," he groans
"What if?—"
"Alexa."
"Hypothetically—"
"Here it comes."
"What if I did a piece on San Francisco?"
Silence.
"Family-friendly San Francisco," I clarify, like that makes it better. "You know, parks and museums and..."
"Hockey games, Alexa?"
"That's not what I mean?—"
"Because it's interesting timing, considering the Aftershocks' season starts next month," Ryan says.
"Did you know their first home game is against the Maple Leafs?" I blurt out. "Not that I checked."
"Uh-huh." I can hear him smirking. "Like a handsome hockey star’s game schedule has anything to do with your writing about a Hawaiian resort that likes kids.”
He has a point.
"You want to write about family activities in San Francisco."
I am so busted. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up.
"The magazine needs more city content."
"In Jonas Knight's hometown, of course," he scoffs. "Pure coincidence, Alexa. During hockey season."
"I hate you."
He laughs. "You know what the weird thing is? In spite of my giving you crap about it, the article's good. Really good. You found a voice I didn't know you had."
I look at my draft again. At the words that came so easily once I stopped fighting them. At the story of a resort that has me thinking about my own story.
"It's just an angle," I say defensively.
"It's more than that." His voice turns serious. "You're different. Your writing's different. It's like you've found?—"
"Don't say it."
"—something real."
"I'm hanging up now."
"The San Francisco pitch is approved."
I nearly drop my phone. "What?"
"On one condition."
"Here we go."
"Be honest about why you're writing it."
Oh fuck.
"It's just for the article, Ryan" I say, but the words are hollow.
"Sure it is. You know, it's okay to want more than just the next travel assignment."
Ugh. Would he just shut up? Would everyone just shut up?
"I’m good, Ryan, really I am. Everything is under control. I’m still the same Alexa Minty that I have always been."
"And yet here you are, wanting to pitch family content in a hockey town."
"It's called professional growth."
"It's called falling for a hot athlete."
“I gotta go, I think a tidal wave is coming in.” I hang up on him. So professional.
My phone immediately buzzes with texts:
Ryan:
Pitch approved. Try not to make the Aftershocks' PR team cry
I hate you
No you don't. You love everything right now
I'm being professional
You're being human. It looks good on you
My phone buzzes again. Mom this time:
How's the article?
Done
And the next one?
Maybe in San Francisco
How convenient
It's just research
Might you squeeze in a hockey game or two?
Perhaps
I look at my article again. At the family I'm definitely not getting hooked on. At the city I'm definitely not thinking about visiting.
The Hale Olu’olu Resort provides more than just activities and amenities—it delivers unexpected discoveries that redefine what you're seeking in a getaway.
"Just research," I tell my reflection. "Just an article."
But even I don't believe me anymore.
My phone lights up with a final message. Jonas:
Kids want to know if you're coming to dinner
Working on my next article
Very professional
Always
It's taco night. Highly educational
For the article?
For everything
I look at my laptop. At my article about families. At my pitch for San Francisco content that has nothing to do with blue eyes and bedtime stories.
Is it just an excuse to stay connected?
Is it just a reason to keep this going?
Is it just?—
My phone buzzes one last time.
Jonas:
See you at 6
Maybe some questions don’t need to be answered… because there is no answer for them.