16. Izzy
Izzy
In New England, once the leaves change in the fall, there’s usually a storm that blows in called a leaf stripper. It’s big and windy, leaving the trees bare as they brace for the brutal cold ahead with nowhere to hide.
I’m about to find out if I can survive it.
My stomach is a wild tangle of knots as the car waits in line to drop me off at the venue.
I was going to drive, but Jack insisted he’d send a car.
Told me to enjoy the experience of being a spoiled hockey girlfriend, then sent me a new Chanel clutch for tonight.
The card that was tucked into the package said the ribbon reminded him of the ones I like to wear in my hair.
I fiddle with my earrings and turn on my phone camera one more time to check my makeup. It slips from my hand, my palms sweaty. I’ve been two seconds from throwing up for the whole forty-minute drive.
November has swept in. It’s cold and gray, and it hasn’t let up.
An icy breeze whips around the tall Boston buildings as soon as I step out.
I do my best to grab the hem of my dress and sprint in my stilettos without turning my ankle on the cobblestone street.
As soon as I step inside, I check my coat and peek around.
It’s a giant three-story foyer, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Boston Harbor.
The soft glow of a giant crystal chandelier bounces off the chrome details, and jazz echoes through the empty space from the rooms upstairs.
“Are you here for the gala, miss?”
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place so fancy in my life. “Yes.” My voice shakes, and, god, I really would feel better if Jack were next to me. That’s something I didn’t think I’d ever admit to, but here we are.
I miss the smug bastard. Annoyingly.
No, that’s not true. I think he’s quickly becoming a good friend, and I miss him. Like an ache-in-my-chest kind of missing. Between the away games, practice, and last night’s game in Boston, we haven’t seen each other since Halloween.
I’m escorted to an escalator to take me up to the party. I can hear the hushed, polite chatter and soft instrumental music. I reach into my clutch to find my phone, ready to text Jack about where we should meet, when I glance up.
He’s waiting at the top, so heartbreakingly handsome in his tux. You’d never know the man is slammed into the boards and sent to a penalty box for a living.
I freeze, my hands gripping my clutch so tight as I try to blink. Form a thought. Remember to breathe.
Sweet baby Jesus.
“Impressive,” I say finally, stepping off the escalator.
Play it cool. Play it cool. Play it cool.
“I was thinking the same.” Jack cracks that easy, sly grin that twists around my heart.
Maybe more than friends…
His hand gently touches my elbow as he rakes his eyes over me in a long, slow sweep. “Spin around.”
I do, biting my lip when I hear his low growl when he spots my ass in the red velvet gown that’s decidedly sexier than what I’d planned on wearing. But I couldn’t resist the bow.
Jack reaches out and presses his thumb against my bottom lip. For a minute, I’m not sure if I should open my mouth and suck on his thumb just to surprise him or…
He pulls his hand back, like he could read my thoughts, and my cheeks heat. “Why did you do that?” I ask, a little breathless.
“I wanted to see if we’d have a problem later.”
“Later when?”
“When your lips are wrapped around my cock.”
Words tumble in my brain as I try to come up with a witty, sexy comeback. But all I manage is a soft “Didn’t smudge, did it?”
Jack swallows, then leans in close enough for me to catch the small hitch in his voice. “Always planning ahead like my good girl.”
His palm gently guides me forward, warm against the small of my back. It’s steady and somewhat calming, even if it feels as if I’m about to be eaten alive.
I pluck a glass of champagne off a passing tray.
I don’t belong here.
Not walking beside Jack, that’s for sure. My heels are too high, my dress a little too tight, and I don’t think I can even sip the champagne I have in my hand. I’m so nervous.
But Jack looks like he was born for this.
That black tux, perfectly tailored to his body, a crisp white shirt that only makes his blue eyes pop more, his hair brushed back and almost gold under the soft lighting.
He’s laughing with a teammate, dimples flashing, one hand tucked in his pocket like this is any other night.
Then his arm slides around my waist, tugging me close, and suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on us.
“It’s about time Jack brought you around.” The massively tall man sticks out his hand and roughly shakes mine. “Bobby Becker. I’m a defenseman on the Breakers.”
“Nice to meet you.”
A woman joins him. Her short blonde hair brushes against her tanned shoulders. “So you’re the girl who’s got him tripping all over the ice. I’m Bobby’s wife, Stephanie. Next game, you should come sit with us WAGs.”
Jack laughs, scratches behind his ear, then glances down at me. I’m not expecting his gaze to be so soft, so… kind.
This is just pretend. We’re pretending. I can do that too.
“I’m lucky to have him, if that’s what you mean.”
The other woman mutters something that sounds like “So did the rest of Boston.”
“Last week, while he was away, he ordered dinner for me because I was stuck at work. He’s so thoughtful like that.”
Bobby laughs. “Sure, he’s thoughtful.”
Maybe I’m a bitch because I don’t know how else I put on the fakest smile I can manage and say, “So glad you agree.”
Jack’s thumb brushes the side of my hip. I tip my head up and catch him smiling. He leans down, steering us away. “Fuck, I hate that prick. She doesn’t know it, but he has a girlfriend who lives a few towns over.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.”
“I didn’t say I had another girlfriend.”
“Just me.” I push myself up to my toes to whisper against his ear. “The fake one.”
Jack shakes his head, brushing his thumb over my chin so our eyes meet. “I licked it. You’re mine now.”
I giggle. “Very mature.”
He shrugs, pulling me close.
Something about me being half twisted up in Jack must draw more attention to us, because a photographer steps forward. “Let’s see a kiss, Murphy.”
Jack bends down, his lips brushing my ear. “That okay?”
It’s not really a question, more a warning. I have seconds to prepare, to guard my heart, to not fall any farther into the black hole that is Jack Murphy’s chaotic life.
But that all shatters the moment he presses his mouth against mine in a chaste kiss.
It’s polite, expected. Safe.
He breaks away, the tip of his nose ghosting across my cheek, his eyes searching mine.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think of the rules.
Of what we agreed to. What this is supposed to be.
My fingers curl around his neck, and his warm skin sears my palm as his pulse drums a rapid beat beneath my fingertips.
I always follow the rules. Always do what’s expected of me. I’ve been so afraid to do what I’ve wanted, and I—I don’t want to play safe anymore.
Fuck it.
I lean forward and kiss him back. I want more.
His surprise is a soft “Oh” against my lips before his mouth claims mine, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip.
I open for him, and he takes. My hand slips beneath his jacket, resting against his chest, his heart beating wildly beneath my touch.
And a sound—needy, real, raw—slips out of me before I can stop it.
His tongue sweeps in and deepens our kiss, and the world tilts.
I’m not sure if it’s because he’s swept me up and I’ve arched my back like that old-timey sailor and nurse photo, or if it’s just because it’s Jack.
The camera clicks. Someone wolf whistles in the background.
It cuts through my haze, and I stop.
Jack pulls back, lips swollen, touching his forehead against mine for one dizzying second before he straightens. My face is on fire, my pulse thundering. I laugh, too high-pitched and nervous, brushing it off like this is all part of the act, but I can’t meet his eyes.
Because I know that wasn’t just for a photo.
Before either of us can say any more, he steers me from one conversation to the next—teammates, sponsors, even the mayor’s husband. I smile, nod, sip my champagne. But every time his hand touches my back, every time he laughs, every time he leans in close, it’s torture.
Dinner is amazing, and when it’s time for speeches, his hand finds my thigh under the table. I lean my head against his shoulder, and to everyone else in the room, it probably looks innocent enough.
But he whispers against my ear, “Do you remember what I promised?”
I nod, and his fingers flex higher against my inner thigh.
“Good, I meant it.”
The room is too warm, too loud, too everything.
“I need a drink,” I murmur, setting my empty glass on the table, and slip away before he can stop me. I feel like a bluestocking in a Regency romance, desperate to take in some air in the garden, the besotted rake hot on her heels, dizzy with need.
Never understood that until just now.
I can feel Jack’s eyes on me as I move across the room and head toward the balcony.
The Boston skyline stretches out to the harbor in glittering gold and black, the blink of a descending plane cutting through the dark to land at Logan Airport. I used to love watching them when I was little, convinced for the longest time that they were shooting stars.
I grip the railing tight. My heart hasn’t slowed since that kiss.
“Hey.”
His voice slides over me, and my body warms in anticipation of his touch.
“That was…” My breath puffs out, the air way too cold to be out here without a jacket. “A lot.”
We both know I’m not talking about the gala.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, low. “Couldn’t when I was away. Can’t now, not tonight, when you look like perfection in that dress.”
I finally meet his stare. His eyes are dark with want, like he’s already made up his mind about tonight. Panic spikes in my stomach. “Jack, we said—”
“I know what we said.” He steps closer, his chest brushing against mine.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Instead, my hands slide up his chest, cupping his face to draw his mouth back down to mine. It’s hungry, desperate. My fingers dig into his hair. He tastes like champagne and chocolate cake, and when he groans against my lips, my knees nearly buckle.
We break apart, both of us breathing hard.
“Stay with me tonight.” He trails the back of his hand against the side of my face. “I’ll drive you back in the morning.”
I should go home. I’ve been putting off inventory long enough.
“Izzy.” He tips my face up toward his, and my spiraling stops. “I’ll beg.”
“I like it when you do.” I’m not sure where I find it within myself to tease him, but that sly smile stretches across his mouth, showing off those damn dimples again.
It’s bad enough when he wears his glasses, but when Jack wears a tux? Apparently, all my self-control flies out of the window.
We quickly say our goodbyes, hop in a taxi, and when we reach his place twenty minutes later, he unlocks the door and holds it open for me. It feels like a game of chicken, the long beat that fills the space between us until the door shuts with a soft click behind us.
When Jack’s mouth finds mine again, desperate, I know there’s no going back.