21. Jack
Jack
I’ve tied my left skate three times. Still not tight enough.
“Murph, you good?” Alex leans over, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been working on that thing for five minutes.”
The laces are a mess, which matches my head. “Yeah. I’m good.”
We had two back-to-back games, first in Montreal and then in Philly. Tonight, we’re finally back in Boston, and Izzy promised to come tonight.
“You sure? You’re green.”
“It’s just a game.”
“Or,” Noah chimes in from across the room, grinning like an asshole, “the bookstore girl’s here.”
I try to play it cool and focus on retying my skate. “Izzy.”
“Called it!” Connor jumps up and shimmies, holding his hand out toward Noah. “Murphy’s whipped. Pay up, Chaplin.”
I flip them both off, but I’m grinning too because they’re not wrong, even if it does scare the hell out of me.
We’ve texted and called, but I haven’t touched her since Thanksgiving.
Haven’t kissed her. A week, and I’m starving for it.
I’ve played hundreds of games and never once really cared about who was watching.
Hockey was mine. The ice was where I disappeared into myself.
But knowing Izzy’s out there tonight, I can’t focus.
The locker room empties, and I follow my teammates to the tunnel, trying to shake off whatever this is. The familiar sounds wash over me: music pumping through the speakers, the arena is buzzing, skates cutting into fresh ice. This should ground me. This is what I know, what I’m good at.
I ignore the nagging voice in the back of my mind. I rub my glove over my chest, trying to stop the ache there. It’s like I can’t breathe. Or maybe my equipment is too tight. Or maybe I pulled something during warm-ups.
Then I see her. She’s a few rows up from the glass with Annie and Sloane, bundled in a jacket, hair down, cheeks flushed. Sloane and Annie wave, then wrestle Izzy out of her coat and spin her around for me.
Murphy.
My number.
Mine.
I want every person here to look at her and know she’s Jack Murphy’s girl.
“Murph, you’re gonna crash into the boards if you don’t stop staring at her,” Alex teases, skating past me.
Bosko stops next to me and taps his stick against my shoulder. “You’re gone, man. Just admit it.”
“Fuck off.” But I can’t stop smiling.
“Let’s win. Head in the game tonight,” Boskos reminds me, slapping a hand on my shoulder as I spin away. “No fighting. We can’t afford to lose you.”
Izzy told me that last night on the phone.
Told me she liked me too much to have me forget her.
I teased her back, insisting she’d be fine with forgetting the dumb hockey jock who hangs around her bookstore.
I meant it to be funny, but it fell flat.
I swear she was going to cry, so I changed topics.
Okay, fine. The topic was me, my cock, and those pictures she sent me earlier in the day in new pink lingerie.
And while that was great, it still didn’t sit right with me when we hung up.
The game starts, and I lock in. I assist on the first goal. Late in the third period, I steal the puck at center ice, blow past their defense, and bury it in the net. The arena erupts, and my teammates pile on me, but my eyes are already searching the crowd.
There. Izzy’s on her feet, screaming, hands in the air.
I point at her. Just for a second. Just enough that she sees.
I’ve scored hundreds of goals. Game winners, overtime clinchers, highlight reel shots that get replayed for weeks. But this one feels different. I want to be good for her. I want her to be proud of me.
After the game, I shower in record time. Alex told me Molly was going to bring Izzy down with the rest of the WAGs so we could all go out to dinner. She’s in the hallway outside the small waiting room for family, hair a little messy, eyes bright.
“You’re such a showoff—”
I don’t let her finish. I’m on her in three strides, backing her against the wall, hands framing her face, kissing her.
“Hmm,” she sighs into my mouth.
When I pull back, she’s breathless. “Amazing. That was… you were amazing.”
My forehead presses to hers. “You’re wearing my jersey.”
“You noticed?”
“Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
Her cheeks turn that delicious shade of pink, her pulse racing under my palms. “I’m getting a pretty good idea.”
My hands slide down to grip her hips, hauling her closer. “Let me show you. To be clear.”
She glances around. “Jack, we’re about to go to dinner—”
“I don’t care.”
I drag her into an empty equipment room down the hall and lock the door. I pin her against the wall, hands everywhere, mouth on her neck. She’s trying to catch her breath, trying to be reasonable.
“Jack, someone could—”
“Let them.” My voice is rough against her skin.
She gasps when my hand slides under the jersey. My jersey. “You’re crazy.”
Seeing her in my jersey, my name on her back, strips away every layer of control I have.
“The jersey. Leave it on.” I slip my hand beneath her waistband, and when I brush my fingers over her panties, it’s my turn to groan. I pull her leggings down in one move, then hoist her up, press her back against the wall, and grin into her neck when she sighs my name.
“Again,” I growl, pushing her panties to the side. “Say it again.”
Her soft laugh washes away the second my thumb flicks against her clit. “Jack—I want to feel you,” she whispers against my ear. “Please.”
My cock is in charge right now. I’m clearly not thinking because I always wrap it before I sleep with someone. The difference is that Izzy isn’t someone. She’s everything, and I’ve been too fucking slow to realize it.
I grip her hips with my hands, press against her, then thrust inside. I pin her against the wall until I feel her hands hold my shoulders. I brace my hand beside her ear, kiss her neck, and take her one more time, slowly, losing my fucking mind over just how amazing she feels this way.
The sounds that come out of Izzy are next level, and it takes every ounce of control I have to not spill the second she moans my name. I won’t last long this way.
“Everyone is going to hear,” I warn against her neck.
She drags her nails across my shoulder blades. “Then be quiet. Or don’t, I kind of like it when you lose it.”
My release hits hard, and I barely manage to pull out enough to come in her panties.
She bucks against me, panting.
“Jesus,” I laugh, still trying to catch my breath. “Where’d that come from?”
Izzy lifts her chin and kisses me slowly. “Don’t judge a girl with a secret breeding kink, Murphy.”
I slowly pull back, afraid that if I don’t untangle us carefully, we’ll both collapse to the floor.
“I… really, Izzy?”
“You’re clean. I’m on the pill. And you…” Her fingers trace my jaw. “You’re the only person I’m sleeping with.”
“I’m not hooking up,” I shoot back, maybe a tad defensively. Doesn’t she know by now how much she wrecks me? My vision blurs for a second, and I lean my weight against the wall, waiting for it to pass.
“I know.” She pulls on her leggings, then playfully slaps my cheek. “And you’re going to be thinking about this for the rest of the night.” Izzy walks off with a wink. “I’ll see you out there, Murphy.”
Not long after, we’re crowded around a table, out to dinner with everyone.
She fits right in—teasing Connor, rolling her eyes at Noah, laughing in that way that makes my chest feel too small with Bosko’s wife, Natalya.
The entire time, I can’t stop looking at her.
She slips so easily into my world, like she’s always belonged there.
And she does belong.
I know it.
The brownie sundae we DoorDashed for dessert melts on my counter because neither of us can keep our hands to ourselves. We manage to break a chair in the kitchen before we finish in the shower, and once we’re done, she curls up beside me on the couch in a Breakers hoodie of mine.
“So,” she teases, nudging my leg, “am I your good luck charm now?”
“You’re something,” I say, hauling her onto my lap.
“Something?” she echoes, smiling like she knows there’s more.
The truth is right there, sitting in the back of my throat. But I swallow it down.
“Let’s go to bed,” I tell her instead.
Coward.