14. FRANKIE
FOURTEEN
FRANKIE
A soft rap on my door has me looking up. My eyes widen. Jackson Olander is standing in my doorway. I blink twice. Yup. He’s still there.
He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out for a long beat. “Uh…Maddox said you were okay with seeing me?”
My eyes narrow. “Maddox Barnes is a liar who lies.”
His blue eyes fall.
I lean forward quickly. “I am okay with seeing you. Just Maddy never let me know you were here. I don’t know what he’s about with that.”
Jackson’s shoulders soften.
I turn all the way to face him, and Jackson’s jaw drops. He’s at my bedside before I can even blink.
“Oh my God. Your face, Frankie,” he says hoarsely.
Well. That’s insulting.
“What a way to greet a man,” I joke lightly. “I know I look like someone tried to inflate the left side of my face like a Macy’s Day Parade balloon, but you could at least pretend I don’t look like an ogre.”
He brushes off my words, his stare locked on my face. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he whispers absently. “You’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Oh. Well, then. That was quite nice.
I don’t think he even realizes what he just said. He’s too busy gaping in wide-eyed horror at my face. It’s so ugly right now. Honestly, it looks way worse than it is. I look like I just got out of an MMA ring.
While he’s occupied with being horrified, I take in what he’s brought with him.
Flowers. I tilt my head. Wilted and slightly crushed flowers.
My lips twitch. I think that makes the gesture even sweeter.
I don’t think this jock-boy knows what he’s doing, but he’s trying.
My attention slides to…a milkshake and fries?
“You plan to eat your lunch with me?” I ask, pointing to my nightstand where he placed the food.
He clears his throat, and red blooms on his cheeks.
“Ah, those aren’t for me. I, uh…well, I heard about your injuries.
I read up on cheek fractures, and it said you might not be able to chew?
So, I brought you a milkshake. Chocolate, because you seemed like a chocolate kinda guy.
I also brought fries, because they’re kind of soft? ”
“Well, slap my ass and call me Sally,” I whisper.
He blinks at me, his mouth opening and closing. “Um. What?”
I chuckle. “That’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful, Jackson. Thank you. I couldn’t chew at first, but I can handle soft things now. And, yes, chocolate is my milkshake flavor of choice. Ain’t nothing vanilla about Frankie, not even my milkshakes.” I wink.
His lips curve into a small smile, and he peeks at me beneath his lashes.
I reach for the milkshake and play with the straw.
His gaze drops to it, and he frowns. “Do you need a spoon? Is sucking too hard for you right now?”
Amusement erupts in my chest, and I have no idea how I keep it inside. He’s dead serious too, completely unaware of the innuendo in his question.
“Jackie-babe.” My words shake lightly. “I can handle the straw. A big man like you, on the other hand?” I sweep my gaze down him. “I think it might be a little while until I’m ready to handle what you’re packing, love.”
His jaw hits the floor. I mean, not literally, but might as well have. Think it unhinged. I force back my smile—it still hurts if I smile too wide.
Oh dear, he’s turning the same shade of red as my Louboutins. I don’t think there’s anything sexier than when a big jock-boy blushes. Yum.
“Sorry, I’ll tone it down,” I offer. “I figured a jock like you is used to that kind of joking around.”
His gaze flicks to mine. “Um, yeah. Locker room is pretty much full of that. It’s different, though.”
I move the flowers he got me. “Thank you for these, by the way.”
His gaze flits away. “I know they’re nothing special. I should have found a florist.”
He sits in the open space on my bed I just made and drops his head in his hands with a groan. “I’m totally botching this.”
He’s really not. I grab the milkshake and take a sip. He’s struggling because he cares. Every second since he’s shown up in my doorway has been authentic. Anyone can wrap up an apology with pretty words and expensive presents. Trust me, I would know.
Those apologies are empty.
“How about you start over,” I say gently. “Why are you here, Jackson?”
A pair of sad blue eyes meet mine, drop to my cheek, then come back. His lips tighten, his nostrils flaring. He shakes his head, and his eyes gloss over.
“Am I that ugly that I bring you to tears now?”
He slumps, and a watery laugh bursts from him. “God, you’re something else. I love how you’re putting me at ease right now. When I’m the asshole who got you decked in the face.”
“I mean, I’m not thrilled about that. It hurts like a bitch, and I’m close to dying of boredom.
My screen time is limited—like I’m a fucking toddler.
I can’t work out, and reading gives me an instant headache.
I literally just wander around the house aimlessly.
No way in hell am I leaving looking like this.
But I think we’ve kind of entered gray area territory.
Devereux has been gunning for me for a very long time.
This was the excuse he needed. Now, if you weren’t friends with the bigoted jackass to begin with, we wouldn’t be in this situation. So, there is that.”
He grimaces. “I think that’s the part that makes me hate myself the most. I knew exactly the kind of man Dev was.
It’s why I was friends with him.” He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a disbelieving laugh.
“I still can’t believe it. The first time I work up the courage to kiss a guy, and I get him sent to the hospital.
Maybe that’s a sign I should lock myself firmly in the closet. ”
And there it is. I had a feeling that might be the case.
“So, I’m just going to drop the whole ice cream and shark attacks thing.
Correlation doesn’t equate causation, Jackson.
Kissing men doesn’t mean they’re more likely to get punched in the face.
Now, kissing them in front of bigots might.
So, I’d say what you really need to do here isn’t stop kissing men.
You need to choose better friends, sweetheart. ”
He stares at me, dark brows scrunched together, head slowly shaking back and forth. “You are incredible.”
I frown. “I mean, I appreciate the compliment. I’m not sure what I did to warrant that, though.”
“You’re just so logical. I don’t get why you’re not mad at me.”
Yes. Well, my job is pretty much grounded in logic and analytics. It’s the last thing people assume when they meet me. This pretty boy who loves glitter? He’s a hardcore math nerd.
Sparkles, spreadsheets, and sass, thank you very much.
“I kind of get the sense that you’re being hard enough on yourself as it is,” I say slowly.
“I heard you shout at Dev. Easton told me you were holding him back. You stepped in too late, Jackson, but you stepped in. People are so quick to judge. They don’t understand what it’s like to be in a situation like that, how hard it is to react quickly and logically.
Fight. Flight. Freeze.” I shrug. It’s complicated, but what I’ve seen thus far in the aftermath is all I need to know.
I wing a brow. “I also heard a certain friend of yours was dropped from the Clippers. Is my assumption correct that you had something to do with that?”
He nods stiffly. “I told the skipper what happened and then was interviewed by HR.”
I lay a hand on his thigh. “Thank you. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”
Those blue-gray eyes bore into me. “If you want to press charges, I’ll testify.”
His pronouncement hits me square in the chest. All I can do is stare at him.
Because that would be huge. Out him to everyone.
Strip away all the protection he’s built for so long.
He could lose it all. And all that stares back at me in those glacial blues is resolve.
Quite a bit of fear too, but I think he’d truly do it.
I swallow hard. Yeah. This man isn’t a bad man. He just got caught up traveling down the wrong path. And was really far down it when he realized the wrong turn he’d taken. I think people should be allowed to come back, reroute.
I place the milkshake back on my end table, then give his leg a squeeze. “I appreciate that. But I just want to be done with the whole thing. I’m happy he’s off the team and can’t harass the players any longer.”
He stares at my hand. And stares.
I slowly pull it back. “Sorry, should I not have…?”
He quickly places his on mine and brings my hand back into place. “No. I like it.” His hand flexes lightly. “I like it a lot.”
I study him: this incredibly attractive, horrible at flirting, obsessed with small contact, cocky-at-times baseball player. Speaking of confusing. He’s a juxtaposition. “So, is your goal here to sleep with me?”
His eyes go round. “E-excuse me?”
“I don’t think you were here apologizing to get in my pants,” I clarify. “But in general. Back at the bar. All the longing glances. The whole”—I let my voice drop to a sultry level—“Sit with me. Then taking me up on my invitation. You want my dick, yes?”
His throat jumps, and his eyes somehow go impossibly wider. “I. Um…maybe one day?”
I purse my lips. “What does maybe one day mean? Like is this a worried-others-will-find-out thing?”
He blows out a breath and stares at his hand, his hand that’s still resting over mine. The guy is literally holding my hand. I’m nothing but melted butter at this point.
“I wasn’t really thinking much past kissing you that night,” he says quietly.
“That’s all I wanted. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who can do one-night stands or nameless hookups.
” He looks at me, and that becoming blush is back on his cheeks.
“I’m not looking for a relationship necessarily; I just want more than meaningless.
So, do I want your dick right this moment?
No, Frankie. Do I want to sit here with you where we do nothing more than this—” He nods toward our hands.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for. It’s not something I could have had when I was locked up tight, but now… ”
How incredibly sweet. And incredibly heartbreaking. Because this man is that damn starved for touch and connection. I pull my hand from under his and give his back a gentle push.
“Off the bed. Go to the other side.” His brow furrows, but he listens as I shift over. I pull back the covers. “Hop in—Wait.” My gaze narrows on his jeans. “Jeans off.”
His gaze darts from side-to-side. “Frankie…”
“I know this is going to come as a huge surprise, but I actually can keep my hands to myself and not talk about sex every five seconds. Those jeans are not comfortable. For you or me. I want to snuggle. Take off your fucking pants, Jackson.”
Amusement glows softly in his eyes, and it’s so beautiful to see that drive away the sadness and guilt from earlier. “Yes, boss.”
Oh. I could definitely get used to that.
If Jackson Olander ever decides he wants my dick, we are going to have so much fun.
He slips out of his jeans, and I’m completely respectful and don’t ogle him at all. That self-control deserves a fucking trophy.
He slides in next to me, and I lift his arm and slink under it. I press my good cheek to his chest and draw in a long breath. Huh. Lavender. He smells like clean linen and lavender. Not what I would have pegged for someone trying to be Mr. Macho Baseball Player.
“Are you sniffing me?”
“Yes. Where’s the lavender coming from? I was expecting, like, Axe or Old Spice.”
His huff of laughter dances over my hair.
“I’m actually pretty sensitive to scents.
I have to use this detergent that’s, like, hypoallergenic or whatever.
But since it doesn’t have a scent, I wasn’t thrilled with the way my clothes smelled—kind of chemical-y.
I experimented with laundry sprinkles that are supposed to be easy on delicate skin.
The lavender ones were the only ones that didn’t make me break out in hives. ”
Oh, my sweet, sensitive-skinned child. I don’t know why sensitive skin makes my heart soft, but apparently, I just found another weakness.
I also feel like there might be something behind his tone just now.
He said it like it was a defect. Just another small glimpse of the enigma that is Jackson Olander.
“Is it bad to have delicate skin?” I ask softly.
He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s never okay to be delicate, Frankie.”
Oh, Ollie-baby.
“There is strength in softness, Jackson.”
He hums. There’s disbelief in it, but then he murmurs, “Maybe you’re right.”
His fingers tentatively slide up and down my forearm. It’s stiff and a little jerky, like it’s foreign and he’s unsure of himself.
Well, he can pet me all he wants while he gets used to it.
Jackson Olander, you just found yourself a cuddle buddy.