Chapter 29 – Jaxon
TWENTY-NINE
JAXON
“You’d think I was coaching a pee-wee team with how you all are skating.
” Coach shakes his head before letting out a humorless laugh.
He blows his whistle, wrapping up another week of two-a-days that I think came straight from hell.
Morning lifting or conditioning and afternoon ice time.
“You win one championship and think you can take the summer off?”
A freshman goalie opens his mouth to speak, barely able to get one syllable out. “That was rhetorical, Hillard,” Beck says for Coach, who is pinching the bridge of his nose.
Cooper skates up to me, tapping his stick against mine to get my attention. Said attention may or may not be on his sister as she talks to one of our assistant coaches. “Should we start on the mustaches now?” he asks.
“Oh, now we’re team mustaches.” I bump his shoulder, winking.
Last season, as a team, we grew them out once we realized we were on the hunt to make the playoffs.
Even though it took me up till the week before the Frozen Four to have something that resembled a mustache and not a fuzzy caterpillar.
“Are you finally admitting they were cool?”
“Absolutely not. Maybe the frosted tips.” He flashes me an unhumorous smirk.
“The tips rocked and you know it. You were jealous.”
“I wasn’t.” We reach center ice. “But we might need them if we want a shot at the Frozen Four again.”
“It’s been two weeks. We’ve got plenty of time till our first preseason game.
” We’re playing Northwestern, then hosting a small school from Colorado.
Both should be easy games based on preseason rankings and reports.
“We’ll be fine,” I reassure him. I know being captain comes with a layer of pressure I don’t have, but I hate the idea of him being prematurely stressed.
“But, twist my arm. I’ll start growing one. ”
When we’re dismissed, Cooper’s the first to the boards.
Opening the gate that leads to the locker room, he fist-bumps each of our teammates as they pass by.
Despite our shit practice, he still finds something each guy, and girl, did right and compliments them.
The encouragement raises chins and morale.
“Ladies first.” I gesture to Jordan to go before me, both reaching the gate at the same time. I’m normally second to last, Beckett always the caboose, but he’s still on the ice with the goalies. Nothing about our practice uniform is overtly sexy, but it doesn’t stop me from admiring her.
Fun is the only way to describe the past two weeks with her.
I’ve kept my promise that it wasn’t only one night.
I’ve snuck into her dorm and dragged her into the bathroom again at The Tipsy Bear.
She’s picked me up from student teaching during a thunderstorm which led to the hottest car make out session of my life.
“Carmichael.”
“Yeah, Coach,” both siblings respond, heads turning. Cooper was on his way to start ice baths for us.
“Jordan,” Coach corrects, waving her over. Jordan pushes off the bench, squirting another drink of water into her mouth before heading his way.
I stall meeting Cooper, unlacing my skates slowly, meticulously taking them off and placing them in my bag. Drop the smelly ball-thing Cooper’s mom bought us to help alleviate the smell of gear into them.
“I wanted to apologize about the women’s locker room being locked,” I overhear Coach tell Jordan.
“It will be available starting tomorrow. I pulled some strings to get you this.” He slips a hand into his joggers, pulling out a key.
“Me or one of the coaches will have it unlocked for practices and games, but if you need in there for recovery or anything, it’s yours to use. ”
Jordan takes the key. “Thank you.”
Coach nods in place of you’re welcome.
“Any update on my ID?” Jordan tried again this past week to grab lunch and her ID didn’t work.
“Still? I swear to—” Coach’s jaw clamps. “I’ll take care of it. Anything else you need?” Jordan shakes her head no, ponytail swishing against the back of her practice jersey. “Let me know if that changes.”
They depart in opposite directions. I busy myself, not to give away that I was eavesdropping. Discreetly sliding back down the bench in front of my cubby, munching on the bag of dry cereal I’d taken and didn’t finish at student teaching.
Jordan grabs her bag, sliding her feet into a pair of Birkenstock clogs.
“What are you—”
Cooper pops his head back into the locker room. “If you wait any longer Greene, I’m adding more ice.”
“Coming,” I tell him. Checking our surroundings, I take advantage of Jordan and I being the only players in here. Reaching for her hand, I drag her to me. She steps between my long legs, my hands slipping to her waist and dance under the waistband of her pants. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Catching up on the reading I’m behind on.”
“Can it wait till tomorrow?” I can see her calculating the question. “It’s settled. You’re coming over.”
“I thought Dawson had some sort of surprise for everyone.”
“So?”
“Everyone will be there.”
“Right, so you should be there.”
“But we—”
“They’re your friends,” I cut her off with the reminder. “I’m your friend, Little Carmichael.”
“You aren’t my friend.” There’s a tease to her tone that’s mirrored on her face.
I smirk. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. Being your friend isn’t enough. I don’t want to be your friend.”
“What do you want to be?” I don’t think Jordan expects me to answer honestly, but I can’t lie. Can’t deny the way I’ve felt about her; those feelings only growing.
Hers. I want to be hers.
“Yours.”
She swallows and blinks rapidly.
I can see her processing what I said. Mouth opens and closes as if she wants to say something. “Okay,” is what she finally comes up with.
“But being friends is a requirement for being friends with benefits,” I add, the words clunky leaving my lips.
“Is that what we are?” Her body tightens and she appears uncomfortable momentarily before softening and molding into my touch. “Friends with benefits?”
“Would you rather me call you my lover or cuddle buddy? Fuck buddies?” Confused by her body language, I lean into my need to joke. “Oooo, what about coital companion or pleasure pal.”
“How about you call us nothing.”
“But that’s boring.” I pout. “Not even Jaxorn or…Our names both starting with J’s really clash for creating a shipping name.”
“We aren’t shipping or cuffing or whatever. We’re teammates that are casually…” Jordan lowers her voice. “Well you’re casually giving me orgasms.”
“Beg to differ. Remember the car?” I paint the picture for her. “Windows steaming. You straddling my lap in the passenger seat. One hand in your pants pinching your—” Jordan slaps a hand over my mouth. I lick her palm.
“Don’t say that in here.”
“Pinching your…” I exaggerate a wink. “The playing with your tits. You grinding on me till I came in my pants.”
“You could’ve restrained yourself.”
“Can’t help losing control when you’re around. It’s a good thing I had another pair of briefs in my cubby I could change into. I’d call that casual.”
“If I agree to come over tonight, will you shut up?”
I smile brightly before pressing a kiss to her lips. “Be at the house in an hour.”
“What is this surprise?” Elliot flops onto the couch, kicking her feet up and over Chase’s lap.
“You’ll see.” Dawson paces. I’ve never seen him this nervous. Dawson’s always been so sure of himself. Jake calls for him in the kitchen when the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.” I race to the door, tripping over the stupid runner. Peeling open the door, Jordan’s on the other side. “Hi, pleasure pal,” I coo.
“Absolutely not.” Her gaze flicks up through rain-speckled lashes. The hood of her rain jacket pulled tight. “You gonna let me in or are you trying to see if I melt?”
“I didn’t think the good witch melted.” I hold the door open for her, taking her jacket and hanging it up in the closet downstairs. She flicks me a look over her shoulder.
“Jords.” Cooper’s bounding down the stairs, ruffling the top of her head on his way into the kitchen. “Anyone want something to drink or eat?”
A slew of responses are thrown his way. Mainly drinks because Dawson barks that he needs us to be hungry. I lean into Jordan’s orbit. “I’m hungry for something.” She punches me in the gut, and I cough.
“Behave.” Her whisper firm.
“Do I get rewarded if I do?”
“Be a good boy and you’ll find out.” I stand straight and nod with a cheesy closed-mouth smile on my face. Jordan lets out a nose-laugh before finding a spot in one of the chairs adjacent to the sectional.
Dawson remerges from the kitchen, whatever he’s cooking up smells insane. My stomach has grumbled at least five times. His concern about us needing to be hungry is ill-placed. I ate dinner when Cooper and I got back a couple hours ago and am already ready for second dinner.
He stands in front of the TV, hands clasped in front of him. “Chase, can you toss me the remote?” Chase does. Dawson turns the channel and mutes the volume.
I lean to the left to see around him, catching the Food Network logo. No freaking way. He did it. I’m not the only one picking up on what channel he turned it to, my roommates shifting up straighter and their mouths lifting with pride. Even Beckett is smiling.
“I love the Food Network,” Mads exclaims from between Sutton’s legs on the floor. They’ve been making friendship bracelets. “The cake shows are my favorite.”
“Mine too.” Dawson shifts, a preview for a new episode of Beat Bobby Flay on the screen. “You know that weekend Jake and I went to New York City? Well…I was featured on an amateur episode, and it airs tonight.”
“No fucking way.” Elliot is the first to say something. Then Cooper and Chase.
“Curse jar!” Madeline curls her fingers in demand of payment. Eyes become saucers as she counts the bills dropped in her hand.
None of us keep our cool as Dawson continues, “I applied last year. Submitted photos of my signature dish—which is in the kitchen now. I heard back from a casting producer in the spring about an interview and well, I got on the show.”
Collectively, the guys and I bolt from the couch, dog piling on Dawson. Only clambering off when one of the girls lets us know the episode is starting.
We’re on the edge of our seats from the start, and when they reveal that plums are the secret ingredient for the first round, Jake comes out of the kitchen with a platter of goat cheese stuffed plum crostini with drizzled hot honey. On the episode he serves the bite-size appetizer over greens.
“F—freakty frack.” I catch myself, icy blue eyes swiveling my way and ready to claim the cash in my wallet. “These are amazing.” No surprise. I stuff my face with another one. Then another.
“Seriously, man. How’d you get the idea for this?” The show cuts to commercial, but we pause it before judging. From his phone, Cooper made sure the episode was recording.
Dawson shrugs, humble to our praise. “I’ve made something similar with peaches. The two fruits pair well with cheeses and can sustain—hold a charred textured…” He loses me for a minute, using big cooking terms. “And who doesn’t love hot honey?”
“Xanie requests these for meal prep next week,” Jordan adds, scooping out the goat cheese and only eating the plum and bread.
Cooper gives her a puzzled look.
“I’ll see if I can make a dairy-free alternative.”
“You make Jordan meals?” Cooper asks, gaze bouncing between them like a bouncy ball.
“Yeah, Jax—”
I cut him off. “So did you win this round?”
Elliot hits play on the remote and everyone falls silent again, anticipating the results. Dawson moves on to round two, going head-to-head with Bobby. He challenges him with his signature dish: Kottbullar, or better known as meatballs.
Again, he serves us the dish. And again, it’s incredible, as always. This one we’ve had plenty of times. For a stretch last year, it was once a week.
The judges compliment the flavors and texture, only giving constructive criticism over the size and wishing they had more sauce. Ultimately, they voted in Dawson’s favor. A two-to-one victory over Bobby.
“I’m Dawson, and I just beat Bobby Flay.” He runs off screen and the show goes to credits, as we explode with cheers and praise. Non-television Dawson is sitting on the floor, leaning back into the couch bracing for another dog pile.
Later, when I’m about to leave Jordan’s, fingers curl around my forearm. She comes up from behind, other arm balancing on my shoulder as stands on her tip toes to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’m happy I came tonight.”
“Me too.”
“Thank you for the invite, pleasure pal.”