Chapter 48 – Jaxon
FORTY-EIGHT
JAXON
I’m waiting for Jordan in the lobby, calling a rideshare when the elevator dings. I glance up from my phone, not expecting to see her yet, but am forced to do a double take.
That’s your girl.
Jordan’s rifling through a handheld purse as she walks out of the elevator not minding the people hurrying on around her. She pulls out a tube of lip gloss, reapplying before standing in the center of the high rise.
I push off the wall to close the gap between us.
This dress was made for her. Short, but modest, it skims the middle of her thighs with the smallest triangular slit.
The midnight blue silk fits to her body as if it was painted on.
Thin straps stretch over her shoulder, and when she spins, I about have an aneurysm.
Biting my knuckle, my gaze rapt over the muscles and curves on display.
Backless, the silk scoops above her lower back.
And her legs? Holy hell.
Jordan’s in a pair of pointed heels that make them stretch longer than they already are.
She’s beautiful with hair in loose curls that’ll probably fall by the end of the night, bangs slicked and pinned back behind her ears. I take a step forward, running my fingers over the stack of silver hoops.
But her confidence? It’s about to drive me to my knees right here.
I can’t stop looking at her.
“Hi.” Jordan bites her lip. “Do I look okay?”
Okay? She’s joking with me, right?
If this is her definition of okay, then I need a new dictionary. I’m rendered speechless by how okay (beautiful) she looks—is. Inside and out.
“Beautiful,” I correct. Again, I’m biting my knuckle to keep myself from saying something stupid, like that I love her or if this is my final day, I’m glad this is the last image I see.
Jordan’s hands run over the lapels of my sports jacket. “You like my dress then?”
“Would rather it be on the floor of your hotel room, but yes.” I rake my gaze down her body and back up it. Landing on her face, cheeks are a darker shade. “Always want your clothes on the floor, though.”
She does a quick scan of the lobby for any of our teammates before pressing up on her toes to kiss me. Soft at first, but it intensifies when her tongue slips over mine.
“Keep kissing me like this and we aren’t making it to dinner.”
“Maybe that’s my plan. Maybe I think the dress looks better on the floor too.”
“You’re trouble, Little Carmichael. You know that?”
“Yeah, but I’m your trouble.”
I’m unable to keep my hands off her, but who can blame me.
The driver of our rideshare can’t.
Pulling her close to me in the car, I tease my fingers along the hem of her dress before slipping them beneath. I’m forced to stifle a groan when I find nothing underneath but warm, soft skin.
“Underwear lines,” she teases, only adding to my agony. Jordan creatively maneuvers her legs in a silent invitation.
“Can you be quiet?” I whisper into the curve of her neck.
“It’s my specialty.”
I curl a finger into her and watch, eyes boring into each other, her start to come undone. I add another, then another. Each time she swallows a gasp, breathing coming in short bursts.
After an extended red light, the car comes to a stop. I peek outside; we’re at our destination. I pull my fingers out of her, and a feral, frustrated noise squeaks out of Jordan.
I get out first. Spotlighted by the skyscraper’s lights, I lick my fingers, winking before helping her out of the car.
Inside, we locate the elevator that goes to the steak house on the top floor. The other four lead to condos and offices. An attendant scans us in, we’re the only ones in the enclosed space.
“Forty-four floors.” I flick my brows up. She’s purposely pouting, standing across from me. Legs crossed from how I teased her.
“And?”
Again, I press off the wall to close the space between us. The air in here smells like her, but I need more of her to fill my lungs.
Toe to toe, I fix one of her straps that got twisted. Skim a finger along her chest to the other strap. Delicately moving it off her shoulder.
“Do I get to finish this time?”
“When I say you can.”
“Then two can play this game.” Jordan’s hands come to my belt as we pass the ninth floor.
She sinks to her knees and takes me into her mouth.
It’s a delicious and devious amount of torture.
Through the mirrored walls, I have my pick of views to watch her.
It makes me wish this was the other way around, me on my knees and her watching me eat her out.
And the feeling? I’ll be lucky to make it past the twenty-second floor.
The way she runs her tongue along the underside, one hand fisting the base. The lipstick stain on my dick, the smudges around her lips. Bright eyes watch what she’s doing to me through hooded lashes. Her free hand scratches into my abdomen.
The elevator gradually climbs, my looming release right behind it.
And Jordan knows it.
Her cheeks hollow out as she takes me deep one final time.
“Please,” I beg. “Please, baby.”
She shakes her head, releasing me with a pop. A line of drool stretches from her mouth to my tip. I trace her mouth with my thumb, cleaning the saliva as she stands. Jordan smooths her palms over the front of her dress, picking up her clutch from where she balanced it on a handrail.
I chuckle, and her eyes catch mine in the mirror. “No need to fix that,” I kindly inform her. Her lips freshly stained with color. “This isn’t over.”
“Great. Then you can ruin it again.” Jordan spins to face me while I fix myself, the elevator passing floor forty.
We inspect each other and burst out laughing.
Fuck. I’m screwed.
I’m so in love with her.
“Your knees.” I gesture downward.
She shrugs, no care for the outline of the mosaic tile imprinted on her skin. “Souvenir.”
Jordan takes my hand, interlocking our fingers as we sweep out of the elevator. It opens right into the steak house, the hostess stand only a few feet away. Immediately, I spot my stepdad and Luka at the bar clinking what I know are old fashions.
I give the hostess my name, and she shows us to where we’re dining. A private room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Chicago skyline.
My steps slow, and I take in a haggard inhale. Then another.
“You okay?” Jordan squeezes my hand, bringing us to a stop next to the velvet curtain dividing the space from the rest of the restaurant. “We can turn around, go back to the hotel, find another restaurant, take the elevator again.”
I catch the insinuation in her tone on the last option. Debate it for a second before responding, “No. I’m okay, I promise. You?” I check in with her.
It’s not only my family we’re facing off with tonight, but her godawful ex-boyfriend.
“Luka can’t do or say anything else to hurt me…but maybe, refrain from doing or saying that’ll get you punched in the face again.” Her free hand rubs over the bruise that’s finally healed.
“No promises.” I wink, secretly wishing for a reason to return the favor.
“There’s only one way to get this over with.” Jordan gives me a confident smile. “Let’s do it.”
Jordan
Jaxon and I are seated next to each other. Across from us are his step siblings, with his Mom and stepdad at the heads of the table.
It’s awkward and obvious that we’re the outsiders.
Alessia keeps looking at me, then Jaxon. Intoxicating honey-brown eyes deciphering something.
Luka is also staring at me, but with disappointment and disapproval. Barely ten minutes passed by before he needed to make a passive aggressive comment about my continued relationship with Jaxon.
His entitlement is nauseating.
A waiter comes by to take our orders.
Leaning into Jaxon, I whisper, “Valentini’s are paying, right?”
“I assume so.” He adjusts the napkin on his lap.
“I’m—we’re ordering the most expensive items on the menu?”
“Duh.”
And I do exactly that. A nice surf and turf, even though I don’t like lobster, and I purposely ordered the steak medium-well, even though I prefer my steaks medium-rare.
Upgrade my sides because they have dairy-free white cheddar mac and cheese.
Ten dollars more? Yeah, I’ll take that and the roasted Brussels and garlic mashed potatoes.
After I finish ordering, Luka—who still can’t keep his eyes off of me—opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. Smugly saying, “Big game tomorrow.”
“Do you play for Lakeland too?” Mr. Valentini asks, surprised. “On the men’s team?”
“I do,” I say, head held high. He’s been nothing but generous tonight, so I feel bad being icy to him. He hugged Jaxon when he came in from the bar and has asked about school, his roommates, and what music he’s been listening to lately.
Mr. Valentini orders another old fashion. “Is there no women’s team?”
“Sadly, no. It was cut at the start of the year because of funding.” He seems intrigued, so I continue, giving him an overview of what happened.
“Are you the only female on the team?”
I go to answer, but Luka speaks for me. “Jordan thought she’d be a martyr to prove that girls are better than boys.” The sentence capped off with a chortle.
“I mean…” His dad tilts his head. “She made the men’s team.”
“She did,” Jaxon speaks up, palm splayed across my thigh under the table. “And she’s been an incredible asset this season.”
“I can’t wait to watch you play tomorrow.” He raises his new glass in my direction. I clink my red wine against it.
Conversation shifts. Alessia goes off on a tangent that is as bland as I remember her to be. We’d met once, briefly, when she came to visit Luka at school. I was on my way out of his dorm after another forgettable night together.
Dinner is also bland—except the white cheddar mac. I could bathe in it, it’s that tasty.
Conversation circulates around us but never includes us. Jaxon’s mom barely speaks, barely even glances his way. If she does, her eyes linger on me like she’s trying to determine if she should know who I am.
It’s uncomfortable and weird.