Chapter Eight #3
I know he means it. The truth is painted in stark, regretful lines all over his face. And part of me gets it. I think maybe I'd feel the same way if our roles were reversed. But that doesn't mean this can continue, either. He can't lash out every damn time Corey says or does something outrageous.
"This isn't going to work if you're going to act like a madman every time he and I are in the same room," I say, my arms crossed.
"He's your teammate, and I'm a reporter covering the team.
I'm going to have to interact with him. And yeah, he's probably going to say stupid shit to get under your skin. He's jealous of you."
Phoenix's brows furrow like he's never considered that possibility.
"He was engaged once," I mutter. "His fiancée broke his heart, but he's still not over her. And he's jealous as hell of you because you have everything he wants."
"Yeah, you."
"No." I shake my head. "Not me. He's lonely, Phoenix.
He's trying like hell to nurse a broken heart with every warm body that comes his way, but as soon as he's alone, he has to feel it again.
And then he sees you reaching for what you want, even when you're going about it in every ridiculous way, and he wishes he could do that. "
"Why the fuck can't he?" he asks.
"That's not my story to tell, but trust me, he's better off without her.
On some level, I think he knows that. But he's still trying to work through it," I say.
"Messing with you gives him something else to think about for five minutes, just like sleeping with every woman who looks his direction gives him something else to think about. "
I take another step toward him. "You two are going to have to learn to coexist again.
I'm not going to quit my job just because you're jealous.
And I'm not going to walk on eggshells just to keep from rocking the boat.
I love hockey. I'm really starting to love this team.
And I need you to find a way to be okay with the fact that I actually like Corey.
" I throw my hand up before he can say anything.
"And I don't mean that I want to date him or that I'm remotely interested in him, because I'm not.
I like him as a person. He's annoying as hell sometimes, but he isn't a bad guy, Phoenix. "
"I know." He sighs heavily. "Fuck, I know. I'm sorry, baby. I'm an asshole."
It'd be easy to write him off as one, but…
"No, you aren't," I say, placing my hand on his chest. His heart hammers beneath my palm.
"You're just a guy who spent his entire life trying to convince himself that hockey was all he needed.
You've lived for the game for so long, you're only just realizing there's more to life than the ice. "
"You aren't wrong."
"Want to know a secret?"
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me up against his chest. "I want all your secrets, Cara."
"You aren't the only one realizing there's more to life than you thought," I whisper, my throat raw with the confession.
"And you aren't the only one scared of losing what you've found.
But as much as the thought of not having this terrifies me, I can't—I won't—let myself be the rope in your tug-of-war with Corey.
This matters to me too much. You matter too much. "
"Jesus," Phoenix growls, tipping my head back. I catch a brief glimpse of the fire in his eyes, and then his lips are on mine.
Faster than I can even process, I'm sprawled across his jersey on the bench with him kneeling between my legs. His wild eyes meet mine before he buries his face in my pussy.
I cry out, clinging to his hair as he eats me, being loud and messy and perfect. His tongue is everywhere, his hands splaying my thighs wide. I babble his name into the room, gasping and shaking.
"That's it, Cara," he croons, his tongue running circles around my clit while his fingers curl inside me. "Shake for me just like that."
I shake apart for him right there on the bench, sobbing his name.
He doesn't give me a chance to come down before I'm pressed against the cool metal of his locker, my legs around his waist. When he kisses me, I taste myself on him, but that doesn't matter.
"So fucking perfect," he grunts, lifting me up.
I lose my mind a little when he sinks into me, whispering my name until it's the only thing I hear. He fucks me like a storm again, pounding into me until he's the only thing I feel.
I don't know how he does it, but he sends me over the edge twice more, each more intense than the last. I'm a sweaty puddle against the locker, gasping every time he bottoms out inside me. And he still wants one more.
Of course I give it to him. Of course I do.
He goes over with me this time, buried so deep, I feel him in my soul.
When it's over, and we're tangled together, our hearts racing, he brushes a strand of hair from my face, his lips at my ear.
"I'll make it right, Cara," he breathes. "For you, I'll make it right."
"Don't do it for me. Do it because it's the right thing to do."
"For us," he says. "It's the right thing to do for us."