Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
AARON
Things with Declan are going from bad to worse, and tonight only fanned the flames.
He’s not subtle when he’s pissed—that’s something he and I have in common. But when it’s directed toward me and in full display of the fans, well… Now we officially have a fucking problem.
The locker room after the game felt thick. Guys pretending not to look. Pretending not to listen. Nobody wants to get between two players who hate each other’s guts, both for different reasons.
I’m not backing down, but I wasn’t looking for a war.
He crossed the line though when he went to his sister. I know what his intentions are: plant doubt so she’ll think I’m the problem.
That’s where he miscalculated.
She is putty in my hands—but she’s not stupid.
Seated on one side of her couch now, I reach for her foot without asking and place it gently into my lap. Pull off her sock. Start rubbing the heel with my thumb.
She moans, tipping her head back against the cushions. “That feels so good.”
I smirk faintly. “You have a long day, too?”
“You have no idea.”
Oh, but I do.
I press my thumb into the arch, firm but steady. She thaws almost instantly, shoulders dropping, tension bleeding out of her.
This is what we both needed.
“So, that was the infamous Blaire, hey?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes are closed and her head remains tipped back. “She’s the best.”
I grunt and continue my task. “She do interrogations for a living?”
A laugh. “She wishes.”
I smile. “She doesn’t seem to miss much.”
“Nope. She’s been waiting to meet you.”
Not surprising. “Did I pass the inspection?”
One eye cracks open. “You didn’t crash and burn, so that’s a start.”
I change my grip, working the pad of my thumb in slow circles. She makes a small involuntary sound that goes straight to my ego.
“You’re very good at that,” she murmurs.
“It’s the hands.”
She shifts, her other leg brushing my ribcage as she resettles herself deeper into the cushions.
“You look tired,” she announces softly.
“I am.”
“You could’ve gone home.”
I keep my focus on her heel, kneading away at the small knots. “Tonight sucked.”
“I gathered,” she says. “Does it have anything to do with me?”
That gives me pause.
Juliette is far more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for, including me. On the other hand, anyone with a lick of common sense would reason that this drama with Declan involves her in some way—he and I wouldn’t have tension otherwise.
I can see she’s hopeful I’ll deny it. That would sure make this easier.
Still. I’ve already told so many fucking lies; why not be honest at least once about my intentions?
“I don’t love how he was speaking to you this morning,” I admit. “I don’t know the specifics, but I’ll use my imagination.”
“He thinks I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says quietly. “But isn’t that how most big brothers treat their sisters?”
I wouldn’t know.
Sutton would eat me alive if I tried bossing her around.
“I’m not like that with my sister.” I shrug, pressing into her big toe. “I think Declan underestimates you,” I say. “Which isn’t the same thing.”
She studies me for a long moment. “So this is about me.”
“It’s not because of you,” I correct, exhaling. “He and I have been circling the drain.”
Juliette goes quiet a few seconds. “And neither of you are going to tell me why.”
It’s a statement not a question, and rather than respond, I continue massaging her foot. Set it aside to begin working on the other one, watching as her eyes slide closed again.
“He doesn’t trust me,” I say finally, giving her a nugget of information. “But to be fair, I don’t trust him, either.”
Her eyes open. “Can I ask you something?”
Here it comes.
“I know it’s probably too soon to be having this discussion, but considering the relationship you have with my brother, and the way this seems to be evolving…” Her voice trails off. “Are things between us getting serious? Or are you bored?”
Bored?
That almost makes me laugh.
“Why would you think I’m bored?” I ask, feigning lightness in my tone.
“You’ve had serious relationships before,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And that ended, and it’s been barely a month. I’m not trying to interrogate you,” she goes on. “I’d love to know what I’m signing up for.”
“Signing up for?” I echo.
“Yes.” She gestures vaguely between us. “What is this? Are we just having sex and keeping this casual? Or are you trying to date me?”
The bluntness of it almost makes me smile.
She doesn’t flinch when she says sex, doesn’t blush. She’s not being clingy or annoying—she’s protecting herself.
Goddamn, she’s adorable.
The entire thing gives me a sudden case of regret. Juliette Kennedy is someone I could see myself dating long-term. She’s sweet, caring, and kind. Beautiful, but that’s hardly the best part.
She teases me. Is affectionate. Pushes herself out of her comfort zone. Better still, she’s not a social climber.
Doesn’t name drop.
Couldn’t care less about the perks, she only cares about people.
And if I weren’t sitting on a landmine with her brother ready to yank the cord on a stick of dynamite, who’s to say we wouldn’t have stood a chance?
I glance over at her, studying her angelic face.
The blonde hair, made messy from her Ice Wolves hat. The rosy flush across her cheeks. The pink lips.
I imagine what it would be like to wake up with her every morning. Hold her hand while we’re taking a walk through the city or buying a house with a yard.
A dog.
Having kids, the same way my sister did.
Jesus Christ, Aaron—get a fucking grip.
You are not buying a house with Juliette Kennedy.
But you could…
I don’t daydream like this. I don’t daydream at all, or let my mind run ahead to white picket fences and long-term anything. I live in seasons.
Contracts.
Games.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Like what?” I smile, wanting to touch her.
“Like this.” Juliette pulls a face, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.
Cute.
Very cute.
I roll my eyes. “That is not what I look like.”
She smiles at me, blonde halo framing her face. “What’s on your mind right now? I know that’s a cringey question but it feels like the right time to ask.”
“I’m thinking.”
Her voice hums. “About?”
I hesitate. Do I tell her I mentally bought her a fucking house with a swing set so our imaginary golden retriever could run around the backyard?
Probably not.
Her gaze searches mine. “You think I’m complicated?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I think the situation is.”
“And if it wasn’t?” she presses.
If it wasn’t…
“I’d probably be moving a lot faster with you,” I admit.
Her mouth forms a pert little O. “Faster than having sex with me every time we’re in the same room?”
My brows shoot up into my hairline. She’s not wrong; I can’t keep my hands off her. She smells good, she tastes sweet, I love everything about her.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Faster as in…” I pause to gather my thoughts. “I’d be making plans three weeks out with you, not texting you at five o’clock to see what you’re doing at seven.”
We both go quiet.
“Is this because of the no fraternizing policy at work?” she asks so softly, it’s barely a whisper. “Because if it is, I’m not quite sure what to do about it either.”
HR?
That’s what she thinks is holding me back?
Yeah, that would be a problem if I gave a shit what HR thought. As it is, I’m a player. The team can’t afford to piss me off by enforcing bullshit corporate policies about who I’m dating.
“Let’s take things slow. This will work itself out.” I give her a small smile, knowing she loves my dimple and that it makes her weak in the knees. Crazy how easy it is to disarm her with something so simple.
She doesn’t smile back.
Drags her foot out of my hands, readjusts her position, and begins crawling toward me on the couch. Instead of sitting beside me, she swings one leg over mine and climbs over me, settling on top. Her knees bracket my hips, hands sliding up my chest until they rest on my shoulders.
Fingers lightly stroke the column of my neck.
Her weight sinks into me, soft and warm.
“This is so much better.”
Juliette kisses the spot next to my mouth—the sensitive corner of my lips.
Not a full kiss.
A tease.
“You want to take things slow?” she whispers against my skin. “How slow?”
“Real slow.”
I sit immobile, waiting to see what she does, this version of Juliette I haven’t gotten to see very often. A version of her that initiates intimacy and kissing and touching. Best not to move or I might spook her.
My hands fall to my sides, resting on the top of her thighs as she leans her tits into my chest.
Her lips trail along my jaw… tip of her tongue dragging along my ear lobe… I turn my head the slightest bit and our lips brush properly this time. Tenderly. The kind of kiss that doesn’t need heat to mean something.
She exhales into me, and it’s shaky.
Her mouth moves from my lips to my cheek, to the bridge of my nose, to my temple. Featherlight, butterfly kisses.
“Juliette,” I say quietly.
She pauses, breath brushing my skin. “Mm?”
I’m an asshole.
She pulls back to study my face. Her fingers are still tangled at the nape of my neck, thumbs brushing slow, absent strokes along my skin.
I shiver.
No woman has ever looked at me this way. Not. A. One.
Sure, they’ve looked at me with lust. Admiration. Calculation. They’ve wanted me—wanted my body, my reputation, the status that comes with standing beside me. They’ve liked being seen on my arm.
This isn’t lust shining in Juliette’s eyes.
This is…
Her hands slide down from my neck to rest over my heart, and I swear she feels it beating.
She must.
“Did you want to say something?” She strokes my hair as she regards me, her delicate hand cupping my cheek. I take her wrist, turning my face into her palm.
Kiss it.
She smiles… lovingly at me… cups my face with both hands, framing me in as if I’m something precious.
“You sweet man.” Kisses the tip of my nose. Running her finger along the scar on my eyebrow. “So misunderstood.”
I mean—yeah.
I am.