Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Abby
It’s the second time in weeks I’ve woken up to the smell of something sweet, and even though I have yet to open my eyes, I smile as I stretch my arms over my head, turning my face into Jack’s pillow to breathe in the scent of his shampoo.
My body is sore in the most delicious of ways—my muscles ache and my thighs burn sweetly—and memories of the night before have me feeling fluttery inside.
I expected to feel panic after having sex with Jack.
There are dozens of reasons why it should be a bad idea, why I shouldn’t have let it happen, but he’s just so…
different than I thought he was. Yesterday had started out so dark, so full of misery, and with one simple act…
Jack turned it all around. Made me feel like everything might be okay.
It’s been a long time since anything has made me feel like that.
I roll out of bed with a groan before shuffling to Jack’s closet to steal a T-shirt, padding across the hall to my own bedroom for some fresh underwear before I make my way to the kitchen in search of the sweet smells and the sweet man responsible for them.
His back is to me when I step out of the hall; he’s wearing black boxer briefs and a maroon T-shirt that stretches tantalizingly across his broad shoulders, his hair sticking up at the back.
He’s humming under his breath as he flips a pancake in the skillet at the stove, and in that particular moment, I have the strongest urge to rush over to him, to wrap my arms around his middle.
It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before, and if I weren’t still so sated from last night, it might concern me, that urge.
“Morning,” I call instead.
Jack turns at the sound of my voice, his lips curling up in a bright smile that makes the room seem a little brighter in its wake.
“Morning,” he answers. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod, moving to the counter and taking a seat there. “I did.”
He wiggles his eyebrows, smirking. “Have sweet dreams of me?”
“You wish,” I say with a roll of my eyes, even though I can feel myself grinning.
“Obviously,” he tells me. “How else am I going to entice you for a repeat?”
I cock an eyebrow. “It hasn’t even been twelve hours, and you’re already thinking about how to seduce me again?”
“I hate to tell you this, Abby,” he says seriously. “But after last night…I’m pretty sure that’s all I’m going to be thinking about for the foreseeable future.”
I can feel my cheeks heat as he winks at me, and I’m grateful that he turns back to the stove so that he can’t see the way I’m flushing. Something about this man makes me a little stupid, and what’s even more surprising is how little I seem to mind it.
“Pancakes again?” I ask.
“Listen,” he says with a laugh. “Chef, I am not. You get BFF nachos and pancakes.”
“Good thing I like pancakes,” I say with a hum. I frown then, remembering. “Don’t you have a game today?”
“This afternoon,” he tells me. “First game of the second round.”
“Are you nervous?”
I don’t miss the way he tenses. “I guess that depends on how long they let me play.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
He shrugs. “It’s whatever.” He plates a pancake then, turning to set it in front of me. The flicker of discomfort leaves his expression, replaced by his usual playfulness. “Eat. You probably need calories after last night.”
I roll my eyes. “Someone’s full of themselves.”
“Someone else was full of me last ni—”
“Don’t you dare,” I laugh.
He laughs as he plates his own food, offering me syrup before turning to face me from the other side of the counter. “If you thought I was magically going to become less charming overnight, you thought wrong.”
“Charming,” I snort. “That’s one word for it.”
His lips twitch as he slathers his food in syrup. “I think you find me at least a little charming.”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“You can’t keep doing that.”
“Sure I can,” I tell him, cutting a bite of pancake and shoving it into my mouth. “When you’re being impossible.”
“Impossible is my middle name,” he says seriously.
“Now that I believe.”
I cut into my pancake as he does the same, and for a moment, there is nothing but peaceful silence between us, something that I never would have thought to put in the same sentence as Jack Baker.
I sneak glances at him from under my lashes as I eat, noting the little smile at his mouth that doesn’t seem to be directed at anything, like he’s just happy for the sake of it.
It makes my stomach twist with something sweet, seeing that.
“So what are you doing later?”
I peek up at him with my fork suspended in front of my mouth. “Later?”
“Yeah, I thought…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I thought if you weren’t doing anything…maybe you’d like to come watch the game?”
“You want me to come watch?”
His cheeks flush. A blush on this big man is probably one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen, and I can’t help the way it makes my lips twitch.
“I’m not doing anything later,” I tell him. “I could come.”
He visibly brightens, perking up like a puppy that’s just been told he can go for a walk.
Even though I know next to nothing about hockey and can honestly say I have little interest in learning about it—that alone makes me think I made the right choice by agreeing to go.
Especially knowing how important it is to him.
“I know you aren’t some kind of superfan…” He trails off.
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I can learn.”
Probably, I think.
“Are you done with that?”
He gestures toward my now-empty plate, and I’m surprised by how quickly I stuffed the pancake away. I really did work up an appetite, it seems. Not that I’d ever admit that to him. His head is big enough as it is.
It’s funny; that thought used to make me scoff. Now it just makes me feel fond.
I nod as he reaches for it, depositing both our plates in the sink before moving around the counter toward me. He smiles as he turns me on my seat, sliding his hands over my bare thighs and settling them on my hips as he moves between my legs.
“I really do like you in my clothes,” he says appreciatively, eyeing the way his shirt fits me.
I bite back a smile. “They’re comfy.”
“Mm. Are you sure you didn’t just want to wear them because they’re mine?”
“I think that’s why you want me to want to wear them.”
His hands brush along my hips, tickling my sides. I jerk in his hold as an awkward sound escapes me, only making Jack grin wider.
“Is someone ticklish?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t do what?” His fingers graze over my ribs. “This?”
I shriek when he starts tickling me for real, and I squirm on my seat as his fingers dig into my sides mercilessly. Jack laughs as I try to shy away from him, bending his body to follow after my retreating one until I’m pealing with laughter.
“Stop it! I swear to God, Jack, you’d better—”
He makes a pained sound when my body traps his arm against the edge of the counter, hissing through his teeth as he jerks his body away from me. I notice immediately that he’s cradling his bad arm, and my heart begins to thump harder against my ribs with worry.
“Are you okay?”
His tight expression tells me his answer, so I know it’s a lie when he says, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I say. “Let me see.”
His jaw tics as he tries to stretch out his arm. “I’m really fine, Abby.”
“I know it hurts, Jack. Just let me see.”
“Seriously, it’s okay.”
“If it hurts that bad, maybe you should sit out today. You don’t want to make it worse—”
“I said I’m fine,” he all but shouts, the harshness of his tone leaving me reeling like a slap to the face.
I tug my hands away from where they’d been reaching toward him, pulling them closer to my body as hurt flashes through me. Jack looks immediately surprised by his own outburst, his eyes widening even as he continues to cradle his arm.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I didn’t mean to—” His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes averting to the floor. “I’m really sorry.”
I swallow thickly, trying to remind myself of how much stress his injury causes him. Deep down, I know it’s not me he’s angry at, just the situation.
“It’s okay,” I say finally.
He shakes his head. “No it isn’t,” he tells me. “You don’t deserve to be talked to like that. It isn’t your fault.”
“I just worry about you,” I say quietly.
He nods, peeking back up at me. “I know.”
“You’ll be careful today, right?”
Another slow nod. “I promise.”
I can’t help it then—the urge to hug him is so strong that I find myself reaching for him instinctually, pulling him closer to me as I wrap my arms around him.
“It’s okay to admit that you’re hurting, remember?”
He nods into my shoulder. “I know.”
“Good,” I tell him. “You don’t have to hide it. Not from me.”
His arms move around me then to hold me tighter, and I close my eyes as I bury my face in his throat. I press a kiss there, feeling his big body relax against me, and at this moment, I feel something swelling and warm in my chest.
“If you get hurt out there today,” I say, “I’ll kick your ass.”
I can practically feel his smile. “You really are worried about me, huh?”
I laugh as I pull him closer, shaking my head as I close my eyes.
“I plead the Fifth,” I murmur.
His answering laugh only makes me smile harder.
“He’s benching Jack again,” Lila mutters beside me.
I crane my neck to look down at the ice, watching as Jack skates over to the bench with a scowl on his face.
There’s a tension to his jaw and a haunted look in his eyes as he takes a seat and rips off his helmet, and my heart hurts for him so much in that moment that it makes me wish I did understand more about this game.
Even if only to understand better how much this all means to him.
“At least they let him play the first two quarters,” I point out.
“Periods,” Lila corrects with a chuckle.
I shrug. “Whatever.”
Lila frowns then, still staring after her brother down below. I follow her line of sight, noticing the way Jack is grimacing now, his hand surreptitiously rubbing at his arm through his uniform.