Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
XANDER
Jesus H. Christ, her little noises are going to be the fucking death of me.
Ivy whimpers as I cup her sweet face and jawline and ghost my thumb over those freckles.
God, she smells good, and her skin is so goddamn soft I never want to take my hands off her.
I lick over her plump bottom lip, then pull it between my teeth, and . . .
I’ve been here before.
Her hand drifts up into my hair, and she rubs her little nose on mine before we sink in again.
My tongue brushes over hers, and she whimpers once more as my free hand journeys down to her ass, giving it a squeeze, and I fucking love how it fills out my palm, as if it was made for me. I love every curve on her.
I know I’ve felt this before. Her taste and smell are familiar. I’ve wanted her, just like this.
And a little flash moves through my mind.
I pull back, frowning down at her, and when she opens those gorgeous blue eyes, they widen, and she tries to scramble away, but I hold her firm.
“Stay,” I say, my voice rough with need. I want to keep her right where she is.
“I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.”
I shake my head and drag my thumb over her lip, wet from our kiss. “I’m not sorry, but Ivy . . . I’ve kissed you before.”
Her brows lift in surprise.
“Um, yeah.”
“You didn’t think it was important to tell me that?”
Her brows pull together, and she bites her bottom lip, but I tug it free.
“If you tell me that I’ve fucked you before and I don’t remember, I’ll fucking lose my shit, Red.”
She shakes her head, and my stomach loosens just a little.
“No, we never . . . we never did that.”
“When the fuck did I kiss you?”
She wrinkles her nose and sighs as that pretty blush moves over her cheeks.
“So, almost three years ago, I went to Denver for the New Year’s Eve game.”
Her gaze falls to my chest and over to my shoulder, where she starts to trace the tattoo there.
“You came to Denver just for the game?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I wanted to do some shopping and look around and stuff, and I bought tickets to the game. And before I went, Easton and Tucker came into the bar one night, and I told them that I got tickets, and they said that they’d let you know, so you could say hi.
I told them not to because that’s just silly—”
“Not silly at all.” Jesus, she was at my game.
“But they did anyway, and you got my seat upgraded, which was very nice of you and not necessary at all.”
“Bare minimum, baby. Tell me more because I don’t fucking remember.”
She must hear the frustration in my voice because she smooths her thumb between my eyebrows and then pushes her fingers through my hair.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
“What happened?”
“You came to the glass during warm-ups and tossed me a puck. You won the game.” She smiles at me like she’s so fucking proud of me, and it makes me want to puff up my chest. “And it was a good one. You got a hat trick. It was so fun. Being there in person is way better than watching on TV.”
“I remember the hat trick, I think.” I rub a strand of her hair between my finger and thumb. “But I’m really fucking irritated that I don’t remember you being there.”
“After the game, you invited me to swing by a nearby pub, where you and the team went to celebrate, and I popped in for a bit. You bought me a drink, and we chatted for a few, and to my utter and complete shock, you kissed me at midnight because we were standing together. But then you got pulled away, which is completely fine and normal, and I ended up ducking out so you could celebrate with your guys. I didn’t want to be in the way. ”
She swallows hard and still won’t look me in the eyes.
“I didn’t see you again until that night that you came into Lucky’s with your family,” she finishes. “I know you’ve been in town since then, but I never ran into you.”
“Ivy.” Fuck, she’s breaking my heart.
“I’m fine. I really am, especially now that I know that you didn’t just blow me off. Like, you had a head injury, Xander.”
Christ, I feel like an asshole. This woman has been treated like a fucking imposition all her goddamn life. Like she shouldn’t take up space or ask for anything, and that ends now.
“You’re never in my way,” I tell her as I cup her cheek and force her to look at me, and when her eyes get glassy, it’s almost my undoing. “I want you around. I love having you with me. And you feel fucking incredible, so snuggles are now our thing.”
Her eyes flare with happiness. “It’s our thing?”
“One of them, yeah. You get cold, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” She nibbles her lower lip. “I’m not cold right now.”
I grin at her and can’t keep my hands out of her gorgeous-as-fuck hair.
“I’m sorry, Red. For all of it. For forgetting even one minute of it. You didn’t deserve that.”
“You didn’t either,” she says, and it makes my chest tight. “I think it’s worse for you.”
No. I can’t miss what I don’t remember having.
“Pretty sure it was a few weeks later that I took a pretty hard knock on the head and got another fucking concussion. But I won’t forget again. Come here.” I pull her to me and hug her close, wrap the blanket around us, and simply sit here in the dark with her, holding her.
Since I left Tucker’s place and ended up driving Ivy home with me, this is all I’ve wanted to do. Hold on to her. I don’t know what it is, I just feel better with her in my arms.
Cally jumps up onto the couch, and I lie down with Ivy tucked against me. The cat burrows against us, making biscuits and purring, and this might be the most comfortable I’ve been in . . . years.
“I could go up to bed,” Ivy whispers against my chest.
“Stay here with me, Red. I’m feeling clingy.”
I kiss the top of her head, and with both girls cuddled up with me, I close my eyes and fall asleep.
The sky is bright with morning sunlight.
And I’m on the couch alone.
I scrub my hands over my face and sit up. Ivy draped the blanket around me when she got up. I wonder how long I’ve been here by myself?
I want to see Ivy, because apparently I’m clingy as fuck now, so I pad over to the kitchen, but she’s not there. I walk upstairs, pleased that my knee doesn’t have any pain to speak of, and peek in the bedroom I gave her to use, but she’s not here either. Not even in the bathroom.
With a frown, I go back downstairs and check out the back door and in the media room, and finally, just when I’m about to find my phone and try to call her, I push into the gym and see her sitting at her desk, the water tumbler I gave her at her elbow.
Fuck, she’s pretty.
Her hair is up in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she’s wearing glasses as she makes notes on her iPad.
I blink and see a flash of a young girl with her lip between her teeth, trying not to cry as a kid taunts her with her bagged lunch, holding it over her head.
And then I blink again and look at Ivy. She’s in my hoodie, her bare legs pulled up under her, and she’s deep in thought, and I fucking love her like this.
I step forward, and her gaze lifts to mine.
“You left me,” I say.
“I couldn’t sleep anymore, and Cally kept batting at my nose.”
She shrugs and shuts down the iPad.
“I’m going to get a workout of my own in before we get started on your session,” she says as she tugs my hoodie over her head and sets it aside, and Jesus Christ on a cracker, she’s trying to kill me.
She’s in the tiniest black booty shorts and a black sports bra, and that’s it. She’s not self-conscious of her curves now because they’re all on display, and I need to start worshipping whatever god created this incredible creature.
“Don’t watch me,” she says with a frown. “I don’t have any other workout clothes. I really need to be able to go home soon.”
“You can’t strip all the way down to that and tell me not to watch you.”
“Yes, I can. Be a gentleman.” She pats my shoulder, and I snag her wrist and lift her palm to my lips.
“You’re fucking devastating,” I growl against her skin, and her eyes heat.
“You’re being nice.”
“I’m never nice.” I lean in so my lips are near her ear. “Your body is what wet dreams are made of, wildcat.”
She snorts and pushes away. “Yeah, okay. Go away so I can work out.”
With that, she turns on her music, another ’90s station that’ll have my ears bleeding in minutes, and just as Gangsta’s Paradise starts to play, this amazing girl hops on the treadmill and starts to walk.
After five minutes, she boosts up the speed to a jog, and I can plainly see her tits move in the mirror.
I’ll say it again. She’s trying to fucking kill me.
“Stop watching me, Xander Hendrix,” she says into the mirror. “You’re going to make me fall.”
“I have way more confidence in your ability than that,” I reply and saunter over to where I keep extra clothes and change into a pair of shorts, then walk over to the lat pulldown machine right behind her and get to work.
“What are you doing?” she asks without missing a step.
“Upper body. I thought you said you only run if something’s chasing you.”
“Something is chasing me. The numbers on the scale. Why don’t you go eat breakfast?”
She’s starting to breathe faster, and it only makes me want her more. I want to be the reason she’s out of breath. And she’s the only breakfast I want.
“You’re perfect. Ignore the fucking scale.”
“Says the man who’s naturally”—she has to pause because she’s panting—“perfect. Mr. Hotshot Hockey.”
“But I’m your favorite, though. Right?”
Come on, Red, tell me I’m your favorite.
“Right now, you’re a pain in my ass.”
I like this side of her. This sassy, funny side.
“That’s not me, that’s all the running.”
She huffs out a laugh and works hard to ignore me as I move to arm curls. I’m not a complete psycho pervert, I’m not staring at her, but I do keep an eye on her.
Because she’s amazing. And she can never wear that outfit to a regular gym. I’d end up being arrested for murder.
“You can work out here from now on,” I say casually as I return to the lat pulldowns. I should do some bench presses, but I’ll be fucking damned if I’ll let her out of my sight. “Consider this a lifetime membership.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t usually have time to work out.” The treadmill slows, and she walks for a few minutes before grabbing a towel to wipe off her face and then moving over to the squat rack.
Because of course she fucking does.
“Here’s the thing, Hendrix,” she says as she adjusts the plates. “I’d rather you didn’t watch me do this.”
“I’m just also getting a workout in, Red.”
She smirks. “You’ve been ogling my ass.”
“It seems to be a side benefit to using the gym today.” I grin at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I sober. “But if I’m really making you uncomfortable, I’ll leave.”
She pauses and props her hands on her hips.
Ivy really does have amazing tits. I want to do unspeakable, dirty things to them. I want to bury my face in them, suck them.
Come on them.
“It shocks the hell out of me, but I’m surprisingly not uncomfortable,” she says and slips under the bar, makes sure her feet are planted under her, and begins doing deep squats.
For fuck’s sake.
Her legs flex, her ass is nothing but perfection, and I have to look away before I fuck her right there in my squat rack.
“It’s your turn,” she says after she racks the bar.
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s ten,” she replies and reaches for her tumbler. “Time to work.”
“Let’s do it together today.”
Ivy narrows her pretty blue eyes and then surprises me with “Okay.”