Chapter 23 - Josie
Josie
The team car drove us back to my place. “It won’t take more than an hour,” I promised the driver.
“Don’t rush things on my account,” he said, winking at Grayson. “I’ll wait here until you’re done.”
“No, it’s not…” I started to protest, then shook my head. I knew what this looked like, and there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. If I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t have believed me, either.
“So what exactly are we doing?” Grayson asked as we took the elevator up.
“You’ll see.”
He made a noise deep in his throat, but said nothing.
I was grateful that I had recently cleaned my apartment—it was only slightly messy, compared to filthy slob messy. Grayson stood in the entranceway and looked around.
“Go ahead. Make fun of it,” I said.
He frowned. “Why would I make fun of it?”
“Because it’s not a mansion condo penthouse suite, or wherever you live.”
“The house I grew up in was smaller than this,” he answered.
“Yeah right.”
“I’m serious.” His green eyes cut in my direction. “Calling it a house is generous. It was basically a two-bedroom shack. A storage shed someone converted into a rental unit. It was all we could afford.”
He flashed a smile. The real one.
“But we were happy. When you have nothing, everything feels like a treat. I still remember the summer Dad brought home my first computer for my birthday. It was a used piece of junk, running a version of Windows that was old enough to buy liquor, but I was so excited. I used it to play Minecraft.”
Several teasing comments were on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t voice them. He was showing me a little bit of who he was, and I liked the glimpse of the real man beneath all the layers of clothes, pads, and scowls.
He cleared his throat and pointed at the corner of my living room, where a circular ring light stood on a tripod. “It looks like you run an OnlyFans account from here. I bet you’d make a lot more money than doing makeup videos.”
“Believe me, that thought has crossed my mind,” I muttered while rearranging chairs next to the light. “I have a friend in Albuquerque who does that and makes six figures per month.”
He blinked. “Damn.”
“Tell me about it.” I moved the ring light, then gestured. “Okay. Here’s my idea. We’re going to film a video explaining how to use makeup to cover up hockey bruises. If you’re willing to sit in front of a camera and let me apply makeup to your face.”
I didn’t think he would agree to it. I was prepared to argue with him and have to find a way to convince him to be my guinea pig.
But Grayson immediately said, “Nice. I like it.”
I stared at him in shock. “Really? You’ll do it?”
“Sure. It’ll be a funny video. Especially with April Fools coming up.”
“Yes! Exactly! I was planning on releasing it on April first.”
“You’re the expert, pussycat. Tell me what to do.”
I allowed the nickname to slide as I explained my plan to him. He was weirdly enthusiastic about the whole thing. At least, he was agreeable, which felt like enthusiasm since I was expecting him to put up a fight.
“My agent has been saying I need to soften my image,” he explained when I commented on it a few minutes later.
“Since when do you listen to people like agents?”
“Since I lost my Big Red sponsorship deal.”
“Big Red? Like, the pop drink? What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to make the driver wait too long.”
I started the video sitting in the chair, with my makeup tools arranged on the table in front of me. Grayson stood out of sight for the beginning.
“Welcome to Josie’s makeup tutorials! I have something different for you today.
For all the lovely viewers out there, I’m going to show you how to cover up your hockey scars!
Whether it’s a cut, a bruise, or even a full-blown black eye, there are ways to make sure you look as sharp off the ice as you do on it. ”
I grabbed a multi-colored container of makeup and held it up for the camera. “We’re going to start with a color-correcting concealer, followed by full-coverage foundation. First, you want to…”
I trailed off, frowning dramatically.
“Shoot. I don’t have any scars to cover up, because I don’t play hockey. Now where can I find some hockey scars…” I glanced over both shoulders, making a show of searching around my apartment. “Ah hah! Here, I have just the thing…”
I got up, grabbed Grayson, and pushed him down into the chair. His arms were as strong as bricks, and warm to the touch.
“I like my scars,” Grayson said stubbornly, exactly like we had discussed.
“Shut up, you.” I smiled at the camera. “Ladies, you’re going to want to prep your hockey player so that he doesn’t complain. I find that a deep amber lager works great.”
I retrieved the beer from the table, cracking it open with a hiss, and handed it to Grayson. He smiled at it, then took a long pull.
“Once your hockey player has been subdued, it’s time to get to work. You might only have a few minutes before he finishes his beer, so you’re going to want to move quickly.”
For the next few minutes, Grayson sat in the chair and allowed me to cover his face with makeup. First I took care of the cut above his eye, then worked on the purple bruise that surrounded his right eye.
All of this was second-nature to me; the only difference was that I was applying my skills to someone other than myself. Most of my focus was devoted on smiling and explaining what I was doing, but eventually I became more aware of exactly what was happening.
I was holding his chin in one hand, feeling the thin beard underneath.
He closed his eyes while I applied concealer to his skin, almost leaning into my brush.
Our quiet breaths mingled together while I worked, a sense of closeness that we hadn’t shared on either of our dates. Not even during the kiss.
As I touched him, I was hyper-aware of just how strong of a man he was. Heat radiated off his muscles, and his scent filled my nostrils in a way that was more intoxicating than the margaritas on the River Walk. There was a quiet power to him, like a lion that was sleeping.
For the first time since our date at Carlo’s, I understood how intimidating his presence must be on the ice. I didn’t envy the opponents who had to face off against him every game, staring through his helmet visor into the green eyes of a warrior.
Clearing my throat, I turned back to the camera. “And that’s all there is to it! You look so much better than before.”
He turned to smile at me. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
It was the line we had agreed on before the video, but it felt so much more real hearing him say it out loud while our faces were mere inches apart.
Slowly, he raised his hand to my face. I stood still, thinking it was for the benefit of the video, as he cupped my cheek. He held it there a moment, staring deeply into my eyes like he was trying to convey a lifetime of thoughts and emotions in a single gaze.
And then he leaned in and kissed me.
I don’t know why I was expecting it, but I wasn’t caught by surprise the way I was at the Spurs game.
It was like I’d been hoping, praying for this kiss since I invited him back here.
I leaned into him, kissing him back with growing ferocity.
His hand slid into my hair the way it had at the game, tightening in a fist as he demanded I keep kissing him.
Is this really happening?
A moan vibrated out of his throat, and I responded with one of my own. His free hand danced along my hip, pulling me closer, claiming my body. I deepened the kiss in response, our tongues swirling together and sending electric jolts of pleasure up and down my spine.
Grayson surged upward with need, as if I needed any other proof that he was enjoying this as much as I was.
His lips were heady and addictive as he devoured me with kisses.
He pulled me closer, and I threw a leg over his body to straddle him in the chair, not caring that the video was still rolling.
His hard-on was thick underneath me, and my body melted against his while our mouths churned hungrily against each other.
This was so much more than the kiss at the Spurs game, but it was only the beginning. The start of something wonderful, and filthy, and what we had both been secretly wanting since we shouted at each other on our first date.
His fingers tightened possessively in my hair, and in that moment I was totally, hopelessly, his.
But then his fist yanked my head back. He stared up into my eyes with a strange mixture of lust and confusion.
“I have to go.”
Grayson pushed to his feet, grabbed his phone off the table, and strode out of my apartment without another word.
I blinked, glanced at the camera, then said, “What the hell?”