Playing Hurt Page 15

  And because I didn’t want to sit around pathetically waiting to see if he got it or replied, I shut off my phone and went to bed.

  * * *

  —

  “You have a visitor, Ms. Banks. Chase Hartman is here to see you.”

  My eyes popped open wide listening to the doorman of my building announce Chase’s presence downstairs.

  Jesus! What was he doing here?

  I’d been sitting at my piano working on a song, fingering out a melody, jotting down notes and lyrics and recording some on my phone, when the doorman had called up. This took me by surprise and my hands broke out in a sweat, my pulse spiking.

  “You can send him up, thanks.”

  In a panic, my head swiveled around the apartment. My breakfast cereal bowl and spoon still sat on the counter, along with the box of Cheerios. Actually, the empty wine bottle and glasses from last night still sat there too, as well as the plate I’d used for cheese and crackers.

  Chase liked things neat, and I was a slob.

  I was also still wearing comfy at-home clothes—a pair of gray cashmere lounge pants and a matching long cardigan over a cami. I had no makeup on, and I lifted a hand to the messy knot my hair was in.

  Well, no time to do anything about these issues. The knock at the door announced his arrival.

  I sucked in a few shallow breaths as I padded in sock feet to the door. I confirmed it was him and opened the door.

  “Hey.” His good looks made my knees weak. A layer of stubble roughened his strong jaw, his skin still attractively tanned from our few days in the sun, his brown eyes so warm and beautiful. He wore a black wool jacket with a maroon scarf around his neck, and jeans. He held up his phone in a gloved hand. “I got your text message.”

  Chapter 16

  Chase

  I stared at Jordyn with a longing so fierce I nearly dropped to my knees. I’d gotten used to seeing her like this—naked face, soft and vulnerable and real, and casual clothing—but it still wowed me. I loved how she looked all glammed up, but it felt like a privilege to see Jordyn Banks like this. Every. Single. Time.

  “You know you can just hit reply.” She raised one eyebrow.

  “Smart ass,” I managed to mumble.

  Her lips quirked but I could see the nerves in the way her eyes flickered. “Come in.” She stepped aside and I walked in.

  The first thing I noticed was the papers strewn over the piano, some on the hardwood floor. “Were you writing?”

  “I was trying.” She lifted one shoulder, wrapping her sweater tighter around her. “It was going okay.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “No, it’s fine. Would you like some coffee?” She gestured to her kitchen. I took in the Keurig and used K-Cups littering the counter around it, not to mention an assortment of other dirty dishes. I had to smile.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, strutting into the kitchen. “You probably want to clean this up.”

  “Yes.” I followed her, hands in my jacket pockets. “But I’ll restrain myself. I’ll have a coffee, sure.”

  She set about making us coffees, and I resisted the urge to pick up the dishes and put them into the dishwasher, even though I only wanted to help, not insult her.

  “So you really came all the way over here to reply to my text?” She leaned against the counter.

  “It’s not all that far,” I pointed out. “And yes, I did.” I caught her eye. “I want to apologize too.”

  She pressed her pretty lips briefly together. “No need for you to apologize.”

  “Yeah, there is.” I shoved a hand into my hair. “I overreacted when we talked yesterday. I’m sorry.”

  Her tight mouth relaxed. “Okay.”

  “And I’m getting an appointment at the Mayo Clinic.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yeah. The team’s arranging it. I talked to Coach about it after practice this morning, and how I felt I was letting everyone down and I just wanted to keep playing, and he told me not to be stupid and figure out what’s going on.”

  She said nothing, taking the mug out of the coffee machine and sliding it over the counter toward me.

  “Which is pretty much the same thing you said.”

  Her lips twitched into a tiny smile. “Yes, it is. But I’m still sorry. I don’t mean to be meddlesome. I know I can be…My friend Anjali came over last night and reminded me that I do tend to be like that.”

  “Yeah?”

  She sighed, turning her attention to the cup of coffee she was making for herself. “She reminded me of when I told her to stop seeing that asshole Jay Koslowski when he was screwing around on her. She’d accused me of wanting her to be single because I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. That kinda hurt, because that wasn’t the case at all. I was just worried about her. And pissed off for her. She apologized later. It was said in the heat of the moment, and mostly because she knew I was right. He was treating her like crap. She just didn’t want to admit it because she thought she was in love with him. And then she reminded me of the time I told my friend Malik that his manager was a dick because he was stealing money from him; he was mad too.”

  “Huh. Was he stealing money from him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But he was mad at you?”

  She smiled. “At first. He did fire him eventually. I think he was more upset about the fact that I realized what was going on before he did.”

  I nodded.

  “So anyway, I do tend to butt in where I’m not wanted.” She picked up the mug that said Without music life would B♭ and lifted it to her lips. “You said something the other day though. Something I didn’t understand.”

  “What?” I picked up my mug too.

  “Let’s go sit down. And I can take your jacket. Sorry, I’m a terrible hostess. I was surprised you were here.” She carried her mug into the living room and set it on the brass and glass coffee table.

  I did the same, unwound my scarf and shrugged out of my jacket. I handed it to her and she hung it in the closet.

  “You said something about people not caring about you unless you’re perfect.” Then she sat next to me and picked up her mug. “You do tend to be a perfectionist.”

  I lifted my hands. “No, I’m not.”

  She smiled. “You are. Your perfect clean and tidy home. Your perfect clothes. Your car is spotless inside and out, and you’ve told me how fussy you are about your equipment—taping your sticks, sharpening your skate blades, your game-day routine…”

  “Okay, okay. I do like things…uh, perfect.” I closed my eyes briefly, shaking my head. “I’m an idiot.” Despite having just outlined how obnoxious I was, her eyes were soft and warm and engaged. It was tempting to tell her all my shit, but really, who needed to know what an insecure tool I was. I just needed to stop being an insecure tool. “I was worried about what the team would think about me if I couldn’t play, but like I said, I talked to Coach and they don’t want me to take chances with my health.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. I was worried that maybe the team would make you play hurt.”

  “Fuck no.” I stared at her, aghast.

  “Don’t look like that. Pro sports are a business. With all this stuff in the news about concussions and CTE and leagues not wanting to take responsibility for it or do anything about it, it makes you wonder if they’re more concerned about money than about the players’ lives.”

  I slowly shook my head, but the truth was she made a solid point. “I know what you’re saying. But I’ve never personally experienced that. And we have to take responsibility too. I know guys who want to keep playing, even when they shouldn’t. They just don’t want to give in. Give up.”

  “Hmm.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “I know a guy li
ke that.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Shit.”

  She smiled too. Our eyes met and held across the narrow distance separating us.

  “It sounded like you were saying goodbye in that text.”

  “I guess I was.” She bent her head. “I thought you wanted that.”

  “I was pissed. But I got over it. And I realized I screwed up. I shouldn’t have let you leave. We should have talked.” I blew out a breath. “This is why I’m not good at relationships. I was just thinking about myself and how pissed I was. I wasn’t thinking about you.”

  “I was the one who was interfering in your life.”

  The air grew heavy around us, time slowing. “I don’t want to end things with us.”

  Her bottom lip quivered. “I don’t either. But maybe it would be for the best.”

  My forehead tightened. “Why?”

  “We know this isn’t going to be something long term. The idea was we would help each other out because we’re both going through a rough time in our careers.”

  I lifted my chin. “Yeah.”

  “I figured you were mad at me because I tried to interfere in your life when we’re just having a casual relationship right now and I was getting too serious.”

  I didn’t respond to that right away because there was an element of truth to it. But it was more than just her getting too serious. It was me getting too serious. Because it kind of scared the crap out of me to care about someone so much—when any time I let myself care, and thought someone cared about me, I disappointed them in some way, and then it turned out they didn’t really care that much and I was the one who was left bloody and bruised.

  But even though I knew it was risky, ending things with Jordyn was…well, unthinkable.

  “I was mad, yeah. But not really at you. More at myself. Because I knew you were right and I was being stupid. Guys are dumb that way.”

  “And here I was just telling my friend Anjali that you’re not a big dumb jock.” She shook her head.

  My chest heated. “You told her that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Guess I fooled you.”

  She laughed then, and it was such a beautiful, joyful sound that warmth spread through my chest even more.

  “We good, then?” I asked.

  She leaned back into the couch cushions, her shoulders shaking. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”

  I grinned. “Then get over here and kiss me.”

  But even though I ordered her to do that, I set my coffee down and reached for her and we both pretty much jumped into each other’s arms, our mouths crashing together in a fever of relief and affection and lust.

  She felt good in my arms, perfect and warm and soft. I hated how I’d felt since last night, like the biggest asshole in the world. Just once I wanted to not screw up a relationship. Because she was so worth it.

  And I was so scared I didn’t really have it in me.

  I kissed her again and again, both of us with our hands all over each other, both of us moaning and panting. I wanted to strip her out of these soft sweater clothes and have her naked under me. I fought for control and drew back to look into her eyes.

  She gazed back at me, her lips puffy from kissing like crazy, her cheeks pink.

  “I missed you,” I admitted, scary as it was. “And I’m sorry again.”

  “Me too.”

  “What were you working on?” I gestured at the piano. “Would you play it for me?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Sure.” She slid off the couch and padded across the room. Seated at the piano, she gathered up the papers and propped them in front of her, but I didn’t think she was really looking at them when she started to play.

  I moved closer to both listen and watch, fascinated by this side of her, her slender fingers dancing on the keys with sure, graceful movements, bringing out the bluesy harmonies that made me think of that night we’d sat in the dark club listening to music.

  She bent her head, playing on, her body moving in time with the music.

  I didn’t know much about music. We had to take music in elementary school, but I’d never really played an instrument, so all those marks on the pages didn’t mean much to me, and it boggled my mind that she’d written them and that they translated into such beautiful sounds.

  I felt a weird sensation inside me, something hot unfurling in my chest.

  She stopped playing. “That’s all I’ve got so far. Why are you looking like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like…” One corner of her mouth kicked up. “There’s a saying I love.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded slowly. “ ‘Music is what feelings sound like.’ ”

  That sensation in my chest intensified. I swallowed. “Yeah. I think…if it’s good music. You made me feel stuff…” I rubbed my chest. “I don’t even know what. Just with your music.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Thank you. That is the best compliment ever. God, I wish I could sing the lyrics for you.”

  “How do you do it? I mean, do you start with the music and then add the words?”

  “I start with the lyrics. Everyone does it their own way though. But I’m usually writing about my life, my story. Sometimes I even start with the title.”

  “This one’s really different than your other music.” This song was slower and haunting, not a peppy dance tune.

  “Yes. It’s how I’ve been feeling lately. I don’t know if people will like it, but it’s what I need to write right now.”

  “People will love it. It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She lifted her head to smile at me, but the smile held sadness that squeezed my heart.

  “It made me think of the blues club.”

  She smiled, head tilted. “Yeah? I was thinking about that too. Remember I said blues was a huge influence on me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It influences all my music. I always thought it was so important to develop those blues skills. I wanted to go back to that.”

  “I love it. And you’ll be able to sing it soon. I know you will.”

  I moved behind her and set my hands on her shoulders and gently clasped them. The moment felt heavy and laden with yearning and apprehension, and yet also…hope. A hard clench of want tightened low in my gut. “Watching you play piano makes me want to fuck you.”

  She choked out a laugh. “Really?”

  “Hell yeah. Okay, watching you do anything makes me want to fuck you.”

  “Hmm.” She swung her legs around, and I took a step back so she could sit facing me. My heart jumped when her hands went to the button of my jeans, my half-hard dick leaping to attention. “I kind of feel the same. Especially when I watched you play hockey that night at the game.”

  “Hockey’s a huge turn-on for women,” I cockily agreed.

  Her fingers stilled and her eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah?”

  I gave her a slow grin. “You said it yourself, babe.”

  She pursed her lips, nodded once, and continued to unzip my fly. “True.”

  “We haven’t talked about this.” I covered her hands with mine. “But just so you know…you’re the only woman I want to fuck right now.”

  Her eyes warmed and her lips curved. “Good to know. You’re the only hockey player I want to fuck right now.”

  “Good…wait, what? The only hockey player?”

  Her laugh was low and sultry. “Okay, the only man.”

  “Better.” I let go of her hands and let her continue, my dick swelling even more as she reached inside the open fly to rub over my boxer briefs. Electricity raced through my body, right to my balls, sizzling up my spine.

  “Mmmm.” She made a soft sound of approval. “You feel so good.”

  “Fuck yeah.” I let ou
t a low groan as she continued to caress me. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to my erection, kissing me over the cotton that was stretched thin. Fuck, that was hot.

  My jeans drooped lower on my hips, and she curled her fingers into the edge of my briefs and tugged them down as well, lower, lower, and then my dick sprang free, so close to her mouth, so hard the air brushing over it was painful. My skin tingled everywhere, my thighs and ass clenching.

  Her fingers curved around my shaft and stroked. Her breath teased the crown and I groaned again, aching for more of her touch. I knew how good her mouth felt and I wanted to grab her head and thrust inside, but I let her take her time, her gaze focused admiringly on me, which was also hot as hell.

  “Like what you see, babe?” I rasped out.

  “Oh yeah. You know I do.” She stroked me again, and a drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip. She rubbed her thumb in a slow circle over it as her other hand delved between my thighs to cup my balls.

  “Ah hell…” My head fell back, my jaw clenched. The backs of my thighs tingled, my balls growing tighter.

  Finally she leaned in closer and licked me. Her little tongue stroked over the head, then all around, circling me. Need exploded in me, nearly taking my knees out. I gasped painfully.

  Jesus. Watching her lips slide over my thick shaft was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. She lifted her long eyelashes to peer up at me, her hand wrapped around the base as her mouth glided up and down. Then she released me to grip my hips with both hands, using just her mouth. Her fingers dug into my flesh and heat blazed through my body, nearly razing me. My chest clenched and I slid my hands into her hair, holding her as gently as I could. My dick was so deep inside her it bumped the back of her throat and even though all I wanted to do was fuck her mouth, I pulled back. “Easy, baby. Don’t want to hurt your throat.”

  She nodded, blinking rapidly. “It’s okay.” She licked her lips. “I want to do this.”

  She took me into her mouth again, sucking, swirling her tongue around me until she was breathless. My dick slid over her wet lips and she dipped her head to lick the underside, then traced her tongue over my balls.

  Christ. Another groan climbed up from my chest at this fiery ecstasy. Hot need burned over my skin. “Yeah. Suck me like that…feels so fucking good.” I sucked in air. “Your mouth is so hot.”