Playing Hurt Page 9

She squeezed her eyes closed. “Yes. I could have. That was how I communicated with most people, that or writing notes. I’m sorry. I was…messed up.”

  Yeah, I could see that. “I guess it was a shitty Christmas.”

  “It wasn’t the best.” She paused. “Did you go home for Christmas? How was it?”

  “It was okay. My parents think I’m doing drugs or something, and that’s the reason I’m not playing well.”

  “Oh my God. Well, people are saying that about me too. That the real reason I had to put off recording my album is because I’m in rehab for a cocaine addiction.”

  “We have so much in common, including imaginary drug addictions. Who knew.”

  “So did you convince them you’re clean?”

  “Maybe.” I poured the dressing for the salad over the spinach, cranberries, and almonds in a big bowl. “So no talking for three weeks. That must have been hard.”

  “I was dying!”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Okay, not dying, but it was hell. I couldn’t even cough. I had to take acid reflux medication even though I don’t have a problem with that. I sucked on so many cough lozenges.” She curved her hand over her throat. “I can talk now but I’m not supposed to whisper or shout.”

  “Not even whisper?”

  “That strains the vocal cords.”

  “Huh. Does it still hurt?”

  “No, it doesn’t hurt anymore, but I still feel a little hoarse.”

  “It’s sexy.”

  She smiled wryly. “Well, there’s one bright spot.”

  “You’ll be able to sing again.” I set my hands wide apart on the counter and met her eyes. “I know it.”

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sure of it too.”

  I could see hints of fear in her eyes though, which told me she was being brave and strong but she wasn’t really sure of it. “You know what they say. Life is like a dick. Sometimes it’s up. Sometimes it’s down. But it won’t be hard forever.”

  She stared at me for a beat and then bowed her head. Her hair fell around her face, her shoulders shaking. “Oh my God.”

  “Those are my words of wisdom for today.”

  She lifted her head, her smile gorgeous. “Thank you. I needed a laugh.”

  I smiled back, my chest expanding. “No problem. So anyway…you came back to Chicago.” I pushed a small plate of fancy crackers and cheese across the island to her.

  “Yeah. Mom and Dad wanted me closer, and I didn’t really feel like being in L.A. At first it was relaxing here, but I’ve been kind of bored.”

  “You’re used to being crazy busy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe you should write some songs.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “I’ve tried. My mind is a creative wasteland.”

  My lips twitched, even though she was clearly unhappy. I thought about that. “I’m not a very creative person, but I’d think that might be a good way to express your feelings about what you’re going through.”

  “Hmmm. You could be right.”

  “Which means you think I’m full of shit, but you’re humoring me.”

  She chuckled. “No! Seriously, you could be right. I should try again. But I’m finding it so hard to write when I can’t sing.”

  Her voice wobbled, and I thought she was going to cry again. My chest clenched. Jesus, I hated seeing her like this.

  “I also need to find a gym so I can work out.”

  “Oh baby.” I grinned. “Come here.” I crooked a finger.

  Her eyebrows rose, and she slid off the stool.

  I clasped my fingers around hers and led her down the hall. “I didn’t give you the tour. This is my game room.” I showed her the big space with a pool table and a dartboard. “This is my bedroom.” Which I hoped she would get a much closer look at, at some point. “And this is my workout room.” I opened the door.

  “Oh wow!” She walked in, scoping out the room. I had a treadmill, a stationary bike, and some serious equipment, along with a big screen TV on the wall and a speaker for music. I could work out at the arena, but when we had time off I liked to do it here. The building also had an exercise room, but I’d created my own private one. “This is amazing.”

  “Yeah.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. “You want to work out in private, you can come over here anytime.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t bother you.”

  “Hey, half the time I’m not here. We’re on a road trip next week. I’ll give you a key and let the security staff know you can come up anytime.”

  She gazed at me, blinking those big eyes. “That’s very nice of you.”

  “I’m a nice guy.” I set a hand on my chest.

  She bit her lip on a smile. “Wait, I’ve seen you slamming guys into the boards and throwing punches. That’s not nice.”

  “That’s hockey.”

  “I saw you get in a fight with that big dude from Florida…”

  “Walters.”

  “Yes! You were not a nice guy to him.”

  I couldn’t stop my grin. “True. He’s an asshole.”

  “I’ve seen you talking to your opponents too,” she said. “I mean yelling.”

  “Chirping.”

  “Right. I always wonder what you’re saying. Though it’s pretty easy to read your lips when you tell them to fuck off.”

  “I never say that.”

  “Ha! Right. What do you say then?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes I tell them ‘yo, nice haircut.’ ”

  “Aaah! No way.”

  I loved her smile. “Or ‘hey man, your coach know you’re out here?’ ”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Or, ‘my left nut dangles better than you.’ ”

  “That’s more like it.”

  I grinned. “Come see the rest of the place before we eat.”

  “It’s huge.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  She actually fell against the hall wall, shoulders shaking with mirth. “You’re terrible.”

  I moved closer, with a wink. “That’s not what she said.”

  I kissed her forehead then moved past her down the hall. I showed her the other bedrooms, the main bathroom, and then the balcony, which at this time of year wasn’t super inviting. “There’s a hot tub out there,” I told her. “And a fireplace and a bunch of furniture.”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” I led the way back to the kitchen. “Where’s your place? You said you have a condo here.”

  “Yeah. It’s on North Lake Shore.”

  “Oh ho.” I hoisted an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s nice.”

  “It’s nice, but nowhere near this big. The building is older. But it has a lake view and I like it.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. I actually am. I haven’t had much appetite lately.”

  “You look like you’ve lost weight. And you didn’t need to.”

  “I have lost a few pounds. That’s okay, but I need to work out so I don’t lose any muscle.”

  “Problem solved.” I waved a hand at my gym. “We can eat here at the island if you’re okay with that.”

  “Absolutely.”

  I took two plates out of a cupboard and set them down. Jordyn pulled a couple of placemats over and set the plates on them, then arranged the cutlery I handed her. I checked the dishes I’d been heating up to make sure they were hot enough, and set them on the island too. “Okay, we’re set.”

  “It looks delicious. I want to try everything.” She began serving herself cashew chicken. “So I missed your goal. I haven’t been watching hockey.”

  “What? You missed my goal? Damn.”

  “I could probably find it online
.”

  “I bet you could. It’s not really worth searching for though.” I dished up some beef goulash. “It wasn’t exactly pretty, but it went in, so it counts.”

  “You’re still frustrated.”

  “Yeah.” I put a piece of beef in my mouth, and it damn near melted it was so tender. I chewed and swallowed. “It’s starting to really get to me. It’s taking the fun out of playing hockey.” I hated even saying it out loud. I hadn’t confessed that to anyone else. At the arena I tried to stay positive, making jokes about it, working hard. I hated to admit that the thing I loved most of all in life was becoming harder and harder to do. But pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t was exhausting me. I found I didn’t want to go out with the guys as much. I sure as hell hadn’t dated, which was also becoming a problem because I needed sex. A lot.

  Come on, I was a twenty-five-year-old guy in his prime. That meant I was horny every day, all damn day.

  “Wait, someone once gave me some great advice.” She held up a finger and struck a pose. “What was it? Oh yeah, life is like a dick…”

  I cracked up laughing. Jesus. This woman. That cold knot that was almost always in my chest thawed and softened. I hadn’t felt this relaxed since…well, since the last time I saw her.

  She smiled back at me, and I could see my pleasure reflected in her face. She’d been hesitant when she got here and now she was calm and smiling. I liked making her laugh, as if her laughter was some kind intoxicant that I craved. Part of it was how it made me feel…like I’d conquered something and won. Like, the Stanley Cup of flirting with women.

  I liked winning.

  And lately, I hadn’t felt like I’d been winning.

  You know why I liked sports? Because you worked hard and you won. Nobody could dispute the number of goals you’d scored at the end of a game. It was black and white. Pure and measurable.

  But when it came to women, things were never black and white. Success was much less tangible. And much as I liked winning? I hated losing even more.

  Jordyn made me feel like I was winning.

  And that was a goddamn addicting drug.

  Chapter 11

  Jordyn

  After we ate, Chase tried to get me to go relax on the couch while he cleaned up, but I was having none of that. “Leave it,” I said. “We can do it later.”

  “I can’t leave it.” He grimaced. “I hate a mess.”

  “Oh no.” I gazed at him in dismay, my eyes dramatically wide.

  “What?” He paused, a dish towel in his hands, his forehead furrowed.

  “I’m a total slob. This is one area we are not compatible.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’d have to see how much of a slob you are before knowing if it’s a deal breaker.”

  “It’s pretty bad. I thought men had a much higher filth tolerance than women?”

  “Some men, maybe. Not me.” He shrugged and wiped the counter so it was spotless.

  “Well, then I’ll help. Together, we can get make short work of it.” I grabbed the leftovers and carried them over to the counter near the fridge. Together we put them away, placed dishes in the dishwasher, and made the kitchen perfect. Okay, it was somewhat satisfying.

  It was also satisfying just watching him move around his kitchen, watching his jeans that were faded in all the right spots hug his tight ass. His black turtleneck sweater made his shoulders look massive, and when he pushed the sleeves up on strong, corded forearms, my knees went mushy.

  When he’d kissed me earlier, when I’d got here…I’d thought I was melting. Literally dissolving, even my bones, all of me, into a warm gooey puddle at his feet. On our last date, the only kisses had been short and…not enough. This kiss had been…oh God, not enough either, but so much more, so incredibly hot and expansive. Then he’d said he wanted to spank my ass and I almost dropped to the floor. Just being around him made me tingle everywhere, made me want to taste him, to feel the muscles I knew hid under his clothes, to breathe in his amazing scent. I was a mess of lust and longing and frustration.

  I sucked in a breath and tried not to chuck the plate into the dishwasher then run and tackle him.

  “Okay, all done.” He hung the dish towel neatly on a rack inside the cabinet door. “Let’s go find a movie.”

  We moved to the living room.

  “You can have a drink yourself, if you want,” I told him as I sat on the couch, my body still pulsing. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “No, it’s fine. Oh hey…what about some hot chocolate?”

  “Sure, that would be nice.” His immense floor to ceiling windows gave us a view of the icy city glimmering beneath us.

  “And I’ll turn on the fireplace.”

  “No!” My heart lurched, and I sat up straight.

  He stopped and looked at me, eyebrows lifted. “Problem?”

  “I, uh…” I twisted my fingers together. “I don’t like fireplaces.”

  “How can you not like fireplaces?”

  I bit my lip. There were things about myself I didn’t like to tell people, after a couple of bad experiences. “I just don’t.”

  He gazed back at me, and his open, direct gaze made my insides quiver. He’d been honest with me about how he was feeling, how frustrated he was, which I knew had been hard for him to talk about. I felt like maybe I owed it to him to be as open with him. And for some reason, I felt I could trust him. I swallowed. “I’m afraid of fire.”

  His chin jerked back as if I’d punched him. “Afraid of fire?” He gestured at the fireplace. “It’s gas. No wood. I just flick a switch…”

  I shook my head violently. “I’m sorry. I know it’s weird.”

  “Okay. No worries. I’ll make the chocolate. The remote is there if you want to find a movie to watch.”

  I picked up the remote, surfing through movie selections until he came back, but I was rattled and didn’t even know what I was looking at. His acceptance of what I’d just told him—without laughing at me or pushing me to let him turn on the fireplace because my fear was stupid and irrational—made me feel very strange. Grateful. Safe. And wow…I really liked this guy.

  He returned with two mugs full of steaming, creamy chocolate and set them on the table. “There. So. Why are you afraid of fire?”

  “Gah. It’s embarrassing.”

  He eyed me, but didn’t push me.

  I picked up my mug. “When I was a kid, I was playing with matches. With a friend in the neighborhood. We set the neighbor’s garage on fire.”

  “Oh.” He let out a soft breath.

  “I got scared and I ran in the house before it got out of hand, and my dad put it out with the garden hose. The neighbor came and helped too. Luckily, there wasn’t much damage, but as you can imagine, I was in big trouble. And I felt so, so sick about it.”

  “I’m sure.”

  It had been a horrible childhood memory, a definite emotional scar that took years to be able to talk about. The guilt had been unbearable, to the point where I’d tried to deny it had ever happened. I was the light of my parents’ life, and it had killed me to disappoint them like that.

  “I can’t even light matches,” I told him. “I don’t have any candles, even though I like the smell of them and the way they look.”

  “If you can’t light matches, how did you set the fire?”

  “I didn’t,” I admitted. “But I was encouraging my friend.”

  “Oh, baby.” He slid an arm around my shoulders and shifted me closer. “You didn’t even do it. You were a kid. We all get in trouble.”

  “I should have known better. I should have stopped it. But it had a big effect on me. Obviously.” I wrinkled my nose, trying to ignore the liquid heat pooling between my thighs. “So, another thing where we’re not compatible.”

  “I think you could get used to the fire,”
he said gently. “It’s just gas, and I can turn it off as quickly as I turn it on.”

  I bit my lip, then nodded. My insides tightened up as I watched him stand and cross over to the fireplace with its substantial white-painted mantel.

  I stared at the flames as he walked back then sat next to me.

  “Okay?”

  I nodded, my insides jittery from the leaping flames. But they were pretty small. “Distract me.” I held out the remote. “Something with lots of action.”

  “Deadpool.”

  “Okay. I haven’t seen that.”

  “You haven’t seen Deadpool?” He stared at me.

  I showed my teeth in a fake smile. “Nope.”

  “Wow. Okay, then. You’re gonna love this.”

  “How do you know I’ll love it? It’s a dude in a superhero costume.”

  “No, no. It’s much more than that. It’s dirty and funny, and there’s even some romance…seriously, you’re gonna love it.”

  “You think you know me that well?”

  “I think I do.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  He slid his gaze toward me and gave me a long look. “Really?”

  My insides quivered happily. It was such a rush flirting with him. “Sure.”

  “What are we betting this time?” He gave me an evil smile. “How about sex?”

  I nearly spewed up my hot chocolate. “Um, I was thinking maybe another date.”

  He made a face. “Well, I guess that would be okay. All right then, another date it is.”

  “Do you trust me?” I settled back into his embrace. His body was large and warm behind me, his arm strong around me.

  “How so?”

  “I could lie and tell you I hate it so I’d win the bet.”

  “Huh. I guess you could. But you won’t.”

  “How do you know that?” I demanded, turning to look at him. Damn, he was pretty confident that he knew me so well.

  His cocky grin melted my panties. “Because you want to go out with me again.”

  My mouth dropped open. Then I snapped it shut. He was absolutely right. “Hmmph.” I twisted back around to face the TV.

  I loved the movie. Dammit.

  * * *