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Jake parks in the spot in front of the Austen and turns the engine off. The rain falling harder than ever, it’s a sheet of solid water on the windshield.
“What is going on? Everything was fine this morning, and now you won’t speak to me?” A pause. “Are you on the rag?”
That gets a reaction. I turn to look at him with what is definitely murder in my eyes. His hair is soaked and slicked back, his eyes wild with confusion and anger.
“You’re an asshole.”
He jerks back, surprise written on his face. “I’m the asshole? I am? How am I the asshole? Explain that to me. I find you walking home in the middle of a thunderstorm and you won’t speak to me, but I’m the asshole––”
“I came to see you! I was at the farmhouse today. I saw her, Jake––the redhead. I saw her. So yeah, you are the asshole.”
He blinks. Blinks again. The beads of water on his lashes are making them stick together and appear thicker and darker. No man should be that lucky.
His mouth quivers. “You were at the farmhouse?”
“Isn’t that what I said?” I snap.
He bites his bottom lip, his white teeth looking brighter in contrast to his beard.
“Around four?”
“Yes, Sherlock. Around four.”
He makes a sound between a snort and a sigh. “But you didn’t come inside. Instead, you decided to play investigative reporter…” The mocking tone is not doing him any favors. He’s not even denying it. I’m wrecked. “Instead, you spied on me.”
“I’m getting out.”
“The hell you are,” he fires back rather angrily. “Sit your ass down and listen.”
“You have some nerve––”
“––That was the daughter of the owner of the Chicago Blackhawks that you saw me with.”
Huh? Is that supposed to make me feel better?
When he sees the blank look on my face, he exhales tiredly. “They want me to play for them.”
Oh. A sinking sensation comes over me.
“Why was she at your house?”
“Because I’ve turned down their offer twice and they thought making a pitch in person would make a difference. Autumn is the GM…the general manager of the team.”
“I know what a GM is thank you very much.”
Jake tried to school a grin. We stare at each other, neither one of us wanting to be the first to look away.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
Soaking wet and looking like hell, I crawl out of my seat and straddle his lap, place my forehead against his equally soaked neck.
Jake wraps his arms, warm and secure, around me, pets my back, gently untangles my hair. All the while my insides wrestle between hysterical laughter and shame.
And love. So much love I can barely contain it all. “I’m sorry.”
He hums. “Don’t ever quit talking to me, okay? If you have a problem, tell me.”
I nod. And just when I think I can’t possibly love this man anymore than I already do, he makes a liar out of me.
Chapter 18
“What’s on the agenda today?” I ask, sipping one of the lattes I made for us.
Jake gives me a knowing smile that means I’m not getting any information out of him. Then he spoons Cheerios in a mouth made pink by all the kissing we’re doing lately.
Love is one powerful drug.
I never thought I would find a half naked man eating cereal drop dead sexy and yet here he is. I’m staring at arguably the sexiest man on the planet, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and casually leaning back against the counter with a bowl in his hand.
I would never say this out loud, but every time I look at him I can’t believe he’s mine. I mean––not mine per se. I know this is temporary. I’m not living in a fictional world. Eventually, we’ll part ways. The problem starts when I think of us actually partying ways. Then I get sick to my stomach.
The Blackhawks want him badly. They haven’t given up trying to get him either. Since the GM showed up in town a few weeks ago, he gets a just checking in call with more dollars attached every week.
I have a sneaking suspicion Jake wants to take the offer too.
“All you need to know is that we’re going on a hike. I took care of everything else. Equipment, boots everything…”
“Equipment? Hmm, sounds serious.”
He puts the bowl down in the sink, wipes his hands and mouth on a paper napkin, and walks up to where I’m standing at the other end of the small kitchenette.
Taking the cup out of my hand, he places it down on the table. Then he picks me up and places me on the counter. His face snuggles against the side of my neck as he steps between my legs. It didn’t take long for us to figure out each other’s likes and needs. There is also something to be said about practice.
