Page 23
“Kiss?” I suggest.
“No chance!” she balks, in case I was under any illusions about our relationship.
“I could pinch your ass,” I suggest, enjoying too much how irked she is.
She sighs, thunderous eyes fixed to mine. “Peck on the cheek.”
“And by cheek, you mean your fine ass?”
“Jax—” I chuckle. “How about a fun high five?” she suggests.
A high five? I’d give more than a high five to a dating app swipe. I chuckle and hold out my fist. “Bump it, honey.”
She does. Then she slips off her emerald and puts it into my palm. “I won’t wear his ring. I’ll wait to get my new one.”
I’m left fighting a smile and whispering to myself, “Little Dragon.” That woman breathes fire one minute and ice the next.
Married life is going to be rough.
10
SEPTEMBER
Sienna
Rise and Shine
I know where Jax lives; I’ve been to his swanky condo a few times. The first time last season, when he slept with a married woman with two kids, whose husband found out and threatened to tell the press. I was convinced the couple played Jax and ultimately blackmailed him but he paid them off regardless. Another time when his alarm clock didn’t go off and he was late for the team coach on the road. The truth was, the girl he went to bed with turned off his alarm, made him a healthy scratch for the game and got her name associated with his online. The most recent time, when he and an opposing player dropped their gloves on the ice but met each other again in a bar after the game and continued their discussion – Jax said he was provoked.
My fake husband is a juvenile loose cannon. He’s three years younger than me on paper but acts like a child in practice, so far as I’ve seen to date.
And I was drunk enough to stoop to his mental level in Las Vegas.
Look, I like Jax. He’s an insanely talented and determined hockey player, which I admire. He’s objectively attractive and fun to be around… if you’re not subjectively in a relationship with him. As I rap on his door, though, I’m already counting down the three months we’re going to be married. This is inconvenient but necessary for us both.
His super let me inside – not particularly secure but I do manipulate words for a living, so pat on the back to me for cracking security. I struggled into the elevator with my suitcase and two boxes – the only belongings I’m yet to retrieve from mine and Carl’s place because, frankly, I’m not ready to accept how much my heart and pride are wounded.
If I stop to think, it will hurt. And the last time I did that, I married Jax Harris. Soooooo…
Jax lives on the eighth floor, the top floor, in condo 912, and no, I don’t think it’s coincidence that he plays number twelve for the Dragons.
There’s no answer to my knocking, so I hammer harder, eventually conceding that I need to set down the heavy box in my arms.
“TJ, if that’s you, I swear you better be on the run from the cops.” Jax opens the door, squinting at the light in the corridor. His condo is much darker behind him, blackout shades drawn down all the windows.
His bed hair game is strong – ruffled, sticking up in parts, flat in others. His eyes have that puffy, barely open look. And he is… shirtless.
In fact, the only item of clothing he’s wearing is a pair of black shorts slung low on his hips.
I do my two times table, checking off his abs as I mentally count and ask my girl parts to respect the fact I consider the guy in front of me to be an absolute man-child. Bad news. Even if his morning look is kind of dopey-adorable.
“Sienna?”
“Morning, hubby!” I sing, reaching soprano-level sarcasm.
“Why the fuck are you breaking down my door in the middle of the night and how did you get up here?”
“Your super, who says congratulations on your nuptials by the way, and it’s 9 a.m.”
