Page 69 of Delay of Game

“Good to know,” I say, looking around the place more. The apartment is a mirror of my own, with the same style of kitchen counter and modern appliances.

“You have one too, by the way,” she says, and my attention returns to her as she’s tucking her hair behind both ears.

“A spare key?”

“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip. “A spare key to mine. It’s in your junk drawer.”

“Oh, I thought it was a spare for my own.”

“Nope,” she laughs. “You know Ash and Eli, they practically lived at each other’s places even when they weren’t together.”

“Did they tell you they got the house?” I ask, following her into her bedroom. The decor reminds me of her old apartment she had in college. I glance at her bed and the pink bows on hersheets, and remember that first time she kissed me. I was such a fool to turn her down.

“Yes, I’m so excited. Robbie is going to lose his mind when he finds out they’re moving in across the street,” she says in a muffled voice, entering her closet and digging around for the yoga mat.

“It’ll be great,” I say, looking around the room more, stepping closer to the full-length mirror on the wall that’s directly across from the bed. I wonder if she ever watches it as she’s touching herself.

I groan and scrub my hands down my face. What is wrong with me?She held my hand in bed for a day and now I’m a fucking horndog for her. This is what I get for not getting laid in years.

“Okay, found it,” she says, coming back out with a rolled up purple mat. “Let’s set up in the living room.”

Alice

Jordan barely fitson the mat, and I bite back a smile. I make a mental note to order him a proper mat that he can use for stretching—one that won’t have his long legs dangling so far off it.

“What kind of stretches do you usually do?” I ask, putting my hair up and pinning it with a claw clip.

Jordan looks up at me from where he’s lying on his back and gestures for me to get down too. I kneel next to him and wait for instructions, but he just stares at me. After a beat, he says, “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“Why?” I frown.

“It’s just—you’ll have to touch me,” he says, cheeks turning pink as he looks down at my hands, which are gripping his thigh. Huh, when did that happen?

“Well, good thing you don’t have cooties.” I snort and he cracks a smile.

“Okay, let’s start with some hamstring stretches then,” he says. “You’ll have to push my leg and keep it straight at first. Then push it while my knee is bent, so I can stretch the glutes too.”

I giggle at the word glutes, and he rolls his eyes at me. “Okay, I think I got it,” I say, moving to kneel in front of him, taking hold of his left leg first and holding it straight, bending it towards him.

Jordan grimaces but doesn’t make a sound and I quickly stop. “What’s wrong?”

“Just … go slower,” he says, breathing through his nose.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“S’fine, I’m just a baby when it comes to pain.” Jordan smiles, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in my chest. I hate seeing him in pain. No matter how strained our relationship is, I would never wish him harm.

I run one of my hands up to grab his ankle, the other one landing on his muscular thigh. Even though he hasn’t played hockey in close to a year, he’s still got the strong legs of a professional player. Gently, I start to push, leaning my body into the movement. When I think I’ve gone far enough, I stop.

“More,” Jordan says in a ragged voice, and I suck in a breath. This is way too intimate of a position, but I can’t back out now. He inhales and exhales deeply through the burn, lifting his arms up over his head. The movement makes his T-shirt ride up and I’m met with a familiar glimpse of his brown skin and the curly black hair that trails down to his athletic pants.

I blink and avert my gaze, finding a spot on the carpet next to his head to stare at instead. Jordan’s eyes catch mine for a brief second and I pray he didn’t see me looking. After about a minute, I switch over to his other leg, doing the same exercise.

His sexy grunting does something to me, because all I can think about is drawing out these sounds from him in a much more compromising position. I’m relieved when he sits up to do some other hip stretches, and I leave him alone while I make us coffee.

I’m in my head when he comes to the kitchen, a soft look on his face. I hand him my favorite mug that says “smut reader” on it and smirk as he flushes at the sight of it.

“Thank you for the coffee and for all the help today,” he says, taking a sip and leaning forward on the kitchen island.

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