Page 64 of A Little Crush
“It was only a game.” I know it’s a lie. It’s so much more than a game. This is his job. His livelihood. And not only is this his first year as a head coach, but he’s a young head coach. A young head coach who, despite his potential, never played a day of professional hockey in his life. Someone my dad had to fight tooth and nail for with the Lions’ board in order to offer him the position. No wonder this is killing him. He must be feeling so much pressure. “It was onlyonegame,” I clarify. “You’ll get them next time. Besides, it takes a little while for a new coach to click with the team.”
“Tell that to ESPN and the board.” His low laugh is sardonic at best as he nuzzles into my neck, his upper body blanketed over mine. “It’s always the coach’s fault.” He exhales. “Myfault.”
It shouldn’t surprise me. The way he’s carrying tonight’s loss like it all belongs to him and only him. Not the players. Not his staff. Not the refs. It’s his fault and only his fault. Or at least that’s the way he sees it. He’s always been like this, though. Always hard on himself. Always holding himself to impossible standards. Always determined and stubborn and unyielding even when it comes to the unreasonable expectationshe’s placed on his own shoulders. A small part of me has wondered if it has anything to do with the fact that he’s the oldest, or that he has a different birth mom than the rest of his siblings, or if it’s because his dad is such a great guy—and a hockey legend—that Jaxon wants nothing more than to make him proud and to make his own mark in the industry. Then again, I’m not sure the reason matters. The outcome is still the same, tainting a pretty-close-to-perfect man’s perception of himself while labeling tonight’s loss as an epic failure all because of him.
Determined to take away the self-loathing radiating from him, I run my hands through his hair and along the back of his neck, hoping some rest will ease the sting of tonight’s loss.
With a soft sigh, Jax relaxes against me even more. “That feels good.”
My mouth quirks up as I continue tickling the back of his shoulders, neck, and scalp. “Glad I can be of service.”
His breathing evens a little more, and he’s quiet for so long, I swear he’s fallen asleep. Good. He needs it. And so do I. I’ve never been a great sleeper. Add in a way-too-early-in-the-morning phone call about Archer’s death all those years ago, and it was basically the final nail in the coffin, preventing me from a good night’s sleep from then until eternity. Well, with the exception of that first week, anyway. When Jaxon refused to leave my side. The only time I slept was when I was in his arms and felt safe enough to let go and actually rest. After that first week, though? Yeah, I’m not sure I even remember what it’s like to feel energized in the morning. Which means I need to stop overthinking so I can get some decent shut-eye before my inevitable early morning wake-up call.
I begin counting sheep in my head when Jaxon’s raspy voice cuts through the quiet room. “Did you kiss him?”
My brows dip. “What?”
“Crowther. On your…date or whatever,” he mumbles against me.
He sounds sleepy. And buzzed. Part of me wants to ask why he wants to know, but the idea of drawing any more attention to my dating life feels like a terrible idea considering all the lies I’ve woven, so I let it go, answering, “No, I didn’t kiss him.”
“That’s good.”
That’s good?
What in the world is that supposed to mean?
Unable to fight my curiosity, I ask, “Is it?”
“Mm-hmm.” He shifts down and nuzzles into my boobs as if they’re pillows, and hell, with how drunk the guy is, he might very well think they are because there’s no way he’d be doing this if he wasn’t three sheets to the wind. Seriously, am I dreaming? I’ve never been felt up before, and I sure as hell never thought I’d be in this position with anyone, let alone the only guy I’ve ever even considered being in this position with.
“Real good,” he rumbles, though I don’t know if he’s talking about my boobs or the fact that I did not, in fact, kiss Eric Crowther. I’m not sure which option I’m more comfortable with, either. Why is he here? Why is he acting like this? It’s not like I’ve never been drunk before. A person doesn’t turn into a complete stranger all because of a few drinks. So what does it mean? Has he wanted to do this before? Touch me like this? Ask me these kinds of questions?
His hot breath brands my chest, and his light scruff scrapes against my skin as he nuzzles closer, making my nipples peak. I wonder if he can hear my racing heart. If he notices my stilted breathing. If he feels my thighs pressing together as he pins me to the mattress. This shouldn’t be a turn on. This shouldn’t. Be. A. Turn on.
So why do I like it so much?
“And why is it real good?” I ask, continuing to gently tickle his bare shoulders, neck, and scalp. I know this is a one time thing. That tomorrow, he’ll pretend this didn’t happen. That he didn’t climb into my bed or say things I’ve wanted to hear for as long as I can remember. I know I’ll never get another opportunity like this. To feel him against me. Without our past or our own defenses hanging between us. Even if it’s all a fluke. Even if it’ll all be gone tomorrow. It’s still nice. To pretend that it could be like this. And in another world, maybe it would’ve been. If I hadn’t put him in an uncomfortable position all those years ago. If I hadn’t been born ten years too late. Maybe.
Lifting his head from my chest, Jaxon fully rolls on top of me and stares down, propping himself up on his elbows as they cage me in on both sides. His eyes are glassy, and alcohol lingers on his breath as it fans across my cheeks, reminding me of exactly how far gone the guy really is.
“Fuck, I could kiss you right now.”
“What?” My heart stalls in my chest, and I swear I misheard him because there’s no way he’s serious.
Right?Right?
“Let me kiss you.” He lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to my lips without waiting for my approval, though I would’ve given it to him. I’d give him anything he asks for. It’s a scary thought, but not a new one. No, even when I was a little girl, I knew Jaxon Thorne had a hold on me. I didn’t mind. I still don’t. Because he’d never take advantage. He’s too selfless. Which is why I’m so confused. Does he want to kiss me because he wants to kiss me or does he want to kiss me because he thinks it’s what I want? And yes, I want to kiss him, but not if the feeling isn’t mutual. So, is it? Is it mutual? Or is it something he’ll regret in the morning? When wearen’t blanketed by darkness? When he isn’t inebriated and vulnerable?
“Let me kiss you,” he repeats, his voice even raspier.
“Jax,” I whisper, too caught up in the feel of him pressed against me to think straight, let alone be the voice of reason.
What should I do?
Keeping most of his weight on his forearm along the side of my head, he shifts closer, dragging his lips along the edge of my mouth before cupping my cheek with his opposite hand. It’s messy and far from innocent, and my heart pounds faster and faster as he presses the tip of his tongue along the seam of my lips. I open for him. Scared. And excited. And knocked so far off-kilter I can do nothing but follow his lead.
Taking full advantage, Jaxon explores my mouth, tasting like whiskey and beer. And it’s fast. Too fast. I might be as sober as a nun, but the room is still spinning. Jaxon Thorne is in my bed. Jaxon Thorne is laying on top of me. Jaxon Thorne is kissing me.TheJaxon Thorne. His hand slides down the side of my throat before moving lower, and my breath hitches as I zero in on his blazing touch skating across my collarbone. When he finally palms my breast, I squirm beneath him, surprised by the pressure building at my core from a simple touch.
