Page 97 of Play Along With Me
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating between us. "Patience, Hockey Jesus. We have all night." Then she kisses meagain, slower this time but no less intense, her hands framing my face with surprising tenderness.
For someone who deflects genuine emotion with humor at every opportunity, Audrey kisses with startling sincerity—present, focused, holding nothing back. It's intoxicating, this glimpse of the woman beneath the quick wit and protective banter.
When we eventually break apart, both breathing harder, Audrey rests her forehead against mine, her eyes closed as if savoring the moment.
"So," she says after a beat, her voice slightly unsteady, "about that tour of your three pieces of furniture..."
I laugh, the tension breaking slightly without dissipating entirely. "This is the couch, obviously. Then there's the bed and a single chair I found at a thrift store. Not much of a tour."
"I'm particularly interested in the bed portion," she admits, her cheeks flushing slightly despite her bold words. "For research purposes, of course. Character development. Very professional interest."
"Of course," I agree solemnly. "Would you like the tour now, or should we finish our wine first?"
Audrey pretends to consider this seriously, still perched on my lap in a way that makes it increasingly difficult to think clearly. "Wine can wait," she decides. "Some things are more pressing."
"Pressing being the operative word," I mutter, making her laugh again.
"Walked right into that one," she acknowledges. "But seriously, Jake..." Her expression sobers slightly. "I don't usuallydo this. Jump into things quickly, I mean. Not since Daniel. I just want you to know that this isn't... casual for me."
The vulnerability in her admission touches me deeply. "It's not casual for me either," I assure her. "I don't have space in my life for casual right now. Too much happening, too much at stake. If I'm making time for someone, it matters."
She searches my face, seemingly satisfied with what she finds there. "Yeah," she says simply. "Because I like you, Jake Marshall. Rather inconveniently and despite my best efforts not to."
"The feeling is extremely mutual," I tell her, brushing her hair back from her face. "Inconvenient timing and all."
"Timing is overrated," she declares, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before climbing off my lap and extending her hand. "Now, about that bedroom tour..."
I take her hand, rising to lead her down the short hallway to my bedroom—as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment, with just a bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. But as Audrey turns to me, her eyes bright with a mixture of desire and something deeper, more meaningful, I think that maybe this impersonal space is finally becoming something more.
Maybe, with Audrey here, it's becoming something like home.
Chapter 13
Jake's bedroom is as minimalist as the rest of his apartment—a queen-sized bed with plain navy sheets, a simple nightstand with a lamp and his journal, and a dresser that looks like it came with the furnished rental. No decorations on the walls, no personal touches beyond a single framed photo of what appears to be his hockey team from college.
It should feel impersonal, maybe even cold. Instead, there's something oddly intimate about the spareness—like I'm seeing the essential version of Jake Marshall, stripped down to basics with no pretense or decoration.
He stands slightly behind me, not touching but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. For a moment, neither of us moves, the significance of the step we're about to take hanging in the air between us.
"Second thoughts?" he asks softly, giving me space to retreat if I want to.
I turn to face him, finding his expression a mixture of desire and concern. Always the gentleman, even now.
"Not even first thoughts," I assure him. "Just... taking in the moment. This wasn't exactly how I expected my fake relationship charade to evolve."
His mouth quirks into that half-smile that does unreasonable things to my insides. "Disappointed?"
"Never," I tell him, stepping closer and placing my hands on his chest. Even through his shirt, I can feel the solid muscle beneath—the physical evidence of years of athletic training. "Though I should warn you, it's been a while for me. I might be a bit rusty on the finer points."
"Me too," he admits, his hands settling at my waist. "Hockey schedule doesn't exactly facilitate an active dating life."
"We can be rusty together then," I suggest, rising onto my tiptoes to brush my lips against his. "Mutual re-education program."
He responds immediately, the kiss deepening as his arms wrap more securely around me, drawing me flush against him. I slide my hands up to his shoulders, then around to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair the way I discovered earlier makes him groan quietly.
He doesn't disappoint, the sound vibrating between us as his hands begin to wander, moving from my waist to my back, tracing the line of my spine through my dress.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs against my lips, seeking permission despite my obvious enthusiasm.
