Jett Read online

  I realize… I’ve probably not held a woman’s hand since I dated in secondary school back in Sweden. Back then I had a serious girlfriend and we held hands wherever we went. Since entering professional hockey though, I’ve not wanted that type of relationship.

  Admittedly, it feels good holding Emory’s hand.

  There’s no frantic kissing outside my door or fumbling of keys to get us inside. We enter my condo and I drop her hand to turn off the alarm. Closing the door behind us, I ask her, “Want another beer?”

  To my surprise, she smiles playfully. “Yeah… you know, I think I do. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to kick back and get a little drunk.”

  I can’t help but laugh. She’s not a buttoned-up Brit, but she definitely doesn’t let her hair down often. “Let’s get drunk then,” I say as I move into the kitchen.

  “No telling what I might let you do to me when I’m drunk,” she chuckles as she drops her purse on the coffee table and plops down on my couch, nestling into the corner of one end.

  After nabbing two beers from the fridge and uncapping them, I bring them into the living room. Handing her one, I sit on the cushion next to her, tossing my arm across the back so I can angle toward her.

  Holding my beer out, we tap the necks together. “Cheers.”

  After taking a sip, I ask Emory, “Want to tell me what that kiss was about?”

  We’ve only been intimate for the last week—two times prior to tonight. We’ve kissed a lot in that time frame, but there’s only one kiss that’s been different from the others.

  “Oh, that,” she murmurs, smiling coyly down at her bottle. When her eyes come up to meet mine, she shrugs, “I got caught up in the moment.”

  “Hmmm,” is the only acknowledgment I give, forcing her to continue to talk.

  Emory’s face flushes slightly, telling me she’s embarrassed. “Fine. I admit I was little overwhelmed—in a good way—by the way you stood up for Jenna. I just couldn’t help but kiss you.”

  I nod sagely. I knew that’s what it was and I enjoyed the hell out of it. Giving her a playful wink, I say, “Well, you don’t need to worry. I don’t think anyone saw you being all trampy with me.”

  Emory snorts and takes a sip of her beer. Her expression sobers a tiny bit as she admits, “I’m not sure I care anymore if people know about us.”

  I dare not acknowledge the fact that statement makes me feel good. Because that goes against how we decided to play this thing—casual, loose, and no strings. One of the things that kept us at arm’s length was her reticence in people knowing about us.

  Pushing that aside, I take the opportunity for us to just talk. “You’re very protective of Jenna.”

  “As are you apparently,” she points out, holding up her beer in a silent toast to me.

  Tapping my finger on my bottle, I give a shake of my head. “I can’t fucking stand mean people. It’s like my pet peeve and I just don’t get why people are like that.”

  “I gave up trying to figure out why people do the things they do a long time ago,” she murmurs. And while I know she’s talking about the way people treat her sister based on her appearance, I know she’s talking about other things too.

  “Do you mind me asking what happened to Jenna?”

  I know it’s a nosy question, and I’m not asking from some grim fascination with her suffering. I want to know so I can understand Emory, and probably even Jenna, because what affects Jenna affects her sister.

  Emory kicks her shoes off, pulls her legs up under her, and takes another pull on her beer. She nestles the bottle between her legs, eyes coming to me, but I can sense she’s far away, slipping into a memory. “Almost two years ago, Jenna was babysitting her boyfriend’s daughter, Chelsea, while he was at work. It was his weekend to have her but he got called in for an unexpected night shift. The next morning, before he got home, Jenna was cooking breakfast and a grease fire started on the gas stove. The kitchen went up unbelievably fast, but Jenna wasn’t thinking of that. She ran upstairs where Chelsea was playing in her room.”

  Emory’s voice cracks slightly, and it’s clear that Jenna’s act of choosing to go upstairs rather than out the front door to safety sealed her fate.

  “By the time she made it to Chelsea’s room, the fire was already up the stairs. She went to the window, got it open, and yelled for help. Neighbors called 9-1-1 but the house was nothing but old dried wood and it was only a matter of a minute before the second floor was burning. A man managed to get a ladder up close to the second-story window and Jenna was able to pass Chelsea out to safety. By then, the fire was in the room and on her. She had her upper body hanging out the window as the man climbed back up for her, but she’d lost consciousness. She was just too heavy for him to get her out in a way to carry her down. He just did the best he could, and pulled her all the way out, dropping her down to the ground.”

  “Jesus fuck,” I mutter, so engrossed in the story, I almost feel like I can smell acrid smoke.

  Emory gives a tiny cough to clear her throat and manages a bright smile. “That man saved both Chelsea and Jenna’s lives. Chelsea just had some smoke inhalation but she was fine.”

  “And Jenna?” I ask, because I have a feeling it’s more than just some scarring on her jaw and neck.

  “She was in the burn unit of the hospital for almost two months, one of which she was in a medically induced coma. She had some broken bones in the fall, but those were the least of her worries.”

  My throat is dry, so I take a sip of my beer. “How so?”

  “She had burns over thirty-five percent of her body,” Emory says softly. “You can see the ones on her jaw and neck, and they end just past her shoulder. But the backs of her legs, all the way up to her lower spine, were burned badly. She’s had dozens of skin graft operations.”

  “This happened when you lived in Los Angeles?” I ask.

  Emory nods. “It was a non-stop rotation at the hospital between me, my dad, and my stepmom. Rehab after her surgeries. Then she went home to live with our parents while she continued her recovery.”

  “She stayed there until she moved here with you?” I guess.

  “Yeah,” she replies with a fond smile. “Our parents are great, but she would have stayed in their home, hiding from life forever if I hadn’t insisted she come here. My parents are pretty overprotective of her.”

  “More than you?” I tease and she laughs.

  She holds up her bottle, pointing her index finger at me. “I’m forcing her to get out at least. Start living a regular life again.”

  I nod in understanding. It’s no doubt the best thing for Jenna. But there’s something that doesn’t quite make sense. “I watched your sister tonight. She was nervous at first, but she quickly warmed up and was fine around other people. Seems like she’s doing well.”

  Emory bobs her head left, then right, in an indication that she’s sort of fine and sort of not. “She doesn’t trust easily these days. She’d rather hide than open herself up to see how people will treat her. Once she realized the people in our group tonight were nice and accepting, she was okay. But it took a lot for her to do that.”

  “And why is that?” I ask, because I know it’s not just her physical appearance that causes her fear. Jenna is a beautiful woman despite the marks on her jaw and neck, which aren’t overly noticeable given how she wears her hair. I’ve also learned she’s a confident woman outside of those scars, once you get to know her.

  With a grimace, Emory picks at the label on her bottle. “Apparently saving his daughter from the fire wasn’t enough to keep her boyfriend around and loyal.”

  “He broke up with her?” I ask stunned.

  Emory snorts with distaste. “You have to actually be around to break up with someone. He just never came around after those first few weeks she was in a coma. He went on with his life and never looked back at her.”

  “What a dick,” I growl.

  “It wasn’t just him,” Emory laments sadly.
“Her friends eventually disappeared. I mean, they hung on longer than her boyfriend. They came to visit after she woke up but eventually, they all moved on with their lives too. Not a single one stuck it out through her lengthy recovery.”

  My eyes drop to my bottle, shaking my head. “What the fuck is wrong with people these days?” My gaze lifts to meet hers. “I feel like our world is going crazy sometimes. So many selfish people. So many only caring about themselves and their narrow little worlds.”

  “Agreed,” she murmurs, and then smiles at me. “My life is complicated. I’m a single mom caring for a little girl, trying to help Jenna acclimate back into a cruel world and have a new job I’m trying to excel at. All very good reasons I shouldn’t have been moved to kiss you when you defended Jenna, and yet, I don’t regret it at all. In fact, I feel a bit invested.”

  Reaching out, I take the bottle of beer from her, setting it down with mine on the coffee table. With my hands free, I tug her onto my lap so she’s straddling me.

  It’s not sexual.

  It’s so we can be close—face-to-face. My hands at her hips, I squeeze. “Guess what? I’m invested in you too.”

  Emory’s hands go to my shoulders. She looks scared and I squeeze her hips again.

  “Breathe,” I tell her playfully. “I swear I won’t complicate your life further.”

  She doesn’t smile back, but frowns before her eyes cut away. I reach up, take her by the jaw and force her attention back to me. “What is it?”

  “I um…”

  Her words fall flat, and she looks away again.

  “Emory,” I call softly to get her to look at me again. She does so, but it’s reluctantly. “Talk to me.”

  She sighs, a painful exhale of breath. “I’m really not worried about you complicating my life. I know you won’t.”

  “But…” I press.

  “But,” she says upon an intake of air, “My last relationship—with Felicity’s dad—it was bad. It took me a long time to get out of it. And now that I’m free from him… from all of the misery he caused us… I’m just a little gun shy.”

  “Hard for you to trust?” I guess. Like her sister, I’m betting. They’re just alike.

  She nods guiltily. “It’s nothing against you. You’re great and I was moved to kiss you and I’m invested already. There’s no going back on that. But…”

  “But you’re scared,” I surmise.

  “I am,” she admits without hesitation.

  I ponder that a moment, holding her gaze. It would be so easy for me to just let her go. Make it for her greater good and uncomplicate both of our lives. She doesn’t need this, and do I, really?

  Instead, I find myself giving reassurances because I don’t want to let her go. “I know what we do.”

  Emory tilts her head, that beautiful face awash with curiosity. “What’s that?”

  “We go on like we were. We keep it easy. We take it day by day. We don’t have expectations other than having a good time together, being monogamous and we let this go where it goes. It may go nowhere. It may go the distance. It might settle somewhere in between. But I’m not ready to give up yet. Are you?”

  She’s silent way too long, but my heart starts beating again when she smiles.

  Hesitant at first, then brighter with a slight shake of her head. “No. I’m not ready to give up yet either.”

  My smile breaks wide and with my hands now gripping onto her hips, I jerk her forward so she settles against the part of me that liked her first. It’s not the only part of me that likes her now, and maybe not even the greatest part at this point.

  But now that talk is out of the way, and we have made a commitment of sorts to move this to a new level, I’d like to show her just how much I’m pleased by this turn of events.

  “Let’s get you naked, okay?” My voice is husky, promising.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  “Then I want to do things to you,” I murmur, my eyes holding hers. “With my mouth… between your legs.”

  Emory lets out a tremulous breath and her eyelids flutter slightly.

  “That okay with you?” I ask to make sure.

  “Yeah,” she rasps with a nod of her head. “That’s okay with me.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Emory

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter as I stir the spaghetti sauce and lift it to my lips to taste.

  “You’re doing this,” Jenna says adamantly, taking the words not as an affirmation I’m actually doing this, but as a statement that I’d really like to cancel and not do this.

  I invited Jett to eat dinner at my house.

  I try to tell myself it’s no different than having him over for our Not-So-Thanksgiving Dinner but it’s different. That was a friend type of thing. Co-workers really.

  But we’re carnal now, so this is different.

  This is involved.

  This is complicated.

  “Why did I do this?” I ask her, a hint of panic in my voice. I cut her a glance and she rolls her eyes at me.

  “You’re doing this because you like Jett and he likes you, and you’re dating.”

  “We’re not—

  “You’re dating,” she says knowingly. “And your time is limited. With his game schedule—half of which is on the road—and you being a mom with a demanding career, you have to try to spend time with each other when you can.

  “I can’t believe he accepted.” The wonder in my voice is evident. I mean… Jett is a hot hockey player who could have any woman or puck bunny out there. Instead, he’s chosen to spend one of his rare evenings off with the woman he’s been sleeping with, her seven-year-old daughter, and her sister. It’s about as far from sexy times as you can get.

  And yet he seemed enthused when I made the invitation last night. He’d texted me from the team plane as they were returning from Dallas. I was trying not to overthink things, and it seemed low pressure to invite him to a family dinner. If he wanted to accept, fine. If he thought it was too lame and would rather do something else, that was fine too.

  We were cool. We were still casual. No expectations.

  But God was I happy he accepted, despite all my second thoughts and nerves firing crazy right now. I can deny that these feelings have started to deepen all I want, but Jenna is at least keeping me honest.

  “Is Jett here yet?” Felicity asks as she bops into the kitchen holding a purple piece of construction paper folded in half. “I made him a welcome card.”

  “Not yet, honey,” I reply and taste the sauce again. I have no clue why. It’s from a jar and it’s going to taste the way it tastes.

  The knock on the front door tells me I just gave the wrong answer. “I’ll get it,” Felicity yells with excitement. When I told her Jett was coming over for dinner tonight, she asked why. It was a legit question because Mummy doesn’t have men over for dinner. I told her the truth… that he had become a special friend to me, and well… that seemed to delight Felicity. She’s been in her room making him a welcome card while I made dinner.

  “Can you check on the garlic bread?” I ask Jenna as I put the sauce spoon down in the holder. Without waiting for a response, I follow Felicity out of the kitchen and through the living room to the front door.

  She’s opening it before I can get there, and I’m able to take in her and Jett at the same time.

  As usual, Jett is a walking sin. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a well-fit Henley that’s pulled tight across his perfectly formed chest as he has both hands behind his back.

  Felicity has her head tipped back to look up at him, and while I can’t see her face, I can hear the smile in her tone. “Hi, Jett. Welcome to our house for dinner.”

  I can’t help but grin. Formal little girl with her British genes seeping through with civility.

  My heart skips a beat when Jett smiles back down at her and from behind his back pulls out a bouquet of flowers. It’s just the type you’d find in a grocery store in a plastic sleeve, b
ut it’s a pretty spring mix, and Felicity gasps.

  “I brought these for you,” he says as he hands them to her with flourish.

  “You did?” she asks in awe, reaching out to take the flowers.

  His gaze lifts slightly and I get a short wink before he looks back at her. “And what’s that you have?” he asks, nodding at the card.

  “It’s a card I made for you when Mummy said you were coming for dinner,” she replies proudly and hands it over to him. I have no clue what she drew but as Jett studies it, his lips quirk in amusement.

  He thanks her for the drawing and steps inside, closing the door behind him.

  “Why don’t you take those into the kitchen,” I say to Felicity nodding at the flowers. “Have Aunt Jenna find a vase to put them in.”

  Felicity doesn’t reply but pivots and races past me, yelling, “Aunt Jenna… look… I have flowers.”

  I move a few steps toward Jett, a smile playing at my lips. “That was very nice of you to bring those for her.”

  He winces slightly and admits, “They were actually for you but she looked so damn cute standing there, I made a split-second decision.”

  I laugh and put my hand to his chest, twisting my fingers in the material to give a playful tug. “Good choice. You now have her officially wrapped around your finger.”

  Jett takes the opening and leans in for a fast kiss while we are alone, and just as quickly, I return it. When I pull back, he’s grinning. “What’s it going to take to get you wrapped around my finger?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see Jenna and Felicity searching the cabinets for a vase. I turn back to him, lean in close, and whisper. “More orgasms.”

  Jett groans dramatically and gives me one more fast kiss, promising, “I can handle that.”

  We break apart, realizing our alone time is probably going to be cut short at any moment as Felicity is going to want to be the center of attention. She’s seven years old, and that’s what they do at that age.

  “Hungry?” I ask, turning to move into the kitchen.

  “Starved,” he admits as he follows. “Smells delicious.”