Another nod.
I take two steps backward, hoping she’ll take the cue and walk inside, but she doesn’t. She just stands there, looking off past my shoulder but not really staring at anything in particular.
It’s like she’s lost in memories of the past, and I wish we could both go back there. I’d do so many things so differently.
“I wasn’t there that night.”
Her words stop me, and my heart seizes when her eyes collide with mine. She looks so…sad. She looks sorry.
“I wasn’t there. I had tickets, but I also had an interview I couldn’t miss. There was no way I could have made it back in time.”
Shoving my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach for her again and try to soothe away the sadness radiating off her, I nod. “I know.”
“But that’s why you climbed the bleachers. You thought you saw me. Right?”
“I saw you at the previous game—I’d know those curls anywhere—and I scoured the stands for you at the bowl game. I thought there was no way you’d miss it. There was a girl with wild curls, and the light hit them just right. I was so certain it was you. So, I jumped. I took the chance. I called your name, but you didn’t turn around. The realization that you weren’t there knocked me on my ass.”
“Literally.” Her lips twitch. “Sorry. Too soon probably.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I kind of miss you giving me shit.”
“Someone’s gotta do it.”
“Well,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “Good night, Frank.”
We don’t move.
“You’re not leaving,” she says quietly.
“Because I don’t want to. Also, because I’m waiting for you to walk inside. I’m not leaving you standing in the middle of the sidewalk.”
“Oh,” she squeaks. “Right. Well, bye.”
She darts off up the stairs and toward her apartment building.
Just as she pulls open the door, she looks back at me.
I tilt my head in a silent question. She chews on her bottom lip, like she’s trying to bite back whatever it is she wants to say.
She shakes her head, and I know I’m not getting anything else out of her tonight.
“Good night, Jonas.”
She disappears inside, and for what feels like the millionth time, I want to kick myself for ever believing her father’s threats and letting her go.
I might be back in town because of my bum knee, but it’s not the only thing I need to fix.
Slice Six
Frankie
I’ve concluded something is wrong with me.
I’ve ordered from Slice four times since Jonas left me at me apartment, just trying to catch a glimpse of him, but he hasn’t delivered to me once.
I don’t know why I want to see him. I’m still angry.
But I also miss him. I miss how easy everything is between us. Well, how easy it used to be.
Now I’m turned on by our sparring.
Ugh. Maybe I just need to masturbate to him and get it over with. Over the last week, I’ve found myself sliding my hand into my panties too many times, always pulling away before I finish.
I don’t know if I’m punishing myself for wanting him, or if I’m just insane.
Since I’m currently on hold waiting to place yet another order, I’m going with insane.
“Thank you for calling Slice. This is Drew, how can I help you?”
“Hi, Drew, it’s me again.”
I hear a soft laugh. “Hey, Frankie. Want your usual?”
My face heats because I know she knows there’s a reason for me ordering so much.
“Yes, please. Can, uh, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.” There’s a loud ruckus in the background on her end of the line, and Drew sighs heavily. “Mother of—Winston Daniels! I swear to all things holy, I am going to put my entire foot up your giant ass!”
“Quit looking at my ass, Woods!”
“That’s it—I’m killing you now. Frankie, I’ll put your order in. Give us fifteen and we’ll have it there.”
The line goes dead, just like Winston is about to be.
Laughing, I toss my cell aside and retrieve my charcoal pencil—my medium of the week—rolling it through my fingers and staring down at the piece I’m currently working on.
There’s something familiar about the face I’m drawing, but I can’t place it.
I let my fingers continue to work anyway, trying to quiet the voices in my head.
Last night, I had my weekly dinner with my parents. To say it was a disaster would be an understatement.
My mom asked if I had been up to anything fun lately, so I told her about going out with Julian and Jonas. The moment I said his name, the wine glass that was perched in her hand went crashing to the floor.
My father didn’t speak to me the rest of the night.
It was strange, and it didn’t strengthen my argument for my father being innocent.
I’m so lost in my own mind, I nearly throw my sketchpad across the room when the doorbell chimes.
“Son of a holy shit, Batman!”
There’s a chuckle on the other side of the door as I push myself up off the couch, tossing my pencil and pad onto the cushion beside me.
“Hey, Brad,” I say, pulling open the door and reaching into my clutch. “How you doing tonight?”
“Two things. One, ‘son of a holy shit, Batman’? I’ve never heard that one before. Two, I am most definitely not Brad.”
My lips pop open. “Jonas?”
“In the flesh.”
“I-I-I…” I clear my throat and push my shoulders back. “I wasn’t expecting you. It’s usually Brad.”
“Usually, huh? Have you been ordering from Slice a lot?”
Red rushes into my cheeks. “No more than normal,” I lie.
“Whatever you say.” He grins wolfishly, and I love the way his smile sits against his beard. “I’ve got a pie for ya. Drew also threw in an order of cheese sticks as an apology for Winston’s behavior.”
“She’s the best.”
“She’s something, that’s for sure.”
Cue awkward silence.
Now that I have him in front of me, I have no idea what I want to say.
Not that I wanted to say anything to begin with.
I think, maybe, I just missed him.
“So…”
“So…” he echoes.
“Can I have my pizza?”
“Right.” Jonas pulls open the insulated bag and slides out my pie with ease. “I suppose that is technically why I’m here.”
“Technically?”
“I saw your name come up on the board and I paid Brad to take it.”
“You paid him? Isn’t that sort of counterproductive on your part since you work for tips?”
“Well, yeah, but I’m me.” His grin turns cocky. “I’ll make up for it.”
I should have known that’d be the case. I’m certain the local pizzeria, which is already mega popular, has seen a big boom in business with the Jonas Schwartz back in town. Everyone loves their local celebrity too much not to roll the dice to see if he’ll deliver.
Jonas seems a little embarrassed to be back here and not in the NFL, but his hometown is eating it up in the best of ways.
“Why did you want to take it?”
He raises his brows. “Is that a serious question?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew the answer.”
“Because I wanted to see you, Frank.”
My heart swells at his confession.
“Today was my first day back this week and I was secretly watching the board all night to see if your address would pop up.”
“First day back?”
He nods. “I had some meetings with my agent and doctor upstate.”
“Any news on your recovery?”
It would be subtle to most, but being somebody who watched Jonas every day for an entire school year, I see a spark in his eye.
<
br /> “There’s improvement, but I’m not quite ready for the field just yet.”
“Improvement is good though.”
“It definitely is.”
He shifts around, like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation.
Or just tired of standing there holding my pizza.
“Here. Let me take that.”
He pulls the box back. “Not so fast. This is my bargaining chip.”
“Come again?”
Lifting the pie, he says, “I’m holding this hostage until you let me in.”
Let him in? Like, inside my apartment?
I was wrong. I’m not insane.
He is.
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Ah, that’s where things get fun. I’m off the clock.”
My brows pinch together, not understanding. “You’re delivering this on your own time?”
“I am.”
For the first time since I opened the door, I’m noticing he’s not wearing his normal Slice, Slice Baby shirt.
“Why?”
“I wanted to see you.”
He says it like it’s the most logical answer in the entire world.
There’s a heavy pause. He steps toward me, the scent that’s all Jonas filling my senses. I clutch the doorframe until my knuckles turn white in an effort to keep myself from reaching for him.
“Invite me inside, Frank.”
“I want to.”
“Then do it.”
“I’m scared.”
His lips tilt up. “I’ll only kiss you if ask me to.”
Now I’m white-knuckling the doorway because if I don’t hold on to something, I’m certain I’ll be a puddle on the floor.
“Frank?”
I don’t say anything. I can’t.
Instead, I take a step to the side.
He grins and pushes past me.
I try not to let my heart burst out of my chest.
The door clicks shut behind me, the sound deafening in my otherwise quiet apartment.
Jonas stands just inside the door, unmoving.
I grab the pizza from his hands and lead us into the living room, setting the pie down on the coffee table.
“Want some pizza? I’ll grab plates.”
Before he can say anything, I rush off to the kitchen.
I wrench open the freezer door and practically shove my head inside, needing a moment to cool off—literally.
Jonas is inside my apartment.
I invited him in.
I want him here.
What is going on with me? I’m supposed to be mad at him, not inviting him into my home.
Am I that desperate for attention? Or does he just make me that weak?
“Are you trying to move into that thing or something? I can bring you a pillow if you’d like.”
I jump at Jonas’ sudden appearance, whacking my head on the freezer shelf.
“Crap!” I clutch my throbbing head. “Mother of Merlin, that hurt!”
“Shit,” he mutters, rushing forward. His big palm wraps around my waist and tugs me close to him. “Let me see it.”
“Is it bleeding? Am I going to bleed out? How much blood is there?”
He chuckles, moving my hand out of the way. “I can’t tell if you’re worried about blood or not.”
“Shut up!” I swat at him. “I hate blood. I can’t look. I can’t look or I’ll puke. It’s the worst. It’s—oh god, I can smell it. It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“You’re nuts. The only thing that’s bad is your sense of smell because you definitely aren’t bleeding.”
“Then how come I can taste it!”
“We’ve just established that you’re insane.”
I try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let me get far.
“Okay, okay. Fine,” he says, pulling me back in until my body molds against his. I try not to sigh at the contact. “You’re not insane. You’re just…” He shakes his head. “Yeah, no, I lied. You’re insane.”
“Jonas!”
“Just accept it. The sooner you do, the better off you’ll be.”
“I’m going to knee you in the balls.” There’s no bite behind my scolding. Being in his arms has rendered me stupid.
He laughs because he knows exactly what he’s doing just by touching me. “You’d never hurt my balls.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. You think just because we’ve slung back a few shots together and I’ve invited you into my apartment, you’re forgiven, but you are incorrect. I’m still plenty angry with you, Jonas.”
He tightens his hold, lips dropping to my ear, dangerously close to tracing the shell.
My shirt has ridden up, and his warm fingers graze over my skin, leaving a path of fire in their wake.
I shiver at the touch, and he chuckles, his chest vibrating against me.
“You know, I’m beginning to think it’s not anger you harbor toward me, Frank.” Another squeeze. “I think you’re just sexually frustrated.”
He’s wrong. I am still angry.
But…if I’m being honest, he’s right too.
I am sexually frustrated.
No matter how many times I tried in college, nobody could make me feel the way Jonas does.
I’ll either end up a spinster chasing a high I’ve only experienced once before, or I’ll give in to him, which doesn’t bode well for me either way you look at it.
Though one way does sound a hell of a lot more fun…
Like he can read my thoughts, he presses his hips against me, and it’s clear I’m not the only one who is sexually frustrated.
I groan at the contact, my head falling back and lolling to the side.
His nose is cold against my skin, but I love the feel as he drags it along the column of my neck.
“Oranges.”
“Oranges?”
“You still smell like oranges.” His tongue sneaks out, tasting me. “But you don’t taste like oranges.”
A moan escapes my lips, and I hate the way my body betrays me, giving away the effect he has on me.
“How’s your head?”
“What head?”
He laughs against my skin, and the vibrations run through me and straight between my legs.
“The one you just hurt.”
“Oh. It’s fine. I’ve already forgotten all about it.”
“So you’re not concussed?” He blazes a path from my neck to my cheek, switching between open- and close-mouthed kisses.
I squeeze my legs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that’s steadily building there.
“No.”
Another kiss. A flick of his tongue.
“No emergency room visit necessary?”
He’s dangerously close to my lips.
“No.”
“You’re thinking clearly?”
No, but I never think clearly around you. “Yes.”
“Then ask me.”
Kiss me.
The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to make myself say them.
I want to. God, do I want to.
But I can’t.
Asking Jonas to kiss me is like asking him to break my heart all over again.
I won’t give him that power.
Instead, I press onto my tiptoes and crush my mouth against his.
He wasn’t expecting it, but it doesn’t take long before his hands weave through my hair and he’s holding me to him, taking control of the kiss.
Suddenly, everything feels right again.
The way he cradles my head, how his new beard feels scraping my chin. The way his chest brushes against mine. His tongue sweeping into my mouth.
It’s all so right.
Everything I’ve been missing and more.
He pulls back, sighing as he rests his forehead on mine. “I’ve missed this. So much.”
I nod, because I can’t form words right now.
“I’ve missed you, Frank.”
&nbs
p; Nod.
“I’m sorry I left the way I did.”
Another nod.
“Please stop being mad at me.”
I don’t answer.
I kiss him again.
Jonas lets me.
One hand remains in my hair as the other trails down my back, down and down and down until he’s cupping my ass.
Without much effort, he lifts me off the ground, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
For a moment, I worry about his knee and all the extra weight, but I push the thought aside. Jonas knows his body and his limits.
I trust him.
The reality of the thought hits me.
Even after everything, I still trust him.
Just not with my heart. Not yet, at least.
He walks us backward until I’m resting on top of the counter and he’s between my legs. His fingers snake under my shirt until his hand is precariously close to my breast.
I know he feels my heart rate pick up, anticipating his touch, because I feel him smile against me.
He kisses his way over my chin, down my neck, and across my collarbone until he’s trailed a path to my chest.
My nipples pebble, and I want nothing more than for him to close his mouth around me and help ease some of this pressure between my legs.
“Can I?”
“Can you? Good gravy, Jonas, take my damn shirt off already!”
Laughing, he pulls the material from my body, leaving me sitting atop the counter in nothing but my bra and tiny sleep shorts.
He stares down at my chest, and there’s an unmistakable hunger in his eyes.
“Do you need instructions?”
Jonas smirks at my smartass comment. “Well, this is quite the turn from the first time we did this.”
“The first time we did this, I didn’t know what I wanted, and everything felt amazing.”
“Maybe I was just that good.”
You were. “Just touch me, Jonas.”
With shaking fingers, he pulls the cups of my bra down, the pads of his thumbs grazing over my sensitive nipples.
I’m not sure if it’s his touch that makes me tremble, or if it’s the fact that he’s as nervous as I am.
“Perfect,” he mutters. “So fucking perfect.”
Lowering his head, he flicks his tongue out, teasing me. I growl in disapproval and he laughs, closing his mouth around me, letting the vibrations quiver through me.
“Oh holy… Wow.”
He pulls away. “See? Told you I know what I’m doing.”
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 54
