by Kate Meader
Theo didn’t back down. “I know what it means if this was high school.”
“Imagine we’re still in high school.” He didn’t feel bad saying it. Elle was family and he sure as hell had known her longer than Kershaw. She’d probably kick this dude’s my-pants-don’t-fit ass if he made a move, but you never knew when the right combination of factors would point someone down the wrong path. Usually involving tequila.
He watched Theo head down the street, whistling like an asshole. Levi hadn’t been lying about the interview—there was some of that to give their meet-ups the gloss of respectability, but it wasn’t long before all respectability flew out the window and they were clawing at each other with so much thirst.
He wanted her a little too much.
His phone buzzed with a text he didn’t need to see. Coast is clear.
But was it? He couldn’t claim her properly, shout from the rooftops that she belonged to him. Even when the story was done and the conflict she claimed to care for so much had passed, he doubted he’d get a look in.
It was with this mood that he walked into her apartment. She must have sensed it immediately because her expression turned concerned.
“You okay? Saw you ran into Theo on the street.”
“Yeah, he knows about us. Or thinks he does.” He stomped into the kitchen and helped himself to a beer. Knocked half of it back while she watched.
“I’m sure he’s just guessing, and even if he knows anything, he’ll be discreet.”
“Kershaw? Discreet?” He shook his head, pissed they were even having this conversation because ultimately he didn’t want discretion.
He wanted her and he didn’t want to hide it.
“Listen, I need to make sure my audio files are good. Give me a couple of minutes?”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
The few times he’d been here over the last couple of weeks, their time had been frenzied, get-to-the-good-stuff, and he was usually out the door quicker than Petrov’s slap shot. Now, he spent a moment getting a feel for Jordan’s space, still filled with unpacked boxes. One foot into her new life, one foot in the old.
A quick circuit took him past the mantle, lined with photos. Her parents and brothers, who he remembered from the wedding and the funeral. A cute photo of her on her graduation, her smile big and infectious, her red hair uncontainable by her cap.
He took a seat on the sofa and placed his beer bottle on a coaster. A photo frame sat face up on the coffee table: Cookie and Jordan on their wedding day.
The silver gilt frame singed when he picked it up, so he put it down immediately. A flash recce told him there was a spot missing on the mantle, which meant that she’d brought it over to the sofa to look at it.
Fuck, what was he doing here again?
She walked out of her office and he knew why: because he’d loved her from the first moment he heard her laugh in that bar and he was biding this time on the off chance she might eventually feel the same.
This shouldn’t have been news to his dumb brain. He thought of himself as fairly self-aware so the sight of her now with her fire-red waves and blue-on-blue eyes should not have taken his breath away. Neither should the memory of his friend’s wedding day be the catalyst to that heart-destroying realization.
She sat on the sofa and curled her legs up underneath her body. “Tell me why you’re in such a bad mood. Don’t say Theo pissed you off.”
“Wouldn’t be hard.”
“He was hilarious on the podcast. Every word out of his mouth was gold.”
She chuckled to herself, and while he knew his mood was not down to Theo, there was a yearning inside him that was starting to ache unpleasantly. It seemed his heart was beating out his dick in the cage match.
“Remember that day?” She nodded at the photo on the coffee table. “Josh was so nervous.”
“You weren’t?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I was so ready to begin the next stage of my life, so excited to be with this one person who got me.”
Josh had been as jumpy as a puppet, constantly asking Levi if he was doing the right thing given that he was rarely stateside. Torn between telling his friend he needed to lock this woman down because he was the luckiest sonofabitch alive and a heartsick desire to not bear witness to what would happen next, Levi had asked him the only question that mattered.
Can you imagine a life without her?
Josh—funny, gregarious, loyal Josh—had smiled, a calm infusing him, and that was all she wrote. And when Jordan walked into the army chapel on the base, Josh had muttered “holy shit” loud enough for the entire congregation to hear, which made Jordan laugh all the way down the aisle.
The couple that laughs together …
This was all wrong. “I need to go.”
She frowned, producing that little dent between her eyebrows that he wanted to kiss. “What did I say? Was it talking about Josh?”
“No. In fact, you don’t talk about him at all. I don’t want you to have to tread on eggshells around me.”
“Five years is a long time. I’ll never forget him but he’s not always on my mind.” She narrowed her gaze. “When you spend time with me, is it a constant reminder of Josh?”
That was the problem. He rarely thought of him anymore because Jordan was all he could think about. She pushed out everything else.
“If being with me just brings up bad memories or guilt,” she said, “then we should talk about that.” Always with the talking. “Do you feel like you’re betraying him?”
He couldn’t answer that directly, the truth of it too jagged, so he came at it from another angle. “He was my partner. You know how the Special Forces teams are built, with redundancies.” The twelve-man detachment consisted of pairs who could each perform the same job. Both Josh and he were engineer sergeants, logistics, demolitions, and sabotage experts.
“You were trained for the same thing,” Jordan said. “Doubled each other’s skillset, so the team could be split up for missions, if necessary.”
“Right. Which means it could just as easily have been me in his place, on the mission that got him killed. Instead, I’m here.” He let that hang, the implication crystal. He was Josh’s replacement, in the man’s life and bed.
Worlds crashed and planets burned while she considered him. He tried to gauge her mood. Guilt. Censure. Hurt.
When she spoke, he heard the note of accusation, just not about the crime he’d expected. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that. Implied that Josh’s life was larger or worthier, and no one would mourn you if you were gone. Do you really believe you didn’t deserve to come back, Levi? That you don’t deserve good things? Because you do. So much.”
Sure, life throws curve balls, people end up in places miles from where they started, and you need to work with the gifts you’re given. Accept them with some semblance of grace. That didn’t mean you had the right to wring every ounce of joy from it.
“I wish …” The words refused to come.
“What, Levi?” So gentle, so understanding.
“I wish I could have done something different that day and I don’t even know what. Just some other decision that would have resulted in a better outcome. I wish I hadn’t envied him so much. That easy laugh, that untroubled air. But the worst of it is that if he was here, I wouldn’t be. Not that I’d be gone or dead, but I wouldn’t be with you. Like this. Mostly I wish I was a better person, who doesn’t rejoice at the opportunity to be with his best friend’s girl when his best friend can’t be.”
Her eyes filled with liquid pain. “Oh, Levi.”
Comforting her was his overwhelming instinct, but it would also be a sneaky way to make himself feel better. He didn’t deserve that.
“I should go.”
“Levi, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Leave.”
Oh, he heard too much in that plea, and though the core of him knew she just meant now, tonight, t
his painful moment, a small, usually inaccessible part of him wished it meant never.
“Jord—”
She kissed him, cutting off her name, all rational thought, and any hope he had of surviving her. He pulled her over his lap, so she straddled him, and gripped the hem of her T-shirt. Up, up, and away over the back of the sofa. He wanted to take his time, enjoy the sweet taste of her skin, how she melted under his tongue, but she had other ideas.
Grinding into his erection, she moved her mouth to his jaw, his earlobe, his neck and sucked on the pulse beating here. It drove him wild.
A plump of her breast popped it out of the cup, so he took the gift on offer and sipped on one rosy nipple.
“Levi,” she moaned, and the way she said it cracked something inside him. Life and love poured out, flooding his veins with hope. He was here. He had survived.
And she was his prize.
No contract, no goal, no cup could compete.
There was an excellent chance they were going to dry hump each other to completion. Nakedness was the next objective, and he achieved it for them both in record time. No question of heading to the bedroom. They had all they needed right here.
Each other.
Once he’d secured the condom, she eased onto him while he thrust up, their desire meeting in the middle. A slow, languid fuck. But this was more. Looking into her lust-stoked eyes, he tried to hold on to this moment. Imprint his love on her because there was no question he adored her.
He pressed a hand between their bodies, seeking her clit, needing to see her go over. This is what he could give her. Those smoky blues ignited just as her pussy clenched hard and fluttered on her moan.
Her mouth sought his, a kiss deep and true. Still, she moved up and down, up and down, bringing him closer, binding him to her. Words had no place here. Nothing he could say would ever top what his body communicated. His physical prowess was the only foundation he could rely on.
That’s where he was these days. Sure in the Berets, surer on the ice, but a mess of indecision around her. Yet he knew that this was what he was built for.
She was what he was built for.
With her wrapped around his body, he let himself believe he deserved her, here, now, and forever. He let himself believe.
24
Tune in to @SportsFocus in prime time for @BigDogDawson’s interview with @HockeyGrrl. We’ll be talking women in the media, the bad boys of hockey, and the dirt on the @ChiRebels’ Levi Hunt!
* * *
JORDAN WISHED to hell and back she hadn’t worn this suit. The skirt was too tight. (Press box mini-macarons, why can’t I quit you?) The fabric was supposed to wick but not today, apparently. Sweat poured off her, rivulets of stink flowing toward Fear River.
She took off the jacket … and immediately put it back on. Those pit stains were not how she wanted to make her national TV debut.
Her phone rang and she answered because talking to someone, anyone, was better than confronting her underarm situation. In ten minutes, Coby Dawson would interview her live on SportsFocus.
“Baby, how’s it going?”
Oh, God, that voice. “I’m a mess, Levi. A sweaty, shaking, tongue-tied mess.” She continued to babble. “I’m too hot but I can’t take off my jacket because it’s bad.”
He chuckled.
“Not funny. I stink, both literally and figuratively!”
“No, you don’t. Well I can’t say for sure on the literal. But for the figurative, I know for a fact that you are amazing. You have something important to say and you have a big forum in which to say it. I’m so proud of you.”
Hearing him say that didn’t exactly calm her down but it helped. He always did. The man had become her rock.
Two days had passed since he’d confessed to his guilt over Josh and they’d not had a chance to truly debrief. She could have shared the depth of her feelings for him then, but it seemed too convenient, a way to make him feel better in that moment instead of a true acknowledgment of her love.
And yes, she was in love.
She didn’t want to be, not because Levi wasn’t wonderful. He was. But this profile demanded a more critical eye and not the love/lust-goggles she was wearing at the moment. Her fledgling career would die in a fireball of you-did-what-with-your-subject if she came clean now. Any heartfelt confessions would have to wait until she and her career were on firmer ground.
This was also one of the reasons why she’d agreed to come on SportsFocus, despite her gut warning her against it: if she could score a win with a more newsworthy story, then people might not question the fluff factor of her too-friendly profile on one Levi Hunt.
She blew out a breath, feeling clear-eyed and focused for the first time in months. “Thank you for talking me down, Levi. For being here for me.”
“Don’t forget the orgasms.”
She giggled. “And for the orgasms.”
“Jordan, two minutes,” an assistant called out. She’d already forgotten her name which demonstrated how truly nervous she was. She never forgot people’s names!
Thinking about normal stuff might help her jitters.
“You feel good about tonight’s game?” The Rebels were playing in Boston, a mere two hours away from where she was taping the interview for SportsFocus. Levi should be getting ready for the warm-up instead of talking to her.
“Yeah, but Petrov’s knee is acting up. He’s on IR.”
“Oh no! Who’s got the captain’s patch? You?”
“Not a chance. Burnett. He totally deserves it.”
“Right, that’s good.” She’d never revealed that she’d overheard Harper discussing Levi as captain material. He was under enough pressure. “It’ll be you one day.”
“I expect so.”
This was different—Levi sounded more confident in his ability to tread that path.
The assistant called out, “Jordan, we need you!”
“I’ve got to go,” she whispered. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it. I’ll be watching you after the game and imagining you naked.”
She giggled. “That’s supposed to be my coping strategy. Bye, Levi.”
“Bye, Ms. Sunshine.”
* * *
COBY HAD his thoughtful face on. “Tell us more about what you and your colleagues—our colleagues—have experienced.”
Our colleagues. Nice.
The studio was pumping out furnace-levels of heat and Jordan suspected her face looked like a shiny balloon in a red wig. But Coby had put her at ease, so other than her sweat glands working overtime, she felt good about the interview so far.
“Female sports reporters across the board are feeling the pinch, Coby—and often that’s literally from some handsy player, coach, or agent. I’m not saying that every man in professional sports is guilty but it’s enough of a problem that women in these careers are reconsidering their tracks, ambitions, and futures.”
“We’ve heard stories about pro-athletes behaving badly,” Coby said. “The NFL has a domestic violence problem. The MLB and NBA aren’t immune, either. We don’t hear as much about it in hockey, maybe because the guys are able to work off their energy more effectively on the ice.” He tilted his head, watching for her reaction to that cockamamie theory.
“Talk to the women reporting on the NHL, AHL, and even NCAA. Hockey is just as problematic.”
“You’ve experienced it?”
“I have. Sleazy comments. Inappropriate invitations. Information requests that invariably demand something in return.”
Coby looked puzzled. “But this is a quid pro quo business. Every relationship where information has value will expect that.”
“Where the currency for that information is sex? Why is that acceptable? There’s an abiding attitude of boys will be boys, mostly because the stakeholders are by and large in possession of a penis.” She winced. “Sorry, can I say penis?”
“Say it all you want, Jordan.”
So she’d walked into that
one. Remembering the conversation they’d had in the DC press box and the argument he’d made to entice her onto his show, she switched to a language all businesses could understand: money.
“The leagues need to start realizing that the demographics are changing. Women often control household budgets, and they decide where discretionary income should be spent, whether that’s after-school sports clubs for their kids, tickets to the pro games, or pricey merch. Female viewership is increasing and parents won’t stand for letting their daughters participate in a sport that doesn’t step up and show respect.”
“But it’s not just a woman problem, is it, Jordan?”
She exhaled, relieved he’d taken the baton and run with it. “No, Coby, it’s a human problem. We need to be setting examples for our children that guys shouldn’t get a pass on obnoxious behavior because they have skills with a hockey stick or a pigskin or a bat. And it applies across the board—on the field and in the front office.”
“Speaking of diverse front offices, maybe the Rebels can set the example for other teams.” He followed that with another understanding head-tilt. “You’ve been working closely with the Rebels this season. Are things different over there?”
“It might be the influence of all the estrogen at the top, but this team seems to have it right when it comes to gender dynamics. I haven’t witnessed any examples of toxic masculinity. The guys were nothing but respectful to me at all times.”
“So they had no idea you were spying on them, investigating this story on players-behaving-badly while ostensibly working up a profile on Levi Hunt?”
Ping. Her threat alarm sounded, not at full-scale but enough to put her on defense. “They knew I was a reporter. It was hardly an undercover gig.”
“Sure, but shooting the breeze to get a feel for the team dynamic as color for your piece on Hunt is a bit different than having a female reporter note everything out of the players’ mouths to check against an anti-feminist bingo card. Or some people could see it like that.”
Some people? “Like I said, the Rebels approved my being embedded with the team. Nothing was off the table. Harper Chase was very clear about that.”
