Playing Defense (A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance)

by Aven Ellis

Whoa. What’s happening here? What is JP doing to me? I’ve never had this thought before. I should be thrilled that we are not going to do anything more than spend time together, right?

  But as I stare into the eyes of this beautiful Swiss hockey player, one who bought me all the Oreos he could find because it would make me happy, well, I realize he’s the one making my thoughts shift.

  JP is making me question my stance.

  I watch JP as he takes in my response, about wanting a real man, just like the one standing before me.

  And he doesn’t flinch.

  “I’ve been told real is boring,” he challenges.

  “You’ve been incorrectly informed.”

  JP slowly moves around to my side of the kitchen countertop, and to my surprise, he extends his hand to me.

  “I want to show you the view,” he says.

  I can’t breathe. I put my hand in his, and his warm skin wraps around mine causing excitement to flood through me. I glance down at our fingers, perfectly locked together, and my knees nearly buckle as a result.

  This is right.

  JP leads me to the back door, opening it up to the terrace that winds around the full side of his condo on the corner. The hot Texas air blasts us as soon as we step out. JP leads me over to the railing, twenty-seven stories in the air, with the city of Dallas spread out before us.

  I take in the skyline, and JP releases my hand and stands next to me. As soon as he lets it go, I miss his warmth and the masculine roughness of his skin.

  I miss him.

  “I’ve had a lot of great views in my life,” JP says, gazing out at the lights ahead of us. “Mountains. Oceans. But nothing comes close to this.”

  I glance over at him.

  He’s staring straight at me.

  Oh!

  JP moves behind me, and to my surprise, he wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me to him. I feel nothing but heat from his body. His powerful, tanned muscular arms are now locked protectively around me, holding me close.

  I can’t breathe. An excitement I’ve never known courses through every inch of me.

  All from his touch.

  “Is this okay?” JP asks.

  I turn in his arms and gaze up at him. JP is staring back at me with nothing but concern in his eyes, that I might not want this.

  When I have never wanted anything more.

  “Yes,” I manage to say.

  “This is all I want tonight: to enjoy this view of Dallas and talk to you.”

  “That’s perfect,” I say.

  JP continues to stare down at me, and for a moment, I wonder if he will kiss me.

  Oh, I want him to kiss me.

  But I know he won’t. Not after what he just said. I turn back around and look out at Dallas in amazement, wondering how on earth I ended up here. In the arms of a hockey player from Switzerland, of all places.

  JP came halfway around the world and ended up here.

  With me.

  And at this moment, I can’t imagine him being anywhere else but here.

  Chapter 10

  September 14th

  Today’s schedule: Teach barre class, 6:30 AM

  Shoot stretch routine for Connectivity, include product placement for yoga wear line, upload to YouTube/Instagram/Website, schedule Tweets. Ignore sugar police commenters who flame me for daring to eat cookies.

  Spanish Inquisition re: JP/Lunch with Jordan, noon.

  “You’re dating JP Rochat and you didn’t tell me?” Jordan cries accusingly the second she opens the door. A scowl is etched across my sister’s face, and her hands are plastered dramatically on her tiny hips.

  “Hi, good to see you too,” I say dryly. “Clarification: we are not dating.”

  I move past her and into her small Turtle Creek apartment, and I feel Jordan’s eyes burning into my back. My cheeks grow hot, both from Jordan’s accusation and memories of last night with JP.

  I stayed at his place for hours talking about our lives, our interests, and our aspirations. JP held true to his word and never tried to kiss me, but the truth is, I didn’t care. All I wanted was to learn more about him.

  What I learned made me like him even more. Like how he’s fluent in four languages: German, Italian, English, and French. JP also clarified that at home he speaks Swiss German, which is different from German, and in school, he learned high German. It was fascinating to me, as I only learned Spanish in high school, and sadly, I can only recall a few words.

  JP also told me he’s played hockey since he was four, but has an interest in numbers and businesses and wants to do more with that when he hangs up his skates. He said he had a great family life growing up and is still close to his parents and his sister, Nina.

  Other fun facts I learned: JP is passionate about fashion and style, and he likes making cocktails and watching black and white movies.

  What intrigues me most about JP is his uniqueness. I never, ever would have guessed this kind of man existed in real life. He is brilliant, charming, and oh-so-sophisticated. He has impeccable manners and a terrific sense of style, and he’s sweet beyond measure.

  Sweet is the new sexy.

  JP was equally interested in getting to know me. He asked me about my major at SMU—art history—and what I plan to do with it someday. I confided in him I wasn’t quite sure yet, as my fitness career has taken on a life of its own, but I could see myself working for a museum or an art foundation in the future.

  I told JP my family life was different from his, as my parents divorced when I was a preteen, but I didn’t go into details, and somehow, I think JP knew not to push. I told him my dad remarried a few years later when I was in high school, but I gained a great stepmom and two younger brothers and feel lucky that my blended family is a happy one.

  We lost all track of time, and soon we were starving. So, in the wee hours of the morning, we ate more Oreos. JP even took a picture of us indulging in golden birthday cake Oreos and tagged it #cheating #backontheplantomorrow and tagged me in it. In the picture, we’re both posing with grins on our faces, holding Oreos between our teeth.

  The Oreo picture of me and JP is now my favorite picture of all time.

  I should be exhausted from lack of sleep because I spent the night reliving his last hug to me when he dropped me back at my car, remembering the way it felt to be in his arms to the scent on his skin—

  “You are in so much trouble,” Jordan says, snapping me from my thoughts. “I had to find out from JP’s Instagram that you are dating him? I’m your older sister. I should be the first to know! I have a million and a half questions about this, starting with when?”

  I head into her gleaming all-white kitchen and put the food I brought onto the marble countertop. I glance around, seeing only a bowl of lemons on display. That’s it. Everything else has a place and is neatly stored away. Dishwashing liquid is even contained in a fancy glass dispenser so it’s not unsightly.

  I smirk. How Jordan and I are related is a complete mystery. She is a neat-freak minimalist.

  I am . . . not.

  “I made rainbow chard wraps,” I say, removing glass containers from my canvas bag. “With salmon and butternut squash.”

  “I don’t care about chard,” Jordan says, waving her hands around. “JP. Talk about JP!”

  Does Jordan not have the AC cranked up? Suddenly, it feels like it’s five thousand degrees in here. I tug my shirt away from my chest a few times to try and cool down.

  “We’re hanging out.”

  “Obviously. But how?” Jordan asks, staring at me. “I didn’t know you were interested in him. I mean, I know him from working for the Demons. I could have set you up ages ago.”

  “I wasn’t interested,” I lie.

  Which is a
lie. I met JP on a night Jordan was trying to set me up with Matt, of all people, and I remember the moment I was introduced to JP.

  I actually remember every single word of that conversation.

  When Holly suggested pursuing JP, I shut the idea down. I had been on so many disappointing dates, a string of letdowns, and Matt was the final straw. To be fair, I didn’t know Matt was into Holly when the setup was suggested. I had only met Holly that night, as a matter of fact.

  But even if there were no Holly, I knew Matt and I would only make it a few dates. We weren’t a match.

  Not like you are with JP, my heart whispers.

  Fear shoots straight through me. I distract myself with reaching for plates, my head reeling from what my heart is saying.

  Hanging out. Hanging out. Hanging out.

  Yes. We’re a good match for that.

  “Why are you being so quiet?”

  I blink, and see Jordan studying me with her pale-green eyes. For a moment, I’m distracted by how different we are. Jordan is tiny, barely hitting five feet, and I’m tall. I’m muscular with definition, and Jordan has a slender, lithe body frame. My green eyes are bright, and hers are pale.

  But oh, we’re the same when we want information about something.

  Jordan is about to take my food away, tie me to the table, and interrogate me until she gets all the dirt on JP.

  “Am I?”

  “You’re being weird about him,” Jordan declares, opening up her refrigerator.

  I glance inside. Jordan has everything stored in glass containers and methodically organized. I’m the girl with two mustards because I couldn’t find the last one and thought I was out so I bought another.

  She retrieves a big glass pitcher filled with water and cucumbers and lemons and sets it on the countertop.

  “I haven’t said anything about him, how can I be weird?” I ask, plating up some lunch for Jordan.

  “That’s exactly it. Usually, it’s, ‘Oh, Jordan, I went out with Evan last night; he was so boring. One and done for sure. Steve knows nothing about pop culture, and I can’t be with someone like that. Charlie was into himself, yuck.’ Why aren’t you rattling off JP’s fatal flaws? You went bowling with him, then that Oreo pic was posted around one o’clock in the morning on Instagram. You have had tons of time to find out what’s wrong with him, but you’re not saying a word.”

  I take our plates to the glass table and sit down. I consider Jordan’s words as she places a glass of the cucumber-lemon water in front of me.

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him,” I say.

  Jordan’s eyes widen. “Do you realize what you just said? Reese, you do like him.”

  “Well, of course, I like him, but let me reemphasize. We are hanging out together. Neither one of us wants anything more than that.”

  My chest tightens as I say the words aloud.

  I furrow my brow. Why is my chest doing that? Why? That’s what I want. I don’t want to be serious with JP because everything is bound to go to shit the second that happens.

  I’m tired. That’s why my chest hurts.

  It has to be.

  “JP said that? Because that doesn’t sound like the JP I know.”

  I stop breathing.

  “What do you mean?”

  Jordan sits down across from me and picks up her wrap. Then she takes a bite, and I could kill her for doing so. I need to know what she meant by that comment.

  Like five seconds ago.

  “Well,” Jordan says, pausing to blot her lips with a napkin, “remember when I did that Valentine’s Day feature last year with the players? I asked either what they were going to give their significant other for Valentine’s Day or what they wanted. The feature we ran on the Jumbotron that night?”

  I nod. Since Jordan is the in-arena hostess for the Demons, she sometimes does little features with them to run on the Jumbotron during the game.

  “JP didn’t have a valentine, but he did have an answer,” Jordan says. “He said he wanted to find love. JP admitted he had never had that before and wanted to not only fall in love but be loved in return.”

  “Love,” I repeat over the hammering of my heart.

  As his answer swirls around in my head, I wonder if I’m the girl he’s taking a gamble on. JP said he was done with that, with the notion of being in a relationship, but that answer makes me wonder if his words the other night were true or if they were merely a protective shield to keep his heart from being hurt yet again.

  To keep himself from being vulnerable to disappointment and pain.

  Which is something I understand all too well.

  “The hockey player who told an arena full of hockey fans that he wanted love doesn’t sound like the same guy who would be content to hang out,” Jordan concludes.

  “Experiences change people,” I say, honestly not knowing which one of us is right.

  “Not JP. You weren’t talking to him when he said it. He said it with a smile, but I could tell there was a yearning to his words.” Then she flashes me a smile. “I wonder if my little sister will be the one to give him the love he’s looking for.”

  “Stop,” I say, taking a bite of my wrap as a distraction.

  “How many times have Ronan and Ian texted you today?” Jordan asks.

  I groan. Ronan and Ian are our stepbrothers, but I couldn’t be any closer to them than if they were blood brothers. They both are younger and attend the University of Texas at Austin.

  “A million times. Asking if I can get them better seats than you can,” I joke.

  “They are completely ungrateful,” Jordan says, laughing. “I’ll give them the worst seats possible for those comments.”

  “Lydia, too,” I say, referring to our stepmom. She lives with our dad in the suburb of Southlake. “She put hearts in her text.”

  “Lydia has been dying for you to get a boyfriend,” Jordan says. “It’s awesome that you are taking the hit for me first; thank you, little sis.”

  “Ugh,” I say.

  Lydia loves love, and since we’re like her real daughters, she wants us to fall madly in love. She’s been trying to set me up ever since I ended the relationship with my old college boyfriend last year. She’s always introducing Jordan to people, but Jordan is as picky as I am, and her Cupid arrows have not successfully hit either of us yet, much to her chagrin.

  “Maybe this is worse,” Jordan says. “Because now that you’re with JP, she’ll focus all her efforts on me.”

  “I’m not with JP. I swear I’m going to have to send a family email tonight to all of you explaining this in bold, underlined, italicized, seventy-two-point font.”

  “Mom doesn’t know yet, does she?”

  I think about Mom, who calls herself “Mom Dani” to all our friends, and how she will be all over me the second she finds out about those Connectivity and Instagram pictures of me with JP. Mom never remarried after the divorce, or even dated, and has thrown herself into making me and Jordan the center of her universe. Mom needs to know everything we’re up to, down to the smallest detail, and she offers volumes of unsolicited advice to us as a result. Jordan says it’s because she has nothing else to occupy her time, and I tend to think she’s right.

  “Oh, crap, I didn’t even think about Mom seeing those pics,” I groan. “Obviously she hasn’t because she hasn’t blown up my phone yet.”

  “Hmm. She must be occupied this morning. I guarantee by this afternoon she’ll want to know if JP is The One.”

  The One?

  No, no, I need to stop this crazy talk right now.

  “Everyone is going to be disappointed by this news, but JP and I are friends. That is all. If it becomes something more, it will be casual. No strings attached. Neither one of us is seeking
a relationship.”

  But as I say the words to Jordan, my stomach feels sour as if being casual with JP is an idea that makes me sick inside.

  Why is this happening? Confusion fills me. Why would the idea of keeping things casual with JP make me nauseated? I haven’t even kissed him. This could all end after Friday night, for all I know.

  But I do know, my heart whispers. I’m sick because I don’t want it to end.

  I change the subject. We talk about Jordan having to do some voiceover work this afternoon—she does a lot of commercials for radio—but the queasy feeling remains despite the topic change.

  Which is more than unsettling.

  When I finally leave, I retrieve my phone and see I have text messages and one missed phone call. I pause outside on the sidewalk, in the middle of the blazing heat, pulling my large Tory Burch sunglasses down from my head to cover my eyes so I can see. Then I resume walking and begin reading my messages.

  Missed phone call from Mom. Oh, terrific.

  The missed phone call is followed by a text from Mom:

  JP ROCHAT???? CALL ME!!!

  I sigh. I really need to get that group email out as soon as I’m back at my apartment.

  I stop dead in my tracks when I see the next text.

  It’s from JP.

  My heart ricochets into my ribs the second I see his name. I happily tap to open the text and eagerly begin to read:

  I’m so sorry, but I need to reschedule Friday night.

  The happy dance my heart is doing screeches to a halt.

  JP is canceling on me.

  Chapter 11

  I swallow down the unexpected lump that has risen in my throat as I read his text over and over. JP has changed his mind about our date on Friday night.

  He’s no longer interested.