In It to Win It

by Kelly Jamieson

  He hoists an eyebrow.

  “Oh my God, I can’t stop doing it.”

  “Or you’re avoiding the question.”

  “Or that.” I exhale. “Pfffft. Okay, fine. Call me boring, but I like missionary. It’s…intimate. Face to face.”

  He nods.

  “But I do like, um, well, I don’t know what you call it. It’s not really doggy style…or maybe it is? Because I’m not up on all fours, I’m more flat.”

  “Let’s call it downward doggy.”

  A laugh bubbles out of me. “Oh my God!”

  He grins. “Why not?”

  “Okay.” I rub my forehead. “Wow.”

  “What do you like about that position?” He leans forward, eyes gleaming.

  “I like the…depth.”

  “Ah. Well, I am a hockey player.”

  I squint. “What does that mean?”

  “I like to go deep.”

  “Bahaha!”

  “Also, when we play rough, we hit from behind.”

  “All righty then. Is it getting hot in here?”

  “Just you. You’re definitely hot.”

  “You’re definitely dirty.”

  “I may have been called that once or twice. How about the position where the guy is doing a headstand and you’re on your knees and—”

  “What? I can’t even picture that!”

  “I’ve been working on my headstand,” he says modestly. “Just in case.”

  I slide my tongue over my bottom lip and his eyes darken. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “Just getting warmed up for later.”

  Now I’m really hot. I tug at the neckline of my sweater and JP laughs softly.

  Our server brings our food, thankfully ending the conversation there.

  Or not.

  “Actually,” JP says, picking up his burger, “I think a lot of those weird sex positions are overrated. I don’t like anything that takes away from the pleasure. If I have to focus on keeping my balance and not falling over, having my dick sucked isn’t going to be as good.”

  My face flames, but I can only laugh at his outrageous frankness. “I agree. If it’s something I have to work too hard at, it’s not fun anymore. Not that I’m a pillow queen,” I hasten to add.

  “I know that,” he drawls.

  My belly flips. “What are your favorite positions?”

  “Hmm.” He finishes chewing and swallows. “I agree with you about missionary. I’m fully in favor of doggy or any variation of it. Girl on top is excellent for the view. Also a fan of having my face sat on.”

  “Oh.” The air is sucked out of my lungs.

  “And…” He shifts. “Well, how about I just show you.”

  I stare at him, my inner muscles clenching. He’s gorgeous…broad shoulders, big hands, sexy mouth…I’m melting into a puddle on the wooden chair. “Let’s go, then.”

  He chuckles. “Finish your pizza, Sunshine.”

  As always, his nickname makes my insides go soft.

  “Do you like the beer?” he asks.

  Change of subject. Good, good. “I do. It is creamy.”

  We keep the conversation innocuous while we finish eating, although the way he looks at me all thirsty—and not for beer—makes me squeeze my inner thighs together.

  It seems a shame to rush out of the restaurant instead of lingering and enjoying the atmosphere and maybe another drink, but…oh well. We’re on the same page, and JP quickly takes care of the check and then we’re on our way back to his place.

  Even his car makes me horny; or maybe it’s him. Watching him drive the sports car is sexy. Oh man. I’m just so erotically charged right now, everything is sexy. I mean, everything about JP.

  “Better take Byron out,” I say breathlessly in his condo when my dog comes leaping to greet us.

  “I’ll do it. Be back in a few.” He kisses my forehead and grabs Byron’s leash.

  After the door closes, I stand with my eyes closed, my heart pumping, my pussy aching.

  I tell myself to just enjoy it. Just enjoy it.

  I force my brain to stop overthinking things, force my feet to move, and carry my bag into his room. I packed something I think he’ll like, and I want to be wearing it when he comes back.

  I quickly change into the rose-gold satin slip edged with delicate lace. I tug down the covers on the bed and debate climbing in to wait for him there. No, I’ll be a little more subtle than that.

  I stroll out to the kitchen, and I’m drinking a glass of water from the fridge dispenser when JP and Byron arrive. Byron’s all happy and bouncing around. I set down my glass of water and fondle his head when he bounds up to me. “Hey, buddy.”

  JP stands in the opening to the kitchen eyeing me, slack-jawed. “Whoa.”

  I glance down at myself, then pirouette. “You like?”

  “Fuck yeah.” He advances closer, eyes dark and hot. “I love it.”

  He pins me against the counter with his body and fingers the tiny spaghetti strap on my shoulder. “This is sexy as fuck.”

  “Thank you.” My belly is a flurry of excitement. I set my hands on his chest, then slide them up over his shoulders. His hips press into me and I can feel his erection. I love that.

  His hands grip my waist and he easily lifts me onto the counter. His gaze wanders down my body and lingers on my thighs, the lace hem of the slip barely covering anything. Easing my legs apart, he moves between them and bends his head to kiss me.

  My entire body sighs with pleasure at the feel of his mouth on mine. I slip my fingers into his hair and open my mouth to him, inviting his tongue in. Soft noises rise in my throat and I squirm on the counter. Big hands curl around my butt cheeks and slide me forward along the smooth, cool granite until my pussy is pressed against him.

  “God damn,” he mutters, sliding his mouth over my jaw.

  I wrap my legs around him, trying to get closer…closer. “Need you inside me.” I tilt my head and moan as he licks my throat.

  “Yeah.”

  Hands beneath my ass, he steps away from the counter and turns. I grasp his shoulders and tighten my thigh muscles on him as he carries me down the hall and into his room. My bones are dissolving, my body pulsing with lust.

  I left the bedside lamp on and he deposits me onto the bed, kicks off his shoes, then comes down over me. He finds my mouth again with his and his hands roam my body as we make out in endless, deep, seeking kisses, over and over. He rolls onto his back, bringing me on top of him, hands sliding under my slip to curve over my bare cheeks, squeezing, molding my flesh, then rolls me under him again, pinning me beneath his heavy weight, and I love it.

  I love it.

  * * *

  —

  “I have to set an alarm, unfortunately,” JP says later as he fiddles with his phone, then plugs it in and sets it on the nightstand.

  “How early do you have to be at the arena?”

  “Oh, not till later. Uncle Mark did away with game-day skates this year. But I have to be in Lakewood by eleven o’clock.”

  “Lakewood?” I roll over and eye him curiously. “Wait—I guess it’s none of my business.”

  He shakes his head and slides into bed next to me. He pushes his hands into my hair and holds my head, peering down at me. “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

  “I never…Okay, I’m lying—the thought did cross my mind.” I bite my lip. Do I want us to be exclusive? I sure as hell am not looking for marriage or long-term commitment; I’ve already decided that. But the idea of him being with someone else bugs me, and I certainly don’t have any interest in seeing any other guy. At all.

  His eyes search mine. “Do you want to see other guys?”r />
  “No!”

  “Okay, good. Can we agree that as long as we’re seeing each other, we’re only seeing each other?”

  I nod slowly. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He kisses me softly. “Come with me tomorrow.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “There’s a learn-to-play program the team runs. Every Sunday, at a few different rinks in the area. Tomorrow is my turn to go to Lakewood.”

  “Oh.” I purse my lips. “Okay. I guess I could come.”

  “It’s not exciting. Some of the kids can barely skate.”

  “So no fights?”

  He laughs. “No fights.”

  “Damn. But okay, I’ll come.”

  “Bloodthirsty,” he murmurs.

  “Not really. I’m joking. I actually hate fights. I worry someone’s going to get hurt.”

  “It’s part of the game.”

  “I know. Some people get so excited, guys jumping up and banging on the glass and cheering, but not me.”

  “Better not come to my games, then.” He nestles me in against him, his mouth against my hair.

  “Why did you fight against Bertelski last year?” I ask sleepily.

  He tenses. “Why are you asking that?”

  “You’re answering my question with a question. But I’m asking because I’m curious. What makes guys fight?”

  “I don’t know about all guys. I fought him because he was an asshole.”

  “Mmm. That’s all it takes?”

  I feel him smile. “He had the puck behind his own neck and accidentally gave it away to Abs. Abs scored immediately, but when he skated away, Bertelski followed him and crushed him into the boards. There was no play going on and Abs didn’t even see him coming. Separated his shoulder and he was out for months.”

  I let that sink in. “Okay, yeah, he was an asshole.”

  “I just couldn’t let that go,” JP admits.

  I don’t like fighting, but…somehow this makes me like JP even more.

  “What about when you got benched when you played in San Diego?”

  “How do you even know about that?”

  “I don’t know. I think Théo mentioned it.” Or maybe I googled it.

  He sighs and strokes my arm. “Okay, the truth is, I was on my way to practice. I was leaving my apartment. A bunch of the guys lived in that complex. It was pouring rain and cold that morning, and I spotted this girl walking. It was the coach’s daughter. She was drenched and hungover and wearing high heels. She’d spent the night with Tank, one of my teammates.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I offered her a ride home. Of course she begged me not to tell her dad about it.”

  “So when you got there late, you had no good reason.”

  “Nope.”

  “You could’ve made something up.”

  “I couldn’t lie,” he says quietly.

  “You never told the truth?”

  “Not till now.”

  Wow. That is some code of honor he has going for himself there. As I lie wrapped in his arms, cocooned in soft sheets, I feel like I’m falling through the mattress, through the floor, down twenty-five stories of his building. I’m falling…hard.

  Chapter 19

  Taylor

  After a breakfast of omelets, yogurt, and fruit, it takes us about twenty minutes to get to Lakewood. JP tells me more about the program as he drives.

  “The team gives the kids a set of equipment for four weeks to try it out,” he says. “There are volunteers who come and help teach for the most part, but the kids think it’s cool when some of the players show up.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Dutch is supposed to be here today too.”

  “Oh, cool. This sounds like the kind of thing Everly raises money for.”

  “Yeah, sort of, except for the wrong team.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think she sees it that way.”

  JP parks in the lot outside the recreation complex and hauls an equipment bag and a stick out of his trunk. I follow him inside. I’m wearing one of his sweaters over my leggings because he told me it would be cold in here. He also loaned me a pair of gloves, which are too big, but oh well. I buy a large coffee from the canteen and JP shows me into the arena. Yep, it’s freezing in here.

  There’s a lot of action inside here, people milling around on the rubber floor mats off the ice, parents I guess, and a lot of kids. A lot.

  I make my way around the boards and take a spot near the glass to watch. The kids are all wearing the same jerseys, either the black or gold of the Golden Eagles colors. As they come onto the ice, I can see some of them are already pretty good little skaters.

  Parents start surrounding me, gathered at the glass to watch their little players. There are a few tables and chairs, and some take seats, but most are standing, holding phones and cameras. I can’t help but overhear their comments.

  “This program is so great!” a mom with blond hair says. “It’s really taken off the last few years. Our older son started hockey in it three years ago, and since then it’s exploded.”

  “It is awesome,” another young mom agrees. “The Eagles have done a lot to increase youth hockey programs in Southern California.”

  “Definitely. Oh my God, look! It’s JP Wynn!”

  I look. Yes, it’s JP, on the ice, wearing a jersey and a ball cap, holding a stick and skating smoothly as he says something to a youngster beside him.

  “He gives a lot of money to this program,” Blond Mom says. “He sponsors all the equipment for the kids.”

  My eyes pop open wide. JP never said anything about the money he gives the program. He made it sound like he just shows up once in a while.

  “I’m sure he has a lot of money,” a dad puts in.

  Mmm. That is probably true. I shift from one foot to the other and pretend I’m not listening.

  “Well, sure he does, but not only does he give money, look, he’s actually here giving his time. And the kids love him.”

  They do indeed seem to love him, trailing behind him like he’s the Pied Piper on skates.

  I watch, admiration growing in me as he helps the kids. Apparently they’re learning how to fall, as they all skate forward and then sprawl and slide across the ice. JP demonstrates. Who knew falling down was a valuable skill?

  “Is your son going to join up the next phase?” Blond Mom asks the other woman.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Mine too. They get to keep the equipment if they do that. Such a great incentive.”

  “For sure. It’d be tough to afford all that hockey gear, especially when you don’t even know if your kid will like playing.”

  I watch the kids. Maybe there are future superstars out there…thanks to JP.

  My heart expands against my ribs and I take a quick sip of my coffee.

  I see a couple of the kids have long ponytails. Hey, they’re girls! For some reason I assumed this was all boys, but nope. That’s pretty cool too.

  It’s so motivational. Inspiring. I love helping kids and this makes me want to do even more. And it makes me like JP Wynn…even more.

  * * *

  —

  After JP’s done, we head back to his place.

  “You can take me home if you want,” I tell him. “I don’t want to interfere with your game-day routine.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty superstitious.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  I laugh. “You must have some things you like to have the same all the time.”

  “I do like to have a nap. There are studies being done that show it’s not really needed, but I love my game-day naps.”

  “Ah. O
kay. Well, I don’t want to interfere with that.”

  “Pretty sure I’ll sleep better if you’re with me.”

  I slant him a look. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I’d love to have a nap with you.”

  “I’m not really into sleeping in the middle of the day. Then again…I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “I know.”

  His wicked grin makes me smile. “Okay, I’ll nap with you, but if there’s something I’m getting in the way of, just tell me.”

  Napping with him sounds…lovely. Decadent.

  “You never told me that you paid for all the equipment for those kids.”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “Slipped your mind, huh?”

  His lips twitch, eyes focused ahead as he drives. “Something like that.”

  “I think that’s awesome.”

  “It’s nice to give back. Most players do something, but I grew up with that. It was an important thing in our family. Along with lying, stealing, and cheating.”

  I snort-laugh. “Oh, come on. Your family’s not that bad.”

  “Ha.”

  Byron’s excited to see us back. We both take him out for a short walk to do his business, then back in the condo, JP heads to the kitchen. “Lunchtime,” he announces.

  I follow, not sure what this involves.

  “Salad.” He pulls out a big plastic container of greens. “Chicken. Sweet potatoes. Can you grab an avocado?”

  Earlier, I noticed the avocados in the fruit bowl. I love avocado. I grab one and reach for a cutting board and a knife.

  “You can cut it into chunks,” he says, dumping greens into a big bowl. “This is so good—kale, spinach, romaine.” He adds chicken and chunks of sweet potato, sprinkles on some pumpkin seeds, and then pulls another container out of the fridge. “Dressing. Vinaigrette.”

  “Did you make that yourself?”

  “Sure. It’s easy.”

  I scoop the avocado flesh out of the skin, then cut it up. JP adds that too, dresses the salad, and serves it up on two big plates.

  “This is so good.”

  He nods. “One of the recipes I got from Bernard in Montréal.”