“I clocked out early.” She slides a spoonful of chicken into her mouth and goes thoughtful. After a moment, she sets her spoon down and looks at me. “I need to ask you something.”
My heart pounds a little faster. Are things going to get personal? Does she know how I feel? Is she going to call me out on it? Will it ruin things between us or is there a chance she feels the same way?
I take a fueling breath. “Ask away.”
“I was wondering about something,” she says as she stands. She flops one hand out to me and I take it. She tugs and I rise to my feet. Her eyes are full of innocence and mischief as she blinks up at me.
The next thing I know, she’s on her knees, and pulling my zipper down. My cock thickens as she releases it and takes it into her warm hands.
“Fuck me.”
She chuckles and says, “I’m wondering about technique.”
Technique?” I manage through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, do you like when I use my mouth only?” She takes me to the back of her throat and as she moans in delight, it reverberates through me.
“Row…” Fuck, despite the team’s loss, I love everything about tonight. The way she cooked for me, cared for me, and now…is teasing me with her mouth.
Yeah, I pretty much love everything about this woman.
I love this woman.
“Or do you like when I follow with my hand?” she glances up at me as she takes me deep again, and grips my girth, her fingers also working my shaft.
Jesus, I am so screwed here—in more ways than one.
28
Rowyn
I hurry home from work, my mind buzzing with the usual stress of the day, but tonight there’s an undercurrent of excitement. Game five of the finals. Edmonton’s back on home ice, but the Bucks are up three games. One more win, and they take the cup. A thought that makes my stomach churn. How do these women do it? How do they sit through this, every game a potential heartbreak?
I guess I’ll find out tonight. Gina’s hosting the viewing party, and though part of me is dreading the nervous energy that comes with every second of these games, another part of me is looking forward to it—the distraction, the shared tension, the way everyone’s emotions mix into something palpable.
I pull into the driveway, the sun long gone now, leaving behind only a strip of fading purple sky. The rain’s let up, but the air’s still thick with humidity. I’m tired—work’s been draining lately—but I can’t deny the excitement building in my chest. Even if I’m dreading the game, I’m also looking forward to watching Jaxon tonight. Oddly enough it feels different watching as his girlfriend, fake or not.
I fish around in my purse for Jaxon’s house key, my fingers brushing against the familiar cool metal, and make my way up the walkway. The rain has left puddles everywhere, the kind that collect in the dips of the stone path, making each step feel heavier than the last. When I reach the door, I tug the key from my bag—only for it to slip from my hand and clatter against the wet ground.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, crouching down in the dim light of the porch to search for it. I swipe at the grass, feeling the cool, damp earth beneath my fingertips, but the key’s nowhere in sight. I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight app. The beam cuts through the dark, a small pool of light that dances across the wet lawn.
Minutes tick by, my patience fraying as I scan the ground. Then—finally—I see it, glinting under a tuft of grass. I grab it and shake it off, the mud caked on the edges, and let out a sigh. “Ugh. Of course this would happen.”
That’s all I needed was to get myself locked out. Well, of course I could always go home to my house, but the thought of that feels…lonely.
I unlock the door and step inside. The second I do, though, something shifts. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. It’s an odd sensation, like I’m not alone. But the place is familiar—Jaxon’s stuff scattered around, the faint smell of his cologne still lingering in the air. The house is quiet, as it always is when he’s away, and still, I hesitate.
I flick on the light switch by the door, but the unsettling feeling doesn’t fade.
Jaxon has a security system, even though he hardly uses it. But tonight...there’s a lingering unease in the air, something almost too quiet.
I stand still for a long moment, listening, but the only sound is the soft hum of the fridge and the faint drip-drip of water from the rain outside. Maybe it’s just me, I think. My head’s been spinning with work and the tension of tonight’s game.
I step further inside, my shoes soft against the wood floor, and begin to flick on the lights as I move from room to room. The living room. The kitchen. The hallway leading to the stairs. Everything’s still, undisturbed.
Upstairs. I glance down the hall, only to find nothing out of the ordinary. I check the bathroom. Empty. Even the linen closet is untouched. I step into Jaxon’s bedroom, and open the closet, half-expecting to find someone hiding there—or maybe a ghost. But it’s just more empty space, bathed in the soft glow from the hallway light.
Still, the uneasy feeling lingers, like a shadow I can’t shake.