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His frame fills the doorway. He’s a foot taller than me, and even under his long-sleeved workout shirt, his body is perfection. The thin fabric stretches over his broad shoulders. I’m vaguely aware of a dog barking and racing around the apartment behind him, but my gaze follows his movement as he props a hand on the doorframe. His sleeves are pushed up, and my gaze lingers on his forearm. Jamie Streicher’s forearms could get a woman pregnant.
That teen crush I had years ago bursts back into my life like a comet, thrilling through me.
His eyes are still the deepest, richest green, like all the shades of an old-growth forest.
Pippa Hartley is standing in my living room, playing with the dog, and I can’t breathe. When I opened the door, I thought I was hallucinating. Her hair is longer. Same shy smile, same sparkling blue-gray eyes that make me forget my own name. Same soft, musical voice that I’d strain to hear back in high school while she was talking and laughing with the other band kids.
her smile today nearly stopped my heart.
I’m Pippa, she said at the door, like she didn’t remember me. I don’t know why that made me so disappointed.
I watch the pretty curve of her mouth as she speaks. Her lips are soft-looking, the perfect shade of pink. They always have been.
I can’t fucking think around Pippa Hartley. It’s always been like this.
There’s no way I can tell her the truth—that she’s the girl I was obsessed with for two years in high school.
“Andrew.” He says the word like it tastes bad. I meet his piercing gaze, blinking in confusion. “Yeah. He’s young. Probably my age. He’s a personal trainer.” Jamie’s gaze turns cold before he prowls to the door. “I’m coming with you.”
“Maybe I just wanted to hang out with you.”
open my mouth to tell him I can’t, but he dips his head down to meet my eyes so we’re on the same level. His arm is holding the elevator door open. “Yes, you can,” he says in a firm, demanding tone.
I want more for her. I don’t want her to live with this fear. I want her to crush it and feel proud. Pippa’s strong—I
“Jamie.” She rolls her eyes at me, smiling. I love the way she says my name in that teasing way.
My mind wanders to a couple nights ago, after I got home from a game. When I turned on the TV, it was already on the sports channel. Was she watching my game? Pride bursts in my chest at the thought of it.
You nailed it, songbird.
Her brow rises. “Songbird?” I didn’t mean to call her that—it just slipped out. It’s perfect for her, though. “Mhm.”
He studies me before he growls and shakes his head, almost to himself. “That guy was never good enough for you. Not in high school and not now. I hope you fucking see that.”
“I remember you,” I admit. “Of course I remember you.”
“Jamie. Come on. You were on your way to the NHL. You were one of the popular kids. All the girls swooned over you. You were gorgeous, even back then—”
“You said even back then. That means you thought I was gorgeous then, and you think I’m gorgeous now.”
“I thought you were gorgeous, too,” he murmurs, looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I can’t breathe. “Even back then.”
My mind is on my pretty assistant, sitting in her tiny sleep top and shorts, smooth legs tucked beneath her as she played the guitar in the middle of the night, looking like an angel sent from heaven.
like seeing her in my team’s gear.
My mom likes Pippa and asks about her every time I call, and I like that, too.
I like that after the game, Pippa and Daisy will be at home.
I don’t like her smiling for him.
“Don’t talk to her,” I snap, and people in the vicinity glance over at my tone.
His arm comes over the top of the booth, his thigh presses against mine, and his scent surrounds me. His position around me feels possessive, like I’m his.
“This isn’t getting back on the ice. I haven’t performed on stage since high school.” “I remember.”
Footsteps make my eyes open. Jamie stalks toward me with a furious look on his face. “Wha—” I start. His eyes flash with heat. “That was fucking amazing.” His hand comes to the back of my neck and he drags my mouth to his.
Fuck. Kissing Pippa was incredible. It’s like she was made for me.
I shouldn’t have done that, but something about Pippa makes me lose control. I can’t give her more than casual, and I know that’s not enough for her. That isn’t enough for me where she’s concerned, and that terrifies me.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, but he crouches at my feet and takes my shoe from me. “Put your hands on my shoulders.” “I’m fine.” “Pippa.” I sigh and set my hands on his shoulders before he slips my shoe on and buckles the delicate strap.
I’m a grown woman who can take care of herself, but between him helping me with my shoes, putting my coat on me, and now trying to keep my hair dry, I’m melting into a puddle.
literally am his employee, and yet he’s the one treating me with care and attention.
“Don’t let them see you scared, songbird.”
“Why’d you wear these ridiculous shoes?” I shrug. “Because they’re hot.” His gaze lingers on my legs. “Yeah” is all he says.
“The ultimate revenge would be fucking you.”
I’ve been away for six days, and it’s time to face an ugly truth. I miss the songbird.
“How’s your girl doing?” My girl. The words warm my chest.
I’m so fucking gone for this girl.
The air hums with excitement. This feels like a date. No. Not a date. This feels like… something more. Something natural, easy, and necessary. Like we’re a couple or something. Daisy’s eating her dinner from the slow-feeder bowl I bought her, and Pippa watches with amusement as her tail wags. This feels like family.
Her singing on the couch makes this apartment feel like a home.
“I like you being here. I like you playing music in the apartment and I like you coming to my games.”
“You’re mine,”
“Perfect,” he whispers in my ear. “Fucking perfect.”
I’ve never been the jealous type, but around Pippa, I lose my mind thinking about her with other guys.
The background image makes my heart jump into my throat. It’s one of the photos I texted him of Daisy and me at the park, sitting on one of the giant logs. I asked someone to take it.
After five days, it’s obvious. I have feelings for the pretty songbird, and I’m tired of telling myself no. Just thinking about her makes me happy.
