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She stands, and when I get to my feet, I take a step closer to Zach to emphasize our height difference. I don’t use my size to my advantage often, but tonight, I’ll take any opportunity to show this guy up. “Thanks for inviting us.”
Unease simmers in my gut as I drink my beer. Whenever the whistle blew during the game tonight, I had the urge to look over my shoulder. I couldn’t stop picturing her sitting there, smiling and watching me play. 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. “She’s my assistant,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing. “Yeah.” He smirks. “That’s what I meant.” I drink half my beer. “She’s none of your fucking business.” He lets out a loud laugh, head tipping back. “Streicher, relax. I’m not going after Pippa.” My shoulder muscles ease and I take another pull of my beer.
You play better when Pippa’s at the game.”
I can’t do this for real with Pippa. I can’t mess it up and then be in the same category as Zach, the fuckface loser. After hearing her play guitar and sing for me, I know she has what it takes to have a career in music. She just doesn’t realize it yet.
Christ, Streicher. Get your shit together.
How are things at the apartment this week? I finally settle on because it’s less personal. Quiet, she responds. Daisy misses you. My pulse picks up. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at my screen. I’ll be home before she knows it, I text back. Pippa’s response comes right away. She’s looking forward to it. My mouth curves up. “Holy shit,” Owens says down the table, pointing at me. “He smiles.”
I don’t know what this feeling is in my chest. It’s a blend of wanting to give her a hug that lasts for hours and the fierce need to prove her wrong about this “problem” she thinks she has.
Okay, well… she replies. Thanks for listening. You can talk to me about that stuff anytime, I tell her, like I’m her fucking boyfriend or something. My chest clenches at that thought.
Not just because of my competitive nature, but because Pippa’s lovely, and she deserves everything good.
I need to fix this for her. I need to take care of her.
Everyone is in conversation, talking and drinking and laughing, but my head is back in Vancouver with the woman I’m supposed to keep my distance from.
I like talking to her, I like hanging out with her, and I like living with her. She makes those cupcakes for me. She’s funny, sweet, and beautiful. We’re friends, I think. I don’t want her to bake cupcakes for another guy, or sing in the shower while he listens outside the door. My head spins, and I realize I’m drunk. I haven’t been drunk in years.
I picture Pippa receiving it with a horrified, disgusted expression. All the text conversations this week, the smiles she gives me, the walks we go on—I’ve ruined it all. Whatever Pippa is to me, I just blew it up.
don’t care if I’m being rude. I need to be the first one off this plane. If I don’t get there in time, I’m fucked, and it’s not even about having to find a new assistant. If she sees I sent her a sex toy, I’ve just lost the only person I actually like in this city.
All the blood in my body rushes to my cock. I didn’t beat the toy home. It got here before me, and my pretty assistant is currently using it in her bedroom.
So I have a little crush on him. I always have. I’m not going to do anything about it.
He watches me with an expression I can’t discern as I walk over and wrap my arms around him in a hug. It isn’t until my face is pressed against his chest and my eyes fall closed that I realize maybe this isn’t how most assistants greet their bosses.
“That’s great, songbird,” he says, and the corner of his mouth curves up. My heart flutters. I’ll do anything to make him smile again. His eyes hold mine, and the flutters in my chest intensify.
Oh god. My mouth falls open. He’s the only other person who knows my address. Even the team office still has Hazel’s address on file for me, even though they know I’m living at Jamie’s. “What’s that look?” Hazel asks. I’m staring at nothing. My face is the temperature of the sun, and I’m going to die of embarrassment or horniness or shock. Jamie Streicher sent me a sex toy, and I’ve been using it nonstop while thinking about him. The image of him standing in the kitchen, staring at me with discomfort as I walked out in a post-orgasm haze, appears in my head. I press my hands against my cheeks.
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Easy for her to say. Hazel always keeps relationships temporary and uncomplicated, but I don’t know how to do that. I live with Jamie. I work for Jamie. We text and talk about our day. His dog is basically my best friend. I hang out with his mom. Nothing about this is uncomplicated. My emotions are already fully involved, and if I let it go any further, it’s going to hurt like hell.
My hot hockey player boss is jerking off while moaning my name.
I’m a fucking wreck. I can’t stop thinking about her having orgasms in her room with the toy, and I can’t stop worrying she’ll find out it’s from me. She must not know I sent it—it’s the only explanation for why she hasn’t quit or called HR. When I think about her moving out, I feel sick. When I imagine the look on her face as she finds out I bought it for her, I want to tear my hair out.
I’m fucking blowing this.
“Did I do something wrong?” “No.” I hate myself. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed out today.” Her mouth twists. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Come on, songbird,” I murmur. “You going to make me beg?”
She sings a line about finding someone better, and an ugly thought strikes me. What if she’s thinking about moving on with someone else? I imagine her swiping on a dating app, and I feel sick. I picture guys knocking on our front door to pick her up, and my jaw hurts from clenching.
I blink, shaking myself. “Did you write that?” She nods. “I know it needs work.” “Why do you do that?” I ask without thinking. “Cut yourself down like that.” Discomfort flashes across her face, and she shifts her feet beneath her legs. “Um.” Her lashes flutter. “I guess I say it first so others won’t.” She looks over at me, and I definitely want to kiss her again, even just to distract her from the assholes who made her feel like she wasn’t good enough. “I’d never do that, songbird.” She holds my gaze before she gives me a small nod. “I know.” 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. My stomach tightens. We’re not, and I know that. This is just me trying to smooth things over with her so I don’t lose someone I really need this year.
She takes a seat on the couch and picks up her guitar again. She plays another song while I clean the kitchen more thoroughly than ever. If I stop, she’ll stop playing, and I’m desperate to hear her voice. Her singing on the couch makes this apartment feel like a home.
“Is this about the toy you bought me?” She climbs the last of the stairs, folding her arms over her chest. My gut drops. Of course she figured it out. “Pippa.” I drag in a breath. “I’m so sorry.” She stares at me. I can’t read her expression. “Why?” I shake my head, feeling sick with nerves. “It crossed a line. You told me that in confidence and—” I cut myself off, frustrated. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I had too many beers and I’d been thinking about you all day.” Shit, I didn’t mean to say that. “Because we’d been texting. I’d been thinking nonstop about what you said at the
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Jamie kisses like he’s mad at me. His mouth moves with urgency, demanding and rough and desperate, like he’s pouring every ounce of frustration back into me. I love it. I sigh into him in relief, because his mouth back on mine is like drinking water after a marathon. So necessary, so needed, so fucking good.
“You’re fucking killing me,” he rasps between kisses.
His lips move roughly down my neck, and I stand there, heart racing like this is a dream. I’m floating, and we haven’t even done anything yet.
“Songbird,” he says, holding my gaze. “Do you want to stop?”
The way he’s looking at me? It feels good.
This is either the most intimidating thing I’ve experienced, or the hottest. Or both.
“Wrong.” His jaw tightens. “You’ll say it. Without a doubt.”
“It’s my turn, okay?”
“It’s okay.” He presses another kiss to my cheek, and this is the side of Jamie that’s the most dangerous. The sweet version of him.
“You’re not in charge here.”
“What else, baby?”
“You look so fucking pretty,”
“Beg me,”
“Good girl,” Jamie growls. “Such a good fucking girl for me, coming so hard.”
“Oh, fuck, Pippa.”
I want that. I want that so bad.
He frowns, lips parted, and I feel like I have him under my complete control right now. I love it.
“My fucking god, Pippa,” he mutters, catching his breath, watching me with something that looks like awe.
my pulse stumbles at the two sides of him—demanding and bossy versus sweet and caring.
