Fall with Me (Playing for Keeps, #4)

by Becka Mack

For those who think they’re better off alone, that they’re not worthy of the love they crave, because they’ve dealt with the pain of people leaving. The power to let them win or rise above it with your head held high is yours and yours alone. The only person who needs to think you’re worth it is you.

I wonder what Mittens is doing right now. He was sleeping in the window when I left, but I bet he’s looking for me now. He always misses me when I’m gone.

He’s probably waiting on his back by the front door. He likes to do that, pudgy belly out, paws up. He pretends he’s dead when I’ve left him alone too long. Dramatic as fuck, just the way I like him.

She doesn’t look thoroughly fucked enough for my liking. If she were my bride, she’d be in bed all week on account of her legs no longer working.

“You’re a jerk.” She stomps to her sliding door, flings it open, and shoots me one last menacing glare. “And don’t call me honey.” “Whatever you say, honey.”

Even if he was the last man on earth, there’s no way I’d spend my last night in Cabo with Jaxon.

The bartender joins us, grinning from ear to ear. His name tag says Luis, and I liked him well enough, until now. “Honeymoon?” “No,” I snap, as Jaxon says, “Yeah.” I glare at him, and he grins back. “I live to annoy her. Get her all riled up, then fuck the angry outta her later.”

“Allow me to make you something special to celebrate your wedding.” “Oh, that’s not necessa⁠—” “That’s great, Luis. Thank you. Don’t mind my bride. She loves to argue.” Jaxon winks at me. “It’s her love language.” Luis returns with two glass goblets filled with blue slush. The empty bottle of tequila on the counter is alarming, but before I can question it, Jaxon is closing my fingers around the stem, clinking his glass to mine. “To my beautiful wife.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I bite out, shoving my finger in Jaxon’s chest. “Please.” He pushes my hand away. “As if I wanna subject myself to your loud mouth all night long. I’ve just had the week from hell⁠—” “You’ve been here three days.” “—and the last thing I’m doing is getting into bed with another stage-five clinger.” I gasp. “How dare you. I’m not a stage-five clinger. I’m not even a stage-one clinger! I don’t cling, period. And if I did cling, you’d be the last person I’d cling to.”

“Bite me.” “You’d like that.” “I’d hate it.” His gaze dips to my mouth. “Trust me, you wouldn’t.”

“Ditch the fucking ring,” he whispers against my lips, and the second that platinum band princess cut diamond is skipping over the ceramic tiles, his mouth is on mine.

“I’m gonna fuck you the way a bride deserves to be fucked on her honeymoon, and when I’m done, you’re going to thank me and ask for more.” He whips his belt free from his shorts. “Got it?” I swallow. “Got it.” “Good girl. Now take off those panties and show me how badly your pussy wants my cock, honey.”

“If you were my bride, my fingertips would be imprinted in your waist, because I’d never be able to let you go.”

“If you were my bride, your lips would be swollen because I’d never stop kissing you.”

“If you were my bride,” I rasp, pulling her to the edge of the bed, sinking to my knees between her legs, “your pussy would be so sore you’d wonder if you’d ever walk again.”

“If you were my bride, you’d be addicted to the taste of me and you, because after I finished fucking you, I’d clean up the mess between your legs before burying my tongue in your mouth.”

“If you were my bride, I’d fuck you like you were my lifeline. I’d eat your pussy like it was my last meal, and I’d drive myself inside you over and over again, like you were the only place I’d find my salvation.”

“If you were my bride, Lennon, I’d have spent the week worshiping you. We’ve missed a few days, but that’s okay. I’m gonna worship you now, and I’ll do it until you can’t remember your own name. Do you want that, honey? You wanna be worshiped?”

Moonlight dances through the windows, glinting off the delicate metal wrapped around her left wrist. I run the pad of my thumb over the etched words that tell me Lennon has a tree nut and peanut allergy, and then I slide my palm over the back of her hand, linking my fingers with hers.

“Look at me,” I demand, but she shakes her head. “Lennon.” “You’re gonna fall in love with me.” I snort a laugh, my grip on her hips tightening. “Okay.” “It’s true. I saw it in your eyes. You’re an open book.”

I hate you, but I love your cock. Thanks for letting me ride it. Bye, Jason.

One thing about me? I’m gonna serenade my cat every chance I get so he knows how much I love him. “Silly kitty, chunky kitty, I kiss your tiny nose. Fluffy kitty, handsome kitty, I love your extra toes.”

Mittens drapes himself over my shoulders on the couch and bops the shit out of my jaw with his cute little head while we eat snacks and watch One Tree Hill reruns. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner in crime.

“I cannot simply stop calling myself Daddy. Not when the opportunity arises. Plus”—he grabs two giant blueberry muffins, shoving half of one in his mouth—“I’m wike da team daddy, wight?” It’s best not to entertain him in these types of scenarios, so I don’t. “Technically . . .” Axel Larsen, the Vipers’ general manager, pokes his head over our shoulders. “I’m the team daddy.” He winks at Carter. “Maybe I’ll be your daddy, Beckett.” Carter gasps, shoving a finger in Axel’s shoulder. “Holly Beckett is so far out of your league, she’s in outer space.”

I walked into the Vancouver Vipers’ conference room and came face-to-face with my one-night stand from Cabo, who, as it turns out, is not just ohhh God, yes, Jaxon, please, but Jaxon Riley, star defenseman for the team I’m now—oh fuck, I’m gonna be sick—working for.

“Jaxon just said he doesn’t get crushes.” Emmett barks a laugh. “Famous last words, bud.” He points at Carter, shaking his hips again, singing “My Girl” as he pulls on his clothes. “Carter said that. Six months later, he proposed.”

“Yeah, well”—I jab a finger in Carter’s direction before stomping my way toward the showers—“I’m nothing like him.” “You’d be so lucky!” he shouts after me.

least scary of the girls. “How are your balls?” Rosie asks, offering me a deep-fried pickle from her plate. “Thank you for asking. Nobody ever does.” “Because if you’d just sleep with underwear on, you’d eliminate the problem of your cat using your balls for batting practice,” Adam mutters, and when the fuck did he get such an attitude? “Free-ballin’ it is the only way to live.”

No, wait. Strike one was that I forgot to wear my silk wrap to bed last night, and now I’m going to have to spend forever detangling my curls.

She knows me. She knows that one of my fingers inside her makes her moan, two make her whimper, and three make her breathless. She knows that my hand wraps perfectly around her throat, leaves the most addicting marks on her ass. She knows the way my tongue tastes after it’s been soaked in her. She knows the shape of my cock, and the home it carved out in her tight, wet pussy.

“I watched you choke. I watched you gasp for air. Saw the fear in your eyes as your goddamn life flashed before them while you held my hands like I was your only lifeline.” His chest rises sharply, and the slightest tremor runs through him before he clenches his jaw. “And then you passed out, and I thought you were going to die in my arms. So forgive me, Lennon, if I’d rather carry your shit for five minutes so you can take it easy.” He flicks his head at the door. “Now march your ass down the hall and out to the parking garage.”

“Yes, Dad.” “You can call me Daddy, honey. My only stipulation is that I’m buried eight inches inside you while you do it.”

You can continue hating me while you do it, and I’ll make it easier for you by driving you up the fucking wall.”

“Fine.” I narrow my eyes at his triumphant grin. “And don’t call me honey.” “I’ll try my best,” he says, hand above my head on the shell of the car as he bends to look me in the eyes. “My best’s never been all that good, though, honey.”

“Uh, I have a cat. He’s got an attitude problem, and he’s gonna be extra pissed since I’m home late.”

“Oh, you’re so handsome, aren’t you? Yes, you are. You’re Lennon’s handsome boy.” “He’s Daddy’s handsome boy,” Jaxon argues, reaching for him. The cat smacks his hand away, hissing, then nuzzles his head into the crook of my elbow. “You little shit. I gave you a home!”

“Goodbye, peanut butter,” he murmurs, dropping the jar in the trash. “Goodbye, honey-roasted nuts. Goodbye, white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.” He pulls out a box of Reese’s Puff cereal, and this giant, grown-ass man before me actually fucking whimpers. “Goodbye, sweet, sweet heaven.” And when he’s done tossing his peanut and tree nut products? He opens the cupboard beneath his sink, pulls out a disinfectant, and wipes down the inside of his fridge, the countertops, and every single handle in his kitchen.

this man who everything in my entire body tells me to hate remembered what I’m allergic to even though I’ve never actually told him. That he recognized the signs of anaphylactic shock and rushed to my side. That he stayed there for four hours while I slept in the hospital. That he brought me home, gave me a bed, threw out all his nut products, and fucking sanitized his kitchen.

That in a single day he’s done more for me, cared more for me, than my fiancé ever did.

“Because I need to wash my hair.” “Why didn’t you wash it last night?” I scoff. Typical man. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes twenty minutes ago, I still would’ve guessed that he just wakes up like that, his hair in perfect disarray. “Because, Jaxon, washing my hair is a commitment, one I didn’t have energy for last night. Beyond that, I’m absolutely not sleeping on a fresh style. Honestly, get it together.”

“Did you manage to book a hotel?” “I haven’t called yet but Harry Styles has officially left the province. Surely the girlies have dispersed.

“It’s an aloe plant, not an algae plant. Algae isn’t a plant, and it lives in water.” “Like your apartment,”

“We can’t . . . we can’t sleep together,” I tell him. “Not again. Not now. Not if I’m staying here.” “Of course not. Then you’ll never leave.”

“If you wanna waive the no-sex rule for one night, I could probably rock your world so hard later you’ll be satisfied for the next six to twelve months.”

Jaxon is everywhere. And I hate it. And yet . . . I don’t.

“I explicitly said no pink! Do you remember that?” “And I explicitly said pink was my favorite color! Do you remember that?”

When Destiny’s Child wrote “Bootylicious,” they were talking about Lennon’s ass, I’m certain of it.

“I never met my parents. They died in a wreck. My mom was thirty-seven weeks pregnant, and they were able to save me. Gran stepped in and raised me.”

First of all, it’s not porn. It’s romance with explicit, dirty, downright filthy sex.

“You were sitting next to me, on a plane filled with people, looking at apartments, while listening to that?” “Multitasker is on my résumé.” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I have to scrub my eyes out.” “Why? Did they figure out how to hear sound?” Hazel eyes narrow. “You’re so fuckin’ annoying, I swear to God.” “Like I said before, Jax, annoying must be your type.”