Chapter 13

I'm so nervous.

My hands tremble as I open the oven door to check on the Beef Wellington I've spent the best part of the afternoon preparing.

When Felicity agreed to meet me tonight, I knew she'd be nervous to go out anywhere in public together, and the last thing I want to do is embarrass her or give her another reason not to see me again. I wasn't sure I'd get her back in my apartment after she practically ran out of my home gym the last time she was here, and tonight, I want to get to know her. I want to try to make her feel at ease around me. But I can't deny I'm nervous as hell. I know she doesn't see this as a date. I know enough about Felicity to work out she doesn't date someone unless she sees a possible future with him, and if I'm brutal in my assessment, I'm not sure she sees beyond the next hour in my company.

I don't let that deter me though, because there's something about this woman that keeps me on my toes. She couldn't give a fuck who I am or how fat my bank balance is. Status and cash don't impress her; she runs deeper than that. Trouble is, I don't think she thinks that of me. I have a reputation as a good time, a one-night-only guy ready to rock your world and then send you on your way, and as I stand in my kitchen, watching her look at framed photos of my mom, Dad, Adam, and friends, I know my playboy days are actively working against me right now, and that's everything I've always feared.

"How old were you in this?" Felicity asks as she holds up a photo of Adam and me at Disney World. I'm in a Mickey Mouse hat complete with ears, and Adam's in a flowery Floridian shirt, both of us beaming at the camera on Main Street with the castle set behind us.

I was in my sophomore year of high school. "About fifteen. So, twenty years ago, jeez that's a long time." I chuckle. "We went on a family vacation and stayed on International Drive. Adam loved it."

"Is Adam your brother?" Felicity asks, her eyes visibly warm.

I stand at the counter and begin chopping up potatoes. "He is; he's three years younger than me."

"Oh wow, he's super handsome. His smile is so bright." The apples of her cheeks turn a cute rosy pink. She's so sweet and genuinely kind.

"Is that so? You netted the wrong brother then." I'm joking around, but I can't hide the slight twinge in my chest at the thought of her with someone, anyone else.

"Maybe. But Adam's brother isn't too bad, I suppose. Do you have any other siblings?"

"No, it's just me and Adam. Mom and Dad decided the pair of us were enough to keep their hands full for a lifetime." I smile at her as she replaces the picture and checks out one of the Scorpions prints from last season when we lifted the Stanley Cup for a second time. I don't keep many hockey photos on display, especially with me in them, just a few in the hallway, but the look on Zach's face in that shot is pure joy."What about you?"

"Hmmm?" She seems engrossed in the photos but then shakes her head slowly, still staring at the frame. "Oh, no. It's just me." I don't miss the slightly flat tone to her response, almost like there's a story behind it, but I decide not to push.

"Can I get you a drink? Wine or a cocktail?" Did I go out and buy ingredients to make a Cosmo and then spend the afternoon studying how to make them? You best believe it.

"Oh, you mix cocktails, too? Is there any end to your talents?"

Heading toward the fridge I pull out the mixer and then fetch a martini glass from the cupboard above. Yes, I bought glasses too. I've had a busy day. I grab the vodka and triple sec and set everything on the side along with a lime for the glass."I'd reserve judgment on my skills until you've tasted it."

Felicity approaches the counter and sits on one of the high stools, which for her height and in a pencil skirt is impressive. From where I'm standing, I have a perfect shot of her cleavage, the top two buttons of her white blouse undone, and my dick twitches at the sight. Jesus, she's something else. I swear I can see the edge of her white lacy bra, sitting against her flawless creamy skin. If she's older than me, she sure as hell doesn't look it. Her body and face are youthful, but her sunny personality also radiates from her. She's totally out of my league in every way.

She scrunches her nose in confusion as I start filling the single martini glass from the shaker. "Aren't you having one?"

"No, I don't drink much during the season, just the odd beer."

"So, you don't drink cocktails?" she presses.

"No, it's not really my thing, Angel."

More confusion fills her face along with another gorgeous flush right down her sweet neckline. "So where did all this come from?" She casts her hand across the counter pointing at the glass, fresh cocktail ingredients, and shaker.

I casually lift a shoulder. "I got everything earlier while I was shopping for dinner."

"W-what?" Her brows knit together slightly. "You bought all this in, for me?" She shakes her head. "Jon, that's…that's so sweet. Thank you."

I hand her the glass, complete with a slice of lime attached to the rim, and smile. "I wanted you to have something you like."

She takes a sip and moans in pleasure. Fuuuuck, that sound does things to me.Not now, Jon, not now.

"I've never had anyone think of me or remember the little details like that."

I balk at her comment, finding that very hard to believe. How any man could be in the same room as Felicity for longer than five minutes and not want to know everything about her is beyond comprehension. She's the type of woman who once you meet, she hijacks your every waking thought."I find it hard to believe that you're not etched into the memory of everyone you meet since you've invaded every part of mine."

"Okay, that was gorgeous. You might just be the finest restaurant around," I say, placing my knife and fork back down on my plate. And it was gorgeous. It's clear this man can cook, that's for sure. I wonder how many other women have been bowled over by not only his legendary bedroom skills but also his abilities in the kitchen.

"Probably not one of my best. The beef could've done with more seasoning, but I'll take the compliment, thank you," Jon replies, leaning back in his chair across the counter from me, his corded forearms folded and flexing, providing a very welcome view.

"If that's average for you then your best must rival Gordon Ramsey because that was perfect to me," I reply, draining the last of my Cosmo.

"Tell me something I don't know about you?" Jon asks a couple of beats later.

"Oooh, I like this game. Okay, well I've always wanted to go to Norway."

Jon shuffles forward on his stool, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. "Anyone ever told you you're random?"

"A few. It was something my dad and I always wanted to do, to see the northern lights. The aurora is a bucket list item for me." I clear my throat from emotion, wanting to move on. "What about you, tell me something no one else knows."

Considering my question, Jon swipes a hand over his mouth. "I've never been to McDonalds."

"No, freakin' way," I laugh, I can't believe he's never tried the legendary Big Mac.

"It's true; in fact, I can probably count on one hand the number of fast-food deliveries I've had."

"Because you're a fighting-fit athlete?" I reply, flexing my biceps.

Jon smirks at me, his shoulders vibrating with laughter. "Something like that, Angel." He grips his half-empty water glass. "I guess my life has always revolved around hockey. It's always been pretty one-dimensional..." his eyes meet mine, "until now."

He rises to his feet and rounds the counter, swiveling my stool to face him. He steps closer, and I look up at him where he towers over me. "You're so fucking beautiful, Felicity. I wanted to see you again tonight because I can't bear the thought of you thinking for one single fucking second that I have eyes for anyone else. You're all I see."

He nudges my chin up with his index finger and slowly lowers his lips to mine. Hovering just over me, my core tightens and pulses with need. "Can I kiss you again?"

I know I shouldn't. I had a plan tonight, to remain platonic. But the need to kiss him overwhelms me, leaving me powerless. "Okay."

He closes the space and smiles against me. Jon groans at the contact, and as his tongue swipes across my lips and explores my mouth, I know this won't be the last time I kiss him.

"How's Jackdoing in college? He make it on the team?" Jon's still standing over me, his left hand drawing pattens on my thigh.

"Yeah, he's made a couple of appearances, but the forward positions are hard fought over. He called me last night and was a bit at sea. A lot of the guys have more game experience, and I think he's struggling to make his mark on the team and get involved in the social aspect. That's unusual for him—he normally makes friends easily."

Totally engrossed in what I'm saying, Jon nods his head in thought. "How long has he been playing?"

I tap my chin, thinking over the timeline. "Uh, well I guess he started playing at eight." I let out a sigh. "Trouble is, there aren't nearly as many opportunities in the UK compared with the US and Canada, so he's been playing catch up."I pause, not sure how much to reveal about my past life, but there's something about Jon that makes me trust him like I can talk freely around him. "When my ex-husband, Elliott, got offered a job out in Seattle on an eighteen-month contract, Jack jumped at the chance to move out here. I kind of knew he'd want to stay and apply for college in America, but he's not had an easy start to his freshman year." I wave a hand in front of me. "And it's not like I have any clue how to help him. I can't even lace up my skates, let alone advise him."

Jon's tone is very matter-of-fact. "Has he got what it takes? Most guys step onto the ice as soon as they can walk, so eight is late to begin playing." He continues drawing circles on my thigh, his touch is soothing.

I shrug a shoulder. "He's still made it into a strong college team. I know he's fast on the ice and that's his main threat, but his coach says his technical skills are behind the others. I worry he's putting too much pressure on himself and should be enjoying his college days, but instead, he's running himself into the ground." I feel my voice shake. "Not to mention his parents have just divorced and his dad and sister are now halfway across the world."

Wow, the evening has gone from light-hearted to me basically unloading my parental neurosis and worries over my son onto this man. Yet, I can't stop talking; it pours out of me like a river breaking its banks. "So yeah, other than that, I'd say he's doing okay."

I lift my gaze to find Jon's unreadable stare, and if I didn't know better, I swear I see a glossy glint in his eyes. Still, he doesn't say anything, doesn't try to fill the void with meaningless chatter. Instead, he slowly takes my hand in his, lifting it to his lips as he lightly brushes a kiss over my knuckles. A jolt of electricity shoots straight down my spine to my toes. This man's touch is dangerous, enticing me to take leave of my senses. Before, I could counter my feelings with the belief that he was a shallow playboy, a star on the ice, and a good time between the sheets. But with every hour spent in his presence, layers are peeling away, revealing a man who both excites and terrifies my delicate and battered heart.

Felicity Thompson is well and truly under my skin, her presence as permanent as a tattoo.

As she bares her concerns over her son, I hear the emotion in her voice, and it does something to my chest. I want to soothe her anxiety, ease her upset, and take it all away. I open my mouth to comfort her, but words are cheap. I need to show her I care. I want to know more about her, about her past and her family, but I don't want to push her too far. It's clear my girl doesn't trust easily, and the reasons behind why she doesn't send an uncomfortable bristling sensation through me. Who hurt her? And where are they now? "When did Elliott head back to the UK with Darcy?" I ask cautiously.

"Just before the hockey season started. Unlike Jack, she couldn't wait to get back home. She missed her boyfriend, Liam. But I miss her terribly. It's hard, you know. Building a new life, trying to plant roots without those you love near you."

I want to tell her that she can plant roots with me, that she doesn't need to feel lonely, but I hold back. When it comes to us, she's on a completely different trajectory. I'm way out in front, ready to jump in with two feet, and if she gave me the green light, I'd gather her up in my arms, march her toward my bedroom, and lay her down on my bed, not resurfacing for days. But she's eons behind, and I know I need to gain her trust before I can even consider her heart. But I can't help wondering why she's so guarded when it comes to men. Is this exclusive to me and my reputation as a womanizer or due to another man hurting her? My fists ball at the thought of the latter.

"Why did you and Elliott split?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

She lets out a low chuckle. "How long have you got?"

For you? A lifetime.

I don't say anything, just continue to draw patterns on her thighs as I've been doing the last half hour, like a lovesick puppy.

"We met when we were young but grew apart. I had Jack at twenty-one, and I guess getting married was the obvious choice." Her brows furrow, pain etched across her face. "I suppose he loved me in his own way."

Suppose he loved her. Yeah, that's not sitting well with me. I can't help my growing frustration; she isn't the type of woman you take for granted and something tells me this asshole, Elliott, did exactly that.

"It just didn't work out, and I guess I lost myself along the way." Her shoulders straighten along the back of the stool as she lifts her chin. "But I want to find myself again. My children are growing up and finding their own way, so now I want something for myself. I want to work on my career, make friends, and spread my wings. Even at thirty-nine, it can't be too late."

With so much packed into her words, my head spins, trying to process the meaning. I hear she wants to find independence, but how would a new man fit into her future? How would I fit into her future?

"You're thirty-nine?" It's hardly an old age; she's still young. But I had her pinned at only one or two years older than me.

She sighs. "Yep, I turn forty next July."

I take a seat on the stool next to her and rest my chin on my palm, fixing her with a playful grin. "So does this make you my sugar mommy?"

She balks. "Sugar mommy? No, Jon, it makes you cheeky."

"Cheeky, hmmm. I can work with that." I wiggle my eyebrows.

"Don't push it, Morgan. You've done so well feeding me amazing food and thoughtful drinks. Our friendship has gotten off to a strong start."

After today and the kisses we shared, I'd say we're way past friends.