Chapter 16

Kate

I'm wearing my favorite jersey for tonight's game ;-)

Me

Oh yeah, whose day are you making?

That's for me to know and him to find out.

Okay. You can't say things like that and then not spill. Tea, please.

Hmm…JJ

Huh? JJ?... As in the goalie, Jensen Jones?

Maybe.

Oh, so you do have the hots for him!

Girl, I have eyes, who doesn't?

He is pretty, no doubt. I need to know more.

And I have to go. See you tonight xoxo

See you later but just know—this conversation isn't over xoxo

She's such a tease but I can't say I'm surprised. The eyes she gave him that night at the cocktail bar when Jensen and Jon approached our table gave it away. He's definitely her type, but from what I hear, he's also a player, almost as prolific as Jon. But he'll be no match for Kate. She'll chew him up and spit him out. I gotta hand it to her, she knows what she wants and how to get it, and something tells me Jensen is next on the menu.

It's a little after ten on Saturday morning, and I've barely moved from my sofa despite the caffeine overload from my fourth coffee. I feel overwhelmed by thoughts of Jon and the time I spent at his on Monday night. The way he showed a sensitive side, especially toward Jack, was totally unexpected, and I wasn't prepared for it.

So, what did I do? I ran back to my apartment before he could show me any more of himself. For the last five days, my brain and heart have been at war with each other. My brain repeating Kate's warning to not catch feelings, and my heart telling me to trust him and do just that. And argh, it's exhausting.

I'm contemplating paying a visit to the supermarket as I have nothing in for breakfast when there's a knock on my door. It's probably another parcel for my neighbor, Audrey. Since she discovered Amazon, her online orders have been relentless. I wouldn't mind taking the odd one in, but she spends half her time at her boyfriend's, so I've inadvertently become her personal postal service. But it's not like I have anything better to do.

Making sure I'm at least half decent, I swing my door open, ready to sign for another parcel. But it's not a delivery for Audrey.

Instead, it's Jon Morgan, propped against my door frame, hands tucked in the pockets of his gray sweats. White Nike trainers complete with a Scorpions hoodie. The gods are clearly conspiring against me because there's catnip, and then there are black backward caps.

Jon's eyes rake over me from head to toe, a small smile pulling at his lips when he clocks my fluffy bunny slippers."Nice outfit," he teases, pushing off the door frame.

"Thanks, I made a special effort this morning." I hold the door open, moving aside to invite him in.

Stepping through the door, Jon stops beside me, sliding a gentle hand across my hip before stepping past, and the way my body responds to his is undeniable. "It's definitely up there for me."

Closing the door behind me, I quickly turn and watch him stride down my hallway, his athletic ass hugged perfectly by his sweats.

"I smell coffee, baby." Jon chimes from the kitchen while I hurriedly check my hair in the mirror above the console table, casually trying to ignore the baby reference. I look like I just got up and then decided to pull myself backward through a few hedgerows before opening the door. Oh, and there's a smear of last night's mascara under my left eye. Excellent.I've no idea why he's here, but he looks incredible and smells good enough to eat, sending tingles throughout my body.

Stepping into the kitchen, I find him sitting at my counter, both elbows propped up typing something on his phone.

"How can I help you, Mr. Morgan?" I ask, heading to the refrigerator with no particular purpose but to busy my wandering eyes and distract my racing brain. Why is he here? "Can I get you anything?"

Jon sets his phone down and looks up, fixing me with his trademark steely gaze. "I'm here to take you for breakfast."

"Oh, I uh, I'm not dressed," is all I can manage, glancing down at my bare legs and sleep shorts.

"Yeah, I can see that." Jon swipes a hand over his mouth. "I can wait. I had an early morning skate and thought I'd stop by to see what my girl was up to."

My girl. There it is again. I can't work out if my body's trembling from caffeine overload or his presence, but either way, I don't want him to leave.

"Give me fifteen."

I fight to tear my eyes away from Felicity's ass as it sways down the hallway toward her bedroom.

I need to play this cool, but my dick clearly didn't get the memo as it twitches in my pants. I can't say I blame him; I wasn't lying when I said this outfit was up there for me. She's spectacular in tiny pink sleep shorts and a white short-sleeved T-shirt. Her chocolate hair is thrown up in a messy bun and strands delicately frame her petite heart-shaped face. She's an absolute dream, even in her crazy bunny slippers. I can't help but imagine her wearing something similar as she climbs into bed beside me each night.

"This isa little upmarket for an impromptu breakfast, don't you think?" Felicity turns to me, tucking a wave behind her ear, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice which I can't help but find endearing.

"I need a breakfast fit for a king after this morning's session and ahead of tonight's game. It's a must-win." Coach's words from Thursday replay in my mind, and for me, tonight feels like a Stanley Cup final.

"I can't imagine the Jon Morgan is nervous about any game." She lightly prods me in the ribs with her elbow, flashing me a warm smile. Damn, she's cute.

"Yeah? You'd be surprised. Anxiety's my middle name." I don't know why I say it. We weren't even talking about anxiety; she was referring to pre-game nerves. But the word tumbles from my lips so easily. For a minute I think about taking it back, but the seriousness of my tone gave me away.

Felicity stops in her tracks, twirling a few strands on the fringe of her trademark emerald scarf around her pointer finger."Want to talk about it?" she asks, a tender tone laced through her voice. I love that she doesn't assume I want to dive headfirst into my issues with her and doesn't start probing for information. She just leaves the door ajar in case I want to step through.

We're standing right by the Seattle waterfront, the chilling winter freeze slicing through the air as it blows her silky waves around her flawless fair complexion, her rosy lips shine with a gloss she applied before she left her apartment.

I tip my head down toward her, bringing my height closer to her level, our foreheads only a couple of inches apart. "Not much to tell," I say in a whispering voice. I close my eyes, inhaling her addictive coconut scent, made even more intense by the swirling wind, and it's at this moment I want to kiss her again. But I'm still unsure of her boundaries. Zach's words from Thursday night ring in my ears: "Lock that down." And I want to, so badly, but when it comes to whatever this is with Felicity, I'm navigating it without a map or GPS. Every time I think I've found my way with her, I come up against a roadblock and the last thing I can afford is for the wheels to come off completely. I see her tongue dart out wetting her bottom lip, and I know she feels it too, that she wants this, or at least to feel my mouth on hers again.

Despite every cell in my body screaming to kiss this woman in front of me and make her mine, I lift my head and glance at my watch. The reservation I made when I arrived at her apartment was set for five minutes ago, and given I emailed the owner asking to seat us in a private area so last minute, I feel like a dick for not being on time."We need to head inside," I thumb over my shoulder, still lost in her emerald eyes as she searches mine for answers to my earlier admission. The way she's looking at me, Jon Morgan, not the NHL star but the person, the man beneath the pads and bravado, simultaneously eases and spikes my anxiety all at once. Having her here with me and knowing she cares soothes my worries, but not knowing if that look is from a friend or a woman who wants more but is too scared to let it show, leaves my heart dangling over a precipice. But I'm too far gone to pull back now. Regardless of whether or not she'll catch me at the bottom, the truth is I'm falling, or maybe even fallen for her, but I'm going over the edge no matter what.

I turn to walk toward the restaurant, and as I do, she catches my hand. Her tiny warm fingers wrap around mine as they dwarf her soft touch."Wait." Her voice comes out shaky, and her breathing is fast-paced and shallow as she pulls me back around to face her. Her hand darts up toward my face as she gently pulls on my cap, bringing my head down closer to hers.

At first, I wonder what she's doing, but I'm not kept guessing for long as she rises on her tiptoes to close the final space between us, gently tracing her sweet plush lips against mine. Her breath is minty and when she lets out a tiny, sweet sigh, any self-control I was nursing a moment earlier rapidly disintegrates as I gather her in my arms, pulling her closer to my body.

I desperately want to feel her pressed against me once more, but I'm also aware of the biting chill and I don't want her to get cold. Releasing one hand from her waist, I bring my finger up and under her chin, tipping her head slightly to deepen the kiss. This kiss has so far been tender and a little unsure, both of us dancing around, enjoying each other's touch. But now I want to taste her again. Her tongue peaks out to gently caress mine in perfect harmony, and I smile against her lips, our foreheads resting against each other.

"Christ, what are you doing to me, Angel?"

I ask the question, but I don't need to hear the answer. It's becoming clearer and clearer. Friends don't kiss like this; friends don't feel all I know she's feeling right now. And as I break our connection and take her hand in mine, walking her toward the restaurant, I can't help but think she might break my fall after all.