Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

JENSEN

" T here's got to be a reason."

My best man, Tim, smiles at me through his grimace. "Yeah, it's only a half hour. I'll call the driver again and see if they got caught in traffic."

I nod and fight back the knot forming in my stomach.

Everyone is here and waiting, looking at me, and now starting to whisper amongst themselves.

I know what they're thinking: she's not coming.

The difference is that I've been thinking about it for the past twenty-four hours since she stopped answering my calls. But deep down, I've known things haven't been right between us for a long time.

Fuck.

I ball my hand into a fist at my side and feel the edges of my nails dig into my palm, anything to break me from this nightmare.

I've felt her backing away from me, putting up her walls. We were supposed to be forever, goddammit.

No, Jensen, you're spiraling—she's probably held up on the freeway or something, just like Tim says. Although the church is a short five-minute drive from where she was staying, and there aren't any freeways, only country roads.

The priest looks at me again and then at his watch, clutching his Bible to his chest.

Yeah, say one for me, buddy.

He rocks forward on his toes and then back onto his heels, looking at me again. "You know we have that baptism later this afternoon. Normally, I wouldn't hold two ceremonies on the same day, but I know how much this date meant to your wi–girlfriend."

I nod and check my watch.

Nearly forty minutes late.

I glance over my shoulder, and fifty pairs of eyes shoot in my direction—no sign of her. The doors to the chapel remain closed, and an eerie silence descends on the room, almost as if the wedding guests have resigned themselves to my fate.

She's not coming. My childhood sweetheart, my everything.

I turn back to the priest and nod once at him, holding out my hand to shake his. I'm not staying here to be gawked at and then fawned over while people attempt to console me with their empty words.

He looks down at my hand and then back up to me, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles warmly. "God has another plan for you, Jensen."

I bolt up in bed as the sheets pool at my waist.

Cracking my neck from side to side, I swipe the back of my hand over my forehead and remove the sheen of sweat. It happens a lot, but each time it does, the dream breaks off at a different stage.

"Different plan my ass." I huff out a laugh to no one in particular. Every plan I've ever had has turned to shit. So I've given up planning to go with the flow and just accept whatever comes my way.

I turn the faucet on in my walk-in shower and step under the freezing water. I sleep naked since I seem to wake up in a cold sweat most mornings, and so I don't have to fuck about getting undressed. Ice-cold water works every time; it awakens my senses, especially before games. A couple minutes of this and then I'll slowly crank up the heat and ponder my day.

And today is big. Fucking seismic, in fact.

If we get the W tonight, we will clinch the cup for the second time in my career and during our captain's final game.

Pressure rolls up my spine; I need a shut-out against the Blades. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before, but it never gets any easier.

I turn the heat up on the shower, letting the rainfall cascade down my back as I lean my forearms against the tiles.

Feeling like it's my best option to ease some of the tension, I take my semi-hard cock into my left hand and move my fist up and down.

Damn, that feels good.

But just like during my morning routine and as if on cue, her face invades my mind.

And I'm not talking about my ex-fiancée, Lauren.

Kate Monroe. My fucking kryptonite.

The grip on my cock gets tighter as I pump it harder and with added frustration. She's like she always is in my fantasies: on her fucking knees with her silky blonde hair wrapped around my fist. Her piercing bright blue eyes stream, leaving mascara tracks down her rosy cheeks as she takes me further down her throat.

That's right, Princess. Take me. Take it all.

Let me fuck that sass and back talk right from that pretty mouth of yours.

I feel the pressure transfer from my spine to my balls as a powerful orgasm threatens to burst free.

I drop my forehead to the cold tile wall and squeeze my eyes shut as my hips begin to pump erratically. God, she's fucking good at sucking my dick in my imagination, and I know she'll be even better in reality. I'd fuck her through my mattress, given half a chance, even if she won't come within twenty feet of me.

Squeezing my dick harder, I come on a deep roar as streams of hot cum spray against the wall, and my jaw hangs open as I imagine her swallowing every single fucking drop.

Take it, Katherine.

A shudder wracks through my body as I come back down to earth, and frustration swells within me once more. For the past eighteen months, since that night in Riley's, all I can think about is her. And ever since she rejected me and then moved on to some random guy at the bar, she's triggered memories of that fateful day ten years ago when I was left standing at the altar.

But the kicker is that she's the one who thinks I moved on to some redheaded chick and took her home. Well, she's wrong. That redhead, Chloe, was actually my sister's best friend visiting her family for the holidays. We randomly bumped into each other, and the moment I saw she was drunk and planning to walk herself back to her parents' apartment in downtown Seattle, there was no way I was letting that happen.

So the immature little princess threw her toys out and concluded I'd moved on with someone else.

The hypocrisy.

I don't owe her shit, and like hell am I going to be the one to explain what happened. If she thinks I'm that kind of guy, then she clearly doesn't know me at all. She can live in her little world where she thinks she's always right.

Trouble is, she's ruined me.

From the moment I kissed her in Riley's, sparks flew. No one, not even Lauren, had anything on that hour we shared. Her in my jersey, sitting across my lap, my cock so fucking hard I could've fucked her through my dress pants. Yeah, I suggested we head back to my place, specifically my bed, and yeah, I wanted her. But not as a one-night stand. Fuck no. She owned me from the moment she turned up at the game wearing my name and number, and she's owned me ever since.

From the moment she slid off my lap and told me to go fuck myself, things have never been the same. I've never been the same. Every woman I've slept with has been Kate in my head. They could be brunette, but in my mind, they're blonde. As they take my dick into their mouths, all I can think about is Kate's lips wrapped around me.

And then, to add fucking insult to injury, she starts dating another man.

Fucking Tom Bennett.

Pretentious prick. I guess he suits her perfectly.

I yank the faucet off and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around me as I head to the counter to brush my teeth.

I need to get over this woman, just like she clearly has with me.

We're part of the same friendship group, so I can't wipe her from my life, and honestly, I don't want to; I don't have it in me. Each time I see her, she looks more stunning than the last, and I want to tell her that every time. I want to tell her that I've given up sleeping with other women since it's pointless. She's the only one I want, the only one my dick wants. But I can't have her, and I can't even fuck her out of my system.

I'm fucking obsessed, jealous, angry, and even though she might not see it or care, I'm protective—I've kept my distance, but I swear to God, if anyone hurts her, I'll rip him limb from limb.

How am I supposed to go on like this? I'm fucked up and channeling every ounce of anger into my game. She'll be there tonight, ignoring me, taunting me, reminding me of all the ways she hates me.

But most of all, she scares the shit out of me with the way she makes me feel—out of control and powerless. Like a puppet being played with or better still, a toy once loved for a brief moment and then cast onto the heap while she moves on to something shinier.

I tell everyone I don't do commitment or relationships, and that's the absolute truth.

Because the one fucking woman I want hates me for something I didn't do, and like hell am I going to grovel.

Jensen Jones does not grovel.

I didn't grovel for Lauren to come back and marry me instead of running away with my then-best friend, and I'm sure as shit not groveling to Kate Monroe.

Especially when she's clearly over me and fucking another man.