Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

TIMOTHY

I wake to Jake breakdancing in the office.

Well, maybe.

It’s as close to breakdancing as I think he can manage.

He’s sweating profusely, and his shirt is nowhere to be seen. Watching my boss’s half naked form move around shouldn’t be so startling, yet it is. Mostly because the last thing I remember was snuggling up next to a large, comfy chest.

Luke.

My brain nearly short circuits when I replay everything that happened earlier. The man continues to surprise me.

How did he notice how exhausted I was when no one else had? Why was he watching me so closely?

And most importantly, why did he hold me when I was upset?

He could have just as easily given me a pat on the back, or, like most would do, avoid any form of physical touch.

Rather than either of those, he lifted me onto his lap and comforted me like I was special to him.

He also called me honey.

Or was it honeybee?

I think it was both.

Either would be nice. I haven’t had a nickname in ages—Jake’s title of bestie excluded.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” the aforementioned boss of mine says a bit breathlessly.

I ease myself into a seated position. As I do, the fabric covering me falls to the couch beside me.

Immediately, I recognize it as Luke’s jacket. He was wearing this when we talked earlier.

It takes everything in me not to sniff it like I’m some kind of wild animal.

Jake clears his throat, drawing my attention. His shirt is back on now, so I guess that means he’s ready to talk. Though I’m not sure what it could be about.

Maybe he has a new project to update me on. Or he needs to give me a rundown of the Leon and Maddox situation. There’s more to the story of why they’re on the team now. I’d been hoping he’d open up sooner than later, since the press is going to go nuts.

Then again, we do have a PR team that’s meant to handle that stuff. I should probably leave it to them.

“I want to talk to you about some things, Timothy.”

The use of my real name is an immediate alarm in my brain.

“Um, ok. What’s going on? Should I get a pen and paper to take notes?”

He smiles, though it’s more sad than I’m used to seeing from him.

“Not this time. To start, I want you to know that I’ve appreciated everything you’ve done for me. You’re the best damn assistant I’ve ever had.”

Oh no.

It’s happening.

I’m being fired.

Crap. What do I do now?

How will I pay for my studio? Do I have enough saved to keep me afloat until my next job? Is there anywhere I know of hiring?

A hard finger to my belly button jolts me from my panicked state. I cough, the intrusion awkward, though not painful.

“What in the world!?”

Jake raises his hands. “Sorry! You weren’t responding. Royce used to do that to Carmen when she had her girlie fits during ‘the dark years’,” he says dramatically.

I don’t even want to ask about any of that response. There’s no telling what other Bellport family secrets I might uncover.

“As I was saying, I think you’ve been great, but… you’re also a bit of a workaholic. Some bosses might love it. I do not. You need to chill with the tasks, my friend. Not everything is yours to fix. Let me know if we need to hire help, and I will.”

My eyes nearly roll at the sentiment. I did tell him we needed help—namely, a new assistant coach. But it was low on the priority list.

“And I know I messed up on the assistant coach front,” he says, almost as if he can read my mind. “That’s on me, and I deeply apologize for running you through more than need be because I got caught up in other stuff. I’ve already emailed everyone I thought of bringing in to see if they could start soon. I’ll pick from the replies, so that will be off your plate now.”

I open my mouth to speak, yet nothing comes out. Shock is a living beast inside me.

Since when does Jake send off his own emails or mark off stuff on his massive freaking to-do list?

“I’m not sure what to say,” I eventually come up with.

He smirks. “There’s nothing to say. This is my way of apologizing and redirecting your workload to keep you out of an early grave. Oh, and before I forget, you’ll get some back pay in your account for all the extra time you’ve put in, along with a sizeable raise over the next week. I’ve got my accountant sorting it out now.”

“Jake!”

“Timothy!” he mimics.

“You can’t do this. That’s too much. I was only doing my job.”

“And the job of assistant coach, along with multiple support staff folks. I don’t even want to breakdown how much I owe you at this point. Math sucks! That’s why I just picked a number to send you.”

He turns his phone my way. On the screen is an email to his accountant, who I’m quite familiar with, that states the amount I’m owed, as well as my new salary.

My jaw drops.

That can’t be right.

Clearly, I speak out loud because Jake nods vehemently. “It actually is. You’re worth twice this much, but I knew you wouldn’t let me go that far.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. That’s ludicrous.”

“I love his music,” Jake says before breaking into his rendition of "Act a Fool."

I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he is. As if the man didn’t just tell me I’m going to be making more than I’ve ever made in my life, and then some. Like he didn’t just show me figures that have blown my mind.

When he finally finishes, aka forgets some of the lyrics, he tells me he’s going to head out. “I only stayed to make sure I was here when you woke up. Wanted to update you on things so you didn’t stay late or do too much.”

“That makes sense,” I reply, though my mind is already moving to the next thing.

Which, strangely enough, is to wonder where Luke went. The man left his jacket to cover me and disappeared. And I suspect he’s the one who brought up my workload with Jake while I slept.

“Hey, Jake. Did Luke leave already?” I ask before he can make it out the door.

His smile is full of mischief when he turns back to me. “He did. You should probably return his jacket to him. Never know when he’ll need it.”

I look down at the fabric clutched in my hands, then pull out my phone. Even though I have no clue of the time, I’m not going to waste time waiting on the next bus to come through. I’ll get rideshare and go straight to Luke’s place.

Not only will I return the jacket, but I’ll get answers on whether or not he’s the reason I may never have to worry about money again.

The driver lets me out at Luke’s place. I wave goodbye, thankful to have a nice driver who didn’t seem to want to engage in loads of meaningless conversation. Our modified game of twenty questions showed our mutual love of puzzle games and an addiction to apple juice. He also gave me his card so I could call him specifically the next time I need a ride.

Can’t say I won’t be using it. I’m still too nervous to get behind the wheel at this stage.

I march up to the front door, my anger from earlier rekindling as I remember why I’m here. This man, this stubborn, interfering man, went above me to complain about my workload.

Where does he think he has the right to do so?

I’m not his…

But you could be.

The voice in my head is completely unhelpful. I can’t think about the crush, or my resolve will waver.

No. I need to be mad.

I’m an adult, and I can handle taking care of my job. It’s important to me to have people in my life who respect my boundaries. Granted, I don’t have many people in my life in general. Definitely not any that would act against me in any way.

Banging on the front door, I wait in my slightly lessening fury.

A minute passes with no answer. I knock again, this time tapping the glass too. Maybe it will be a bit louder.

When no one appears, I decide maybe he’s not home. As I turn to leave, I spot his vehicle parked further up the drive.

So he is here.

As I turn back to knock again, the door swings open. All my frustration vanishes as desire sweeps in.

Luke has a towel wrapped around his waist. Just a towel.

Water drips down from his hair, over his chest where there’s a soft-looking spread of hair, over his abs, and beneath the towel. His fist clenches the fabric together, though it’s thin enough for me to get more than an eyeful of what this man is toting around with him.

Holy moly.

It looks so good, I kind of want to cry. Can I please have this, universe? I’ll be good forever and ever if you can get me and his dick to be the bestest of friends.

A cough draws my attention upwards. I blush when I see Luke’s smirk.

“You get a good enough look, honeybee?”

I shake my head, only to realize what he’s said, then nod. My whole body short circuits when he laughs. It’s the best sound in the world.

“Can I come in?” I ask eventually.

He moves from the doorway. “Be my guest. I was trying to shower but…”

When he cuts off, I turn to look at him. He’s shut the door and followed me into the living room.

“But what? You look awfully wet to me.”

I cover my mouth at the wicked words. Why can’t I be normal around this man? It’s like my brain goes offline when he’s nearby.

Luke doesn’t call me out on it. He tightens his hold on the towel, saying, “I am, but not comfortably so. My hot water stopped working in the middle of my shower for some reason. I was getting out to check it when I heard you knocking. Took me a minute to find a clean towel since I haven’t done laundry.”

Just like that, he goes from sexy, mysterious model to sheepishly sweet. It’s even more endearing.

“I can take a look at the water situation while I’m here,” I offer before I can think better of it.

He’s clearly frustrated if his scowl is anything to go by. Plus, I want him to be fully in the conversation and not thinking of other things when we talk about him stepping over the line with Jake. I intend to give him a piece of my mind, but only after he’s clean and smelling like he normally does.

Aka like sex on two legs.

“You can’t. I’ve already had you do too much for me, honeybee.”

I shake my head, ignoring both his denial and the honeybee name again. Really, I’ve been ignoring it every time he’s said it. I can’t think straight if I don't.

“It’s probably something simple. Let me check at least. It would save me a trip out here later,” I argue.

He sighs, then nods toward the hall. “I’ll go get dressed. You see what you can do.”

I watch as he trudges to his room, my bottom lip between my teeth as his ass takes the spotlight from my previous staring at his dick. While I’m not one to sexualize everything around me, but I can admit seeing Luke with barely a stitch of fabric covering him is one of the most amazing views I’ve ever had.

Though there’s not a lot to compare it to.

Still, I know a good ass when I see one. And his is next level.

Once he’s got his door closed, I make my way into the bathroom. It smells divine inside, a mix of his cologne and bodywash wrapping around me. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply as I fight my body’s natural response to the stimuli.

Must focus.

Fix water.

Fuck fist later.

I snort at the caveman inner self pep talk. If anyone else heard me, they’d think I’d well and truly lost it. Thank goodness it’s only me inside my head.

A quick check shows me there is nothing amiss in the bathroom, so I move back out to the main part of the house. Remembering the layout of the house, I check the hot water heater next. Sure enough, the heating element is out on it. There isn't a replacement here, and it’s far too late to get one tonight.

I feel Luke before he speaks behind me. “Any clues?”

“It’s the heating element,” I reply without turning around. “I can get to the store tomorrow for a replacement. In the meantime, it’s cold water for you. Sorry.”

He grumbles, “Why are you sorry? You didn’t come out here to break it, did you?”

I whip around at the question, surprised he’d even suggest such a thing. The words die on my lips when I see his expression. He’s smug, because he likely knew I would be offended.

“No need to accuse me of sabotage, Coach. I was asleep in the office, remember?”

Luke’s gaze tightens on me. I can’t look him in the eye right now. The anger I’d been holding on to slipped away sometime between towel-gate and offering to fix the water issue. Now I’m left facing him with far too much desire swirling inside me.

Instead of meeting his gaze, I look over his outfit. The comfy looking sweatpants are barely better than the towel was in regard to the outline of his dick. And the shirt has no sleeves, meaning his arms are on full display.

I want to lick every ridge of muscle I see on them. Then I want to bury myself in his chest and never leave. He can just carry me around with him everywhere. Surely people would understand.

“Honeybee, you have got to stop staring,” he teases.

Subject change time. If he continues down this path, I’m going to give up all false pretense of civility and bend over to show him how perfect my hole would be for him.

Who am I and when did I get so wanton?

“You can’t stay here.”

I blurt the words out, my filter completely gone.

Luke’s brows knit. “What do you mean? This is where Jake set me up.”

“Yes, but look at this place. It’s in worse shape than I thought. You deserve to be somewhere else. Some place that feels more like home. A place where you can see your future, your family.”

Keeping my voice even takes every ounce of skill I have. All I want to do is whine and plead with him to let me be his future. His family.

But that’s not in the cards. It can’t be.

Luke Swift, former NHL star and current coach of the reigning champions of the league, would not want some nobody guy who can barely keep himself together most days and who loves to be little from time to time.

Yeah, that’s not possible at all.

I’m not sure who is more surprised when he responds, “Fine. I’ll look around. But two things”

“What things?”

“Two things you have to agree to for me to do it.”

Frowning, I nod. “I guess so. What are they?”

He lifts one finger, as if to count them off. “First, you have to connect me to a realtor. Then you’re going to help me house hunt.”

I open my mouth to argue that I can’t. He holds up a hand before I can utter a word.

“Think of it like you would when helping Jake. You’d be a… temporary assistant of sorts. You’ll help me pick a proper house, so I don’t wind up with something like this. Deal?”

He sticks out his hand, much in the same way he did when we first met. With great reluctance, I reach out to agree. It’s either going to be the best decision ever, and I’ll never have to repair anything else for him again so we can keep a professional relationship, or it will be a disaster.

Somehow, I have a sinking feeling it will be the latter.