I finish flipping the bacon and turn the heat down. “Scrambled eggs, okay?”
“Perfect,” he says and before he can offer, I move to the fridge to grab eggs.
By the time I pull them out, Jett has reached into the cabinet over his left shoulder and pulled out a small metal bowl. When I take it, he asks, “You want a cup of coffee?”
“I assume it’s too much to hope you have tea?” I ask.
He winces apologetically. “Sorry. Hadn’t planned on a Brit staying the night.”
“Oh, have a lot of people stay the night, do you?” I tease as I move to the counter and start cracking eggs, ignoring how important this answer is to me. “And coffee is fine. Black.”
“Actually, I don’t have anyone stay the night,” he replies casually, grabbing a mug to brew a cup from his Keurig.
My head whips his way. “You’ve never had anyone stay the night?”
Jett flushes a bit as he admits, “Let’s just say there’s no one I’ve ever trusted to bring to my place before.”
The implication is clear. He’s a player, as I well know. He does one-night stands. And it makes sense… he knows me by virtue of working for the Vengeance organization. I’m not some potential crazy he picked up at a bar. He’s had dinner at my house.
I’m not sure if I should feel flattered or not, but I move on.
I ask Jett about the upcoming road trip while I finish cooking us a simple breakfast, and he tells me the ins and outs of what each win or loss would mean, as well as how important it is at this point in the season to play with consistency.
We move to the table with our plates and coffee. Jett is packing away a whopping five eggs and six pieces of bacon while I’m satisfied with two of each.
As we’re finishing, he pushes his plate back and studies me a moment. “I hope this isn’t the last time you stay overnight with me.”
“I could be amenable to it again,” I reply coyly. “As long as we stay uncomplicated.”
“We’re totally casual, but we’ll be repeat offenders,” he offers with a grin.
“That’s a good way to put it. Monogamy is implied, right? Because even though I can be laid back, I don’t share.”
“Same,” he replied with a laugh and then his expression turns serious. “But I do have to ask you something.”
“Sure,” I reply easily, picking up my cup and taking a sip of coffee. “What is it?”
“You’re not married? To Felicity’s dad, I mean. We both agree we don’t want complications and well… I need to know he’s not a complication.”
I’m taken aback by his question, but I don’t give away the unease this subject causes. He does, however, have a right to know my marital status.
“No,” I reply to him. “We were divorced a little over a year ago. And before that, separated for over a year.”
Simple facts. That’s all it is.
Jett tilts his head, frowning slightly. “Does he have any place in your life? And by that, I mean is he in Felicity’s life?”
Knowing if I’m married is one thing, but how my ex fits into our life is another. That goes beyond what he has the right to know if we’re having a casual fling.
Still, I grace him with an answer that’s short, but true. “He’s not a part of our lives.”
I expect Jett to beam a smile at me, relieved at not having to deal with an ex, but instead, his eyes turn sorrowful. “I’m not sorry for you, but I am sorry for Felicity. That has to be tough.”
And that gets me right in the feels.
That this self-proclaimed avoider of kid complications has rooted down to one of the things I worry most about my daughter… that her father has chosen to not be in her life. Jett—whose parents I know are still together because we didn’t have sex every minute last night—is sensitive and attuned to how impactful something like that can be to a kid.
Moreover, it means that in this short time, he’s established a level of care for Felicity that touches me more than I like.
“Well,” I say briskly, giving him a reassuring smile. “We’ve gotten used to the way things are.”
I don’t tell him that some nights she cries for her dad and she’s not even sure why, because after two years being absent, her memories of him aren’t all that great. And I don’t tell him I worry she doesn’t have a male role model in her life since we moved from Los Angeles. My dad was there for her, but now it’s just Jenna and me providing for all her needs.
I most certainly don’t tell him that just because her dad isn’t in her life at this moment, doesn’t mean he won’t be back in it again in the future. That’s definitely something that goes far beyond what a casual relationship allows for, so my words are meant to change the subject. “Thank you for breakfast.”
He shrugs. “You cooked it.”
“But you bought it,” I quip with a laugh.
Jett seems okay with my not-so-subtle move to change the subject and asks, “Do you have to rush right out of here?”
“Not really,” I drawl, wondering what he has planned.
Pushing up from his chair, he takes the plates away and sets them on the kitchen island pass through. He then removes the coffee cups.
Next, he comes to my chair and before I know what’s happening, he’s lifting me and sitting me on the edge of the table.
It’s a good, solid table and doesn’t even shudder or sway under my weight.
I open my mouth to ask what he’s doing, but he whips the t-shirt I’m wearing right over my head before pressing his mouth to mine. As he kisses me, he manages to lower my body onto the kitchen table.
And slowly, with deliberate movement, he works his mouth away from mine, down my neck, over my collarbone and right to my breast. I gasp as my hand comes to the back of his head and I don’t have a lick of embarrassment as my entire body feels primed and ready for him with just those few touches.
Breakfast was good, but this is a better way to start the day for sure.
CHAPTER 11
Jett
The mood in the locker room is electric after our 3-2 win over the Cold Fury, the team we beat for the Cup last season, and two-time defending champions.
It’s not just that we beat them.
It’s that we were getting our asses kicked the entire game and in the third period when it was 2-0, with the Cold Fury looking to route us and smack Legend with a shutout, Bishop pulled off a shorthanded goal after poke checking a sloppy pass with less than four minutes left in the game. He sprinted down the ice all by his lonesome, juked the Cold Fury goalie, and landed us a point.
A shorthanded goal is guaranteed to rejuvenate a team. Our fans went nuts and their roars never stopped thundering through the arena after that.
It was that energy that had us scoring another goal—this time a pass from Kane to Jim for a quick wrist shot—only thirteen seconds into the next active play.
And just like that… in a matter of seconds, we tied the game and put us back on an even playing field.
The last three minutes of the game was a furious back and forth with as many shots being landed on goal in those last moments as the entire seventeen minutes that had previously been played. When there were less than forty seconds left in the game, Bishop once again managed a wicked steal on a sloppy pass. He didn’t sprint down the ice on his own this time. It was him and Dax, taking on a Cold Fury defenseman who valiantly tried to cut off any angles to the goal.