Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey 2)

Baby breaks us apart. “Come on, lovebirds! I need a nice, long soak in the hot tub when we get there.”

Jacobs’s eyebrows shoot up. “You have a hot tub?”

“That’s only the beginning.”

Jacobs whistles. “Holy …”

“Yup. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ll rein in my envy.”

He stares around the expansive tiled foyer like it’s the most impressive thing ever, and it’s seriously the most outdated part of the whole place.

“I’ll show you my room.” I take his hand.

“Is that a euphemism?” Baby yells as she heads in the other direction toward her bedroom.

“I hope so,” Jacobs says.

“I’ll show you that room later.”

Jacobs laughs.

We walk down a hallway that’s lined with a shit ton of artwork my mom bought. She likes to think of herself as an art connoisseur, but I’m pretty sure all the abstracts are insured for more than what they’re worth.

“I’m glad you warned me about this place and told me how much you hate it or I’d be judging you so hard right now.”

I cringe as I open my bedroom door.

The pristine baby blue room with white crown molding and trimming is the ugliest thing ever.

Jacobs glances around, looking confused. “This is so …”

“Hideous, I know.”

“I was going to say it’s not you.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Rangers colors maybe? Hockey themed … something. This is all stiff and formal, and—”

“My future.”

“What do you mean?”

I ignore him because I don’t want to get into it. “I will give you one thing.” I walk to the closet and open the door. I’ve got two of my old hockey sticks in there, and pinned to the back of my door is a signed poster of Mark Messier.

“I knew it!”

“How about we go steal the hot tub before Baby can get in it?”

“I don’t have any trunks.”

“What makes you think you need them?”

“The fact your sister is here? Prefer her not to see me naked. Thanks.”

“You might be the only person on our team that thinks that way, and I thank you for it. You can wear some of mine.”

I go rummaging in my drawers and pull out a pair for each of us and throw him one.

Jacobs pulls his shirt over his head, and I watch his muscles contract as he gets changed. My trunks are still in my hands; I haven’t even moved.

One side of his mouth curves upward. “You going in clothes and all?”

I shake it off. “Nope. I …”

He runs his hand over his chest and down his tight abs. “Distracted?”

“Maybe we should have sex instead.”

Jacobs laughs. “Later. I want to see this hot tub.”

I grab towels on the way out to the rooftop terrace.

It’s a warm August night but still cool enough to enjoy the hot water, and while the view from our roof isn’t great, the surrounding city lights add New York charm to the place.

We slip into the water, and Jacobs takes the spot opposite me.

“Nuh-uh.” I hook my foot under his leg and pull him toward me.

He lands in my lap and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “Umm, hi.”

“Hey.”

We stay like that, staring at each other until I begin to see that familiar heat behind his gray eyes.

He leans in, touching his lips to mine, and it’s the second time today where I haven’t felt like his kiss is about sex. Or getting off. Or leading to sex. It’s not just teammates fooling around.

The sliding door opens, and I groan. “Baby, leave us alone,” I murmur against Jacobs’s lips and then keep kissing him.

That’s when a throat clears. Definitely not my sister.

I turn my head. “Oh, fuck.”

There stands my father and mother, my dad’s arms folded across his wide chest, and my mom looking like a wide-eyed Barbie doll.

“Oh, fuck indeed,” Dad says.

“Hey, Dad. Mom.” I nod.

Jacobs shoots off my lap so fast, water from the hot tub splashes near my parents’ feet.

Dad reaches for my towel and holds it out for me. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

We climb out, and Mom hands Jacobs a towel, while I reach for the one from Dad.

He doesn’t let me take it. He lowers his voice, his grumbling deep and raspy. “You’ve gone too far this time, boy.”

“Yes, because this was totally another one of my stunts to get you to see how immature I am. You’re not even supposed to be back from Europe yet.”

Jacobs hasn’t taken his eyes off my forty-year-old mom. Yeah, she’s forty, and I’m twenty-one. It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to know she was barely legal when she hooked up with my father, who’s twenty years older than her.

“I’m Jessica,” Mom says and holds her hand out for Jacobs.

He eyes it and then looks at me.

“Mom, Dad, this is Jacobs. He’s my …”

His eyes widen.

“Teammate.”

He deflates, and where I was expecting it to be from relief, it looks more like disappointment.