He leans forward. “Jordan. Look at how much you’ve learned injust a couple months. Think of what you could do in a year. In five years. And I’m here. I’ll be right by your side, every step of the way, for whatever you need.”
There he goes again, being the soft padding that’ll catch me when I fall. He’s so easy to rely on. He’s so steady and responsible andgood.
If all of this were over, if we didn’t see each other anymore, I would be crushed. The idea of leaving the team is already devastating enough. No more talking strategy. No more eagerly showing him prospects. No more watching him demonstrate snap shots or hearing the pleasure in his throat when he takes the sip of that morning coffee I bring him.
“I don’t want to own the team,” I say with finality. “That’s your thing. But if I decide to stay on,” I chew my bottom lip, vulnerability fluttering in my chest, “do you think there would be...” I trail off, unable to say the words.
I hate this. My instincts tell me to stop setting myself up for failure and rejection.
“Would there be a place for you?” Tate finishes. “Yes, Jordan. There will always be a place for you at the Storm, whether you want to work in management or pour drinks during games. You will always be welcome.”
My heart does a flip. I don’t know what I’m going to do after playoffs, but to know I have options is comforting.
“Okay?” he asks, and I nod.
“Okay.”
“Good.” A comfortable silence lingers between us. “Can we talk about the kiss?”
“Can’t we pretend it didn’t happen like normal people?”
He laughs.
“Why do you have to be so intense?” I ask with my eyes still closed, but I’m smiling, and I feel like he is, too. I can feel it in the air.
“Can you open your eyes, please?”
I take a deep breath and do as he asks, meeting his gaze while my stomach somersaults at the affectionate, amused expression on his handsome face.
“It was a good kiss,” he says, and god, how is it that the low lighting and glow from the fire makes him look even more attractive? “Wasn’t it?”
I nod, small and hesitant.
“A very good kiss.”
The best I’ve ever had.
His gaze shifts to my mouth. “I thought about it after. I think about it a lot.”
Doing what? In the shower? In his bed?
“Me, too,” I admit, pulse picking up.
His expression turns torn and he exhales, hard and heavy, running a big hand through his hair. “This is hard for me. Being selfish. But I can’t stop.” He studies me, jaw flexing as his eyes move over me in his sweatshirt. Over my legs and my hair and my mouth. “Come here, Jordan.”
CHAPTER 59
JORDAN
I don’t knowwhether it’s the frustrated, helpless look in Tate’s eyes or the low command in his voice, but I’m straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. His hands come to my waist, his eyes consume me like I’m not real, like I’m going to disappear any second, and I sink my fingers into his hair.
“I can’t get enough of you.” He searches my eyes. “No matter how much I get, I want more. I don’t know what’s going on.”
On his lap, I shift to get closer, press myselfmoreto him, and my mouth forms anOas I feel it—he’s hard. Thick.Big. Thrills shoot through me, tightening between my legs, and he makes a low, desperate noise.
I clap a hand over his mouth. “Shh.”
He nods. What a sight, Tate Ward with my hand pressed over his mouth, over his prickling stubble, telling him to be quiet.
